th killed the fatted calf, because he hath
received him safe and sound.' And he was angry and would not go in;
therefore came his father out and entreated him. And he answering, said
to his father, 'Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither
transgressed I at any time thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me
a kid that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this thy
son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast
killed for him the fatted calf.' And he said unto him, 'Son, thou art
ever with me; and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should
make merry, and be glad; for this thy brother was dead, and is alive
again; and was lost, and is found.'"

249

This little apologue is taken from _Norwood_
(1867), a novel written by Henry Ward Beecher
for the New York _Ledger_ in the days when that
periodical, under the direction of Robert
Bonner, was the great family weekly of America.
In the course of the fiction Mr. Beecher
emphasizes the value of stories for children.
"Story-hunger in children," he says, "is even
more urgent than bread-hunger." And after the
story has been told: "How charming it is to
narrate fables for children. . . . Children are
unconscious philosophers. They refuse to pull
to pieces their enjoyments to see what they are
made of. Rose knew as well as her father that
leaves never talked. Yet, Rose never saw a leaf
without feeling that there was life and meaning
in it."

THE ANXIOUS LEAF

HENRY WARD BEECHER

Once upon a time a little leaf was heard to sigh and cry, as leaves
often do when a gentle wind is about.

And the twig said, "What is the matter, little leaf?"

And the leaf said, "The wind just told me that one day it would pull me
off and throw me down to die on the ground!"

The twig told it to the branch on which it grew, and the branch told it
to the tree. And when the tree heard it, it rustled all over, and sent
back word to the leaf, "Do not be afraid; hold on tightly, and you shall
not go till you want to." And so the leaf stopped sighing, but went on
nestling and singing.

Every time the tree shook itself and stirred up all its leaves, the
branches shook themselves, and the little twig shook itself, and the
little leaf danced up and down merrily, as if nothing could ever pull it
off.

And