?"

"Inferior, indeed!" said the buckwheat. "Now I intend to have a
peep into heaven." Proudly and boldly he looked up, while the
lightning flashed across the sky as if the whole world were in flames.

When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the corn
raised their drooping heads in the pure still air, refreshed by the
rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in the field, burnt to
blackness by the lightning. The branches of the old willow-tree
rustled in the wind, and large water-drops fell from his green leaves
as if the old willow were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he was
weeping, when all around him seemed so cheerful. "See," they said,
"how the sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. Do you not
smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you weep,
old willow-tree?" Then the willow told them of the haughty pride of
the buckwheat, and of the punishment which followed in consequence.

This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when I
begged them to relate some tale to me.

THE BUTTERFLY

There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as may
be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the
flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds,
and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their
stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged; but
there was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his search
would become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too
much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French
call this flower "Marguerite," and they say that the little daisy
can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each
leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: "Does he or she
love me?--Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?"
and so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The
butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off
her leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there
was always more to be done by kindness.

"Darling Marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the wisest
woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall
choose for my wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will fly
directly to her, and propose."

But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he should
call her a woman when she was only a girl; a