the air was wanting. Nevertheless, by struggling
and effort the young wheat advanced, little by little, in growth;
preparing itself, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, as best
it could, for the great day of the harvest. As best it could! Would
the Master of the Harvest ask more? Alas! he had still something to
find fault with, for when he looked at the ears and saw that they were
small and poor, he grumbled, and said the yield would be less than it
ought to be, and the harvest would be bad.

And as more weeks went on, and the same weather continued, and the
progress was very, very slow, he spoke out of his vexation to his wife
at home, to his friends at the market, and to the husbandmen who
passed by and talked with him about the crops.

And the voice of his discontent was breathed over the cornfield, all
along the long ridges where the plants were labouring, and waiting,
and watching. And they shuddered and murmured: "How cruel to complain!
Had we been idle, had we been negligent, had we been indifferent, we
might have passed away without bearing fruit at all. How cruel to
complain!"

But of all this the Master of the Harvest heard nothing, so he did not
cease to complain.

Meantime, another week or two went on, and people as they glanced over
the land wished that a few good rainy days would come and do their
work decidedly, so that the corn ears might fill. And behold, while
the wish was yet on their lips, the sky became charged with clouds,
darkness spread over the country, a wild wind rose, and the growling
of thunder announced a storm. And such a storm! People hid from it in
cellars and closets and dark corners, as if now, for the first time,
they believed in a God, and were trembling at the new-found fact; as
if they could never discover Him in His sunshine and blessings, but
only thus in His tempests and wrath.

And all along the long ridges of wheat plants drove the rain-laden
blast, and they bent down before it and rose up again, like the waves
of a labouring sea. Ears over ears they bowed down; ears above ears
they rose up. They bowed down as if they knew that to resist was
destruction; they rose up as if they had a hope beyond the storm. Only
here and there, where the whirlwinds were the strongest, they fell
down and could not lift themselves again. So the damage done was but
little, and the general good was great. But when the Master of the
Harvest saw here and there patches of overweighted co