"Thy reward," said the next--and the next--and the next--and the next;
every man wore his shield on his left arm.

So Tarpeia lay buried beneath the reward she had claimed, and the Sabines
marched past her dead body, into the city she had betrayed.


THE BUCKWHEAT[1]

[Footnote 1: Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.]

Down by the river were fields of barley and rye and golden oats. Wheat
grew there, too, and the heaviest and richest ears bent lowest, in
humility. Opposite the corn was a field of buckwheat, but the buckwheat
never bent; it held its head proud and stiff on the stem.

The wise old willow-tree by the river looked down on the fields, and
thought his thoughts.

One day a dreadful storm came. The field-flowers folded their leaves
together, and bowed their heads. But the buckwheat stood straight and
proud.

"Bend your head, as we do," called the field-flowers.

"I have no need to," said the buckwheat.

"Bend your head, as we do!" warned the golden wheat-ears; "the angel of
the storm is coming; he will strike you down."