orter be content with what grows 'round him, and not be sending folk
a-climbing." This said, he resumed his smoking vigorously, and looked
very wise.

* * * * *

The aged man of the mountain was passing rapidly away. The kind
neighbors laid him for the last time on his cot, and sat tearfully around
the room. Some stood in groups outside, looking wistfully towards the
mountain; for their kind hearts could not bear to see him depart without
the flower to gladden his eyes.

"The girl's gone a long time," remarked one of the women.

"The longer she's gone, the surer the sign she's reached the mountain
top. It's a long way up there, and a weary journey back. My feet have
trod it often, and I know all the sharp rocks and the tangled branches
in the way. But she will come yet. I hear footsteps not far away."

"But too late, we fear, for your eyes to behold the blossom, should she
bring it."

"Then put it on my grave--but hark! she comes--some one approaches!"

Through the crowd, holding high the spotless flower, came the fair girl,
with torn sandals and weary feet, but with beaming eyes. The old man
raised himself in bed, while she knelt to receive his blessing.

"Fair girl,"--he spoke in those clear tones which the dying ever
use,--"the whiteness of this blossom is only rivaled by the angels'