rhyme
with the skillet, and sit beside it on the stove, as it ought, leaving
harmony out of the question, to do. Accordingly all the children were
instructed to call the skillet a skettle, and the kettle stood by its
side on the stove ever afterward.

[Illustration: The Settle]

The house was a very pretty one, although it was quite rude and very
simple. It was built of logs and had a thatched roof, which projected
far out over the walls. But it was all overrun with the loveliest
flowering vines imaginable, and, inside, nothing could have been more
exquisitely neat and homelike; although there was only one room and a
little garret over it. All around the house were the flower-beds and
the vine-trellises and the blooming shrubs, and they were always in
the most beautiful order. Now, although all this was very pretty to
see, and seemingly very simple to bring to pass, yet there was a vast
deal of labor in it for some one; for flowers do not look so trim and
thriving without tending, and houses do not look so spotlessly clean
without constant care. All the Flower family worked hard; even the
littlest children had their daily tasks set them. The oldest girl,
especially, little Flax Flower, was kept busy from morning till night
taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, and weeding flowers.
But for all that she was a very happy little girl, as indeed were
the whole family, as they did not mind working, and loved each other
dearly.

Father Flower, to be sure, felt a little sad sometimes; for, although
his lot in life was a pleasant one, it was not exactly what he would
have chosen. Once in a while he had a great longing for something
different. He confided a great many of his feelings to Flax Flower;
she was more like him than any of the other children, and could
understand him even better than his wife, he thought.

One day, when there had been a heavy shower and a beautiful rainbow,
he and Flax were out in the garden tying up some rose-bushes, which
the rain had beaten down, and he said to her how he wished he could
find the Pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow. Flax, if you will
believe me, had never heard of it; so he had to tell her all about it,
and also say a little poem he had made about it to her.

The poem ran something in this way:

O what is it shineth so golden-clear
At the rainbow's foot on the dark green hill?
'Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year
Has shone, and is shining and