Back Aa

Emerald Story Book

<h3>THE STORY OF A LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT</h3> May Bryon Once upon a time there was a little grain of Wheat. It was a tiny brown thing, quite hard and dry. It looked like somebody who had wrapped himself up in a cloak and gone to sleep, with his head and feet and all covered up. That was really what had happened. The grain of Wheat was fast asleep. It lay outside a farm-yard gate, and a little black ant came along and saw it. “Dear me!” said the little black ant, “that will do nicely for my dinner.” He was carrying it off—which was hard work, because it was nearly as big as he was—when another little black ant came along. “I’ll help you to carry that if you’ll give me half,” said the second ant. “Shan’t!” said [88]the first. Then, I am sorry to say, they fought about it. While they were biting and kicking, and the grain of Wheat was rolling about between them, a third person came along. The third person was a little Elf-man. He was looking about for winter lodgings: and he had just found a capital place in a hollow tree at the edge of a field. “Shocking! shocking!” said he to the two fighting ants. “Do stop, for goodness’ sake!” But they did not take the least notice of him. Then the little Elf-man thought, “If I take that grain of Wheat away, they won’t have anything left to quarrel about!” And so he did. <hr class="tb" /> The little Elf-man took the grain of Wheat very carefully home to his hollow tree. But when he arrived, it was all dark, because his tame glow-worm, that he kept for a candle, had felt lonely and gone out for a walk. He bumped his head trying to find things in the dark, and dropped the grain of Wheat; and it[89] rolled out of the tree and down into a tiny chink of the earth. The little Elf-man was dreadfully sorry at losing it, and scolded the glow-worm when it came home. He spent many hours searching for the grain next morning. “What are you looking for?” said his friend the Dormouse. The Dormouse lived in a hole in the hedge-bank. “For a grain I’ve lost,” said the Elf. “There’s a Barley grain under that loose sod,” remarked the Dormouse. “That’s not it, thank you,” said the Elf-man. And he went on hunting; but he had no success. It was ever so deep down. A good many days went by, and several things happened,—rain, and wind, and sunshine, and more rain, and snow, and frost, and rain again. They all came down to where the little grain lay underground; and its nice brown cloak did not remain smooth and dry. It became damp and sodden and dirty. Its appearance was certainly not improved. [90] Now, if you got all wet and cold while you were asleep, supposing the wind and rain blew in on you, it would wake you up, most likely. So it fell out to the little grain of Wheat. It woke up one day, inside its wet ragged cloak, and thrust out its small white feet. They were not like your feet, they were more like little roots—but they did very well for the Wheat. Its legs grew longer, week by week, and it grew more and more awake every day. The more it waked, the less it liked being down there in the dark and cold. It thought, “Really, I can’t stay here all my life! There’s nothing to look at!” But whenever it wanted to poke its head up and peep out, the wind made it shiver and feel miserable. So it stayed where it was, and tried to be contented. One can always try, anyhow. Meanwhile the little Barley-corn under the loose sod was getting on rather badly. You see, it had not been tucked cosily into the soil like the Wheat. It was like a poor little[91] vagrant with no proper place to sleep in. It grew, but very slowly. “Hullo! is that you?” said the Dormouse, peeping in one day under the sod; “are you awake?” “I don’t think I’ve been properly to sleep,” said the Barley-corn. “Make haste and grow a little faster, and come out of that,” said the Dormouse. “I should be rather fond of you if I thought you were taking trouble to get on.” “I think if any one were fond of me,” whispered the Barley-corn, “I should grow.” But the Dormouse was not listening. <hr class="tb" /> At last a sunbeam came along the field—several sunbeams, in fact. They were quite bright and warm, and the little Elf-man, who had kept close indoors all the bad weather, opened his door and sat on the threshold basking. Then the sunbeams burrowed right down into the earth, and said: “Hurry up! Is anybody here for out-of-doors?” You could not have heard them; their voices were not like ours. But the grain of Wheat[92] heard them. At once it threw off the last rags of its tattered old cloak; and it was as clean and white as possible underneath. Then it pushed up its little green head, with a two-horned peaked cap on, and looked out curiously upon the world. Everything was clear, and warm, and sunny, and perfectly delightful. And there was the little Elf-man sitting on his threshold, in a one-horned peaky green cap. “Well, I never!” said the Elf-man. “Who’s this?” “My name’s Wheat,” said the little green head. “Then you’ve changed very much, let me tell you,” said the Elf-man; “you are not a bit like what you were; but ever so much better.” “I hope I shall go on improving,” said the Wheat politely. And that is just what it actually did. But the poor Barley-corn was only beginning to push through under the loose sod by the time the Wheat was six inches high. It was thin and stunted, just as you would be[93] if you had no proper food, and nobody to be fond of you. The Wheat took no notice of it. But the Dormouse came now and then and said, “How slow you are!” The little Elf-man was rather sorry for it, but it did not occur to him to say so. <hr class="tb" /> The little Elf-man came out every day, and talked to the Wheat while it grew. Very soon it was much bigger than he was; but this did not make him conceited. “Did you have nice dreams while you were down below there?” he asked it. “I only had one dream,” said the Wheat, “but that went on all the time. I dreamed I was very tall and golden-yellow, and lived along with a crowd of brothers and sisters.” “Oh, but you didn’t,” said the Elf-man; “I found you all by yourself. You were a poor little lonely brown thing.” “I can’t help it,” said the Wheat: “that was my dream. And I have it now, sometimes, if I shut my eyes.” The little Elf-man was greatly puzzled:[94] but the Wheat was now so tall that he did not like to contradict. As for the little Barley-corn, nobody took the least interest in his dreams. He had very delightful ones, too. But they were the kind that never come true. The summer went on, and all sorts of friends came and talked to the Wheat—birds, bees, and butterflies. He enjoyed himself more and more. The taller he grew, the better view he had of the rest of the world. He had very pretty green clothes, which grew bigger as he did. This was a really useful arrangement: he never required to be measured for a new suit. One day he said to the little Elf-man, “Do your clothes change colour?” “No,” replied the Elf-man, “I always wear green. Even in the winter I can find some blades of grass to weave together, or a few leaves to stitch up into a coat.” “You don’t understand me,” said the Wheat. “I mean, do they turn to a different colour while you’re wearing them?” [95] “Not that I know of,” said the Elf-man. “Well, mine do,” said the Wheat. “Just look!” Sure enough, his green clothes were turning yellow, and he was changing colour all over, too. He was very much altered altogether. It was most surprising. “Goodness me!” said the little Elf-man. “That’s exactly what I think,” said the Wheat. <hr class="tb" /> About a month after this, the Elf-man was getting his breakfast ready,—an acorn-cup full of dew, and a drop of wild honey,—when he heard a loud, eager voice calling him. It was the Wheat, very much excited. “I’ve had that dream several times lately,” said the Wheat, rocking to and fro, “and now it has come true!” “How do you mean?” asked the Elf-man. “Can’t you see?” said the Wheat. “I’ve turned golden-yellow from head to foot. And I have a whole family of children. They’re not my brothers and sisters, of course, but[96] they’re each other’s,—so it comes to the same thing. Dear, dear, how happy I do feel!” And it rocked more than ever. “How many are there?” asked the Elf. “About twenty, I should think,” answered the Wheat, “but I can’t count them without cricking my neck.” “Well, well!” said the little Elf. “It’s a large family to look after. It reminds me of a little rhyme I once heard, about an old woman who lived in a shoe.” “The more the merrier,” said the Wheat. “Hush, children! Don’t all talk at once!” But the little grains would not stop talking all at once; and although you could not have heard them—their voices were too tinkly and tiny—it was perfectly deafening to any one who could. The Elf-man went back into his house and shut the door. Presently he had to put some cotton-willow-wool in his ears. The Wheat tried to sing its children to sleep with lullabies; but it did not know any. “I shall never have a merry family like that, I’m afraid,” said the Barley-corn to the Dormouse.[97] The Barley-corn had hardly grown two inches since the spring. In fact, he was so little, you would hardly have known he was there. “Never mind,” said the Dormouse. “You have me to talk to you, haven’t you?” <hr class="tb" /> By and by the Wheat got very tired. Just think, if your mother had more than twenty children, who never stopped talking all day and all night! Anyhow, the Wheat could endure it no longer. So it called to the little Elf-man, and said, “Kindly fetch me the Dormouse. I can see him now, on the bank at the end of the field. He’s beginning to get sleepy, too, so please make haste.” “What do you want me for?” said the Dormouse, when he was fetched. He and the Elf stood staring up at the tall Wheat. The little grains were quieter now. They had said nearly all they had to say. “It’s like this,” said the Wheat in weary tones. “I can’t rock these children to sleep up here. It’s too light, and too draughty. They must be put to bed in the earth, as I was. I’m[98] sure it’s the proper place for them.” As the Wheat spoke, all the little grains fell suddenly fast asleep. “Well, I’m not a nurse,” said the Dormouse, rather grumpily, because he had been disturbed. “And I can’t climb your stalk and fetch them down, either.” “You must bite my stalk right through,” said the Wheat, “so that we can all lie down together.” “Oh, that will hurt you dreadfully!” cried the little Elf-man. “Then it will have to hurt, that’s all,” said the Wheat. “It’s the only thing to do. Be quick!” The little Elf-man threw his arms round the Wheat’s yellow-stalk, and wept. But the Dormouse, with his sharp little teeth, bit through the stalk, just where it came out of the ground. The Wheat gave one great rock—and one sigh—and SNAP!—down it came. All the little grains tumbled out of their cradles, and rolled into chinks of the soil. The tall Wheat, as it lay in the earth, said “Thank you!” in a husky voice to the Dormouse,[99] and “Good-bye!” to the little Elf-man. The wind blew it away that night, and nobody ever saw it again. “Where’s the Barley?” asked the Dormouse next day. But the poor Barley was quite shrivelled up. The little Elf-man was sad for nearly a week. But when all the little grains woke up the following spring, he had a jollier time than ever. <hr class="chap" />  [100] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.