When the man wâs gone the Lamb püshed its head quite through the hedge, and the Cōlt came up very slowly, and said, “I'm sō tīred and hot! My mother often told me how it would be when I left her; but I did not mind her then. She said I must be obedient and try to please my master, and then I should bē very happy after âll.”

"Well, and do you mean to try?" said the little Lamb.

"Yes, of course I do," said the Cōlt. "Didn't yoû see how nicely I trotted to-day?"

Now the Lamb thought it was nō use going to the Daisy. The Cōlt went away, and the Lamb drew back its head through the gap.

All this time it had never been to its mother, and now it was ashamed to gō; and while it stood heṣitating a large dog came bärking into the field : this frightened the poor Lamb terribly, and it ran aș fast as it could to the corner where its mother lay in the shade. The good mother started up to her Lamb's side, and facing the dog, she stamped her foot so fiercely on the ground that he soon went off without hurting the trembling Lamb at all.

"Well, so you came back to me when you saw the dog?" said the ōld Sheep.

"Yes," said the Lamb, and hung down its head. It began to feel very sorry that it had been so cross and naughty, when it saw how kind and brave its mother was in saving it from the dog.

The sun is gone down," said the old Sheep.

"Would you like to go and run round the wọọa again?"

"No, thank you," said the Lamb; "I would rather stay with you-and-I'm very hungry-"

"Why, I thought I saw you eating grass!" said the mother. "Well, I will not say any more, as I see you are sorry for having been so foolish. Come, and I will feed yoû." Sō the Lamb had some milk for its supper, and then lay down at the mother's side before the cold dew came upon the grass.

And all the Daiṣies were asleep in the field: their heads hung down and nodded, just as if they were dreaming. Very soon the Lambṣ, and even the ōld Sheep, were fast asleep, too; but our little Lamb couldn't fall asleep for thinking. It looked up to the sky, and saw the bright stärs come out one by one, like little eyes awaking, and it wondered if they knew anything about being obedient; but it could not ask them they were too far away for that. Sō it looked down again, and among the grass it saw something so clear and shining-it was a glow-worm, but the Lamb had never seen one, sō it said, "Little Stär, I'm so glad yoû are come down. mē about the others up in the sky!

Will you tell

May they do as they like, or must they be obedient, as we are?" "I am only a field-stär," said the Glow-worm. "I never was in the sky at âll; but I stay out âll night in summer, and I can tell you a great deal about the stärṣ. How could you think they are not obedient? They come when they are câlled, and move as they

are bid. They haste away again when the Sun awakes and says 'It is time.' What would yoû think if you saw the stars in the day time? Wouldn't it look very strange? And how dark the night would be without them!"

But whilst the Glow-worm was talking, the little Lamb grew so sleepy, its head nodded and nodded, till at last it laid itself down among the dewy grass, fast asleep.

20. THE WOODEN SPOON.

"Ah! child, do not believe that happiness and riches are âlwayṣ ūnīted," said the mother.

The gîrl looked at her, as if she did not quite comprehend her meaning. "Mother must know that it is happier to be great, and rich, and admired, than to be poor and never thought of by any one."

"Sister Anna is like the wooden spoon," said Andrew, without stopping his work of making wooden spoons.

"Like the wooden spoon! Am I like a wooden spoon? Well, that is amusing!"

"Yes. You see, Anna, there was once on a time a wooden spoon—"

"I will not listen to yoû, Andrew."

"That is no matter. There was once

"I tell you I do not hear yoû, Andrew."

دو

That âlsō is no matter. Once a wooden spoon, that was so fine, so pretty, made of the best wọọd,

and carved in the most beautifül manner- -one could never see a mōre delicate and tasteful wooden spoon; and no one took it up without saying: 'Oh, how pretty it is!' Thus the little spoon grew vain and proud. 'Ah,' thought the beautifül wooden spoon, 'If I could only be like a silver spoon! Now I am used by the servants alone; but if I were a silver spoon, it might happen that the king himself shoüld eat rice-milk with mẽ out of a gōlden dish; whereas, being only a wooden spoon, it is nothing but mealporridge I serve out to quite common fōlk.' Sō the wooden spoon said to the mistress, or meat-mother as she is câlled in Sweden: 'Dear lady, I consider myself too good to be a simple wooden spoon; I feel within myself that I was not meant to be in the kitchen, but that I ought to appear at greāt tables. I am not suited to servants, who have such coarse habits, and handle me sō rûdely. Dear mistress, contrīve that I shall be like a silver spoon.' The meat-mother wished to satisfy her pretty wooden spoon; so she carried her to a silversmith, who promised to ōverlay her with silver. He did so. The wooden spoon was silvered ōver, and shone like the sun. Then was she glad and proud, and scorned âll her ōld companions. When she came hōme, shē lay in the plate-basket and became quite intimate with the family silver, wished the tea-spoons to câll her äunt, and câlled herself first-cousin to the silver forks. But it happened that when the other spoons were taken out for daily use, the silvered wooden

spoon was âlways left behind, âlthough she took the greatest care to render herself conspicuous, and often placed herself uppermost in the basket, in order not to be forgotten, but to bē laid with the rest on the great table. As this happened several times, even when there was company and all the silver was brought out, and the poor wooden spoon was still left alone in the basket, she complained again to the mistress, and said: 'Dear lady, I have to beg that the servants may understand that I am a silver spoon, and have a right to appear with the rest of the company. I shine even more than others, and cannot understand why I should be thus neglected.'

"Ah,' said the mistress, 'the servants know bỹ the weight that you are only silvered.'

"Weight, weight!' cried the silvered spoon, 'What is it not by the brightness alone that one knows a silver spoon from a wooden one?'

"Dear child, silver is heavier than wood.'

'Then pray, make mē heaviër!' cried the spoon. 'I long to be as good as the rest, and I have nō patience with the sauciness of that servant.' The mistress, still willing to gratify the deṣīres of her little spoon, carried her again to the silversmith.

""Good man,' she said to him, 'make this silvered spoon as heavy aș a real silver one.'

"To do that,' said the silversmith, it will bē neċessary to put a piece of lead here in the handle.'

"Ah,' thought the poor spoon, then must he bōre straight into my heart'-for the heart of a wooden