.

"Yes, if you can tell me exactly how deep the gutter is in the little
street through which you go to school."

"Just halfway up to my knee," said the boy, promptly; "that is, if I
stand in the deepest part."

"It is easy to see how we got our feet wet," said the old man. "Well,
now I suppose I ought to tell a story, but really I don't know any
more."

"You can make up one, I know," said the boy. "Mother says that you can
turn everything you look at into a story, and everything, even, that you
touch."

"Ah, but those tales and stories are worth nothing. The real ones come
of themselves; they knock at my forehead and say, 'Here we are!'"

"Won't there be a knock soon?" asked the boy. And his mother laughed as
she put elder flowers in the teapot and poured boiling water over them.
"Oh, do tell me a story."

"Yes, if a story comes of itself, but tales and stories are very grand;
they only come when it pleases them. Stop," he cried all at once, "here
we have it; look! there is a story in the teapot now."

The little boy looked at the teapot and saw the lid raise itself
gradually and long branches stretch out, even from the spout, in all
directions till they became larger and larger, and there appeared a
great elder tree covered with flowers white and fresh. It spread itself
even to the bed and pushed the curtains aside, and oh, how fragrant the
blossoms were!

In the midst of the tree sat a pleasant-looking old woman in a very
strange dress. The dress was green, like the leaves of the elder tree,
and was decorated with large white elder blossoms. It was not easy to
tell whether the border was made of some kind of stuff or of real
flowers.

"What is that woman's name?" asked the boy.

"The Romans and Greeks called her a dryad," said the old man, "but we do
not understand that name; we have a better one for her in the quarter
of the town where the sailors live. They call her Elder-flower Mother,
and you must pay attention to her now, and listen while you look at the
beautiful tree.

"Just such a large, blooming tree as this stands outside in the corner
of a poor little yard, and under this tree, one bright sunny afternoon,
sat two old people, a sailor and his wife. They had great-grandchildren,
and would soon celebrate the golden wedding, which is the fiftieth
anniversary of the wedding day in many countries, and the Elder Mother
sat in the tree and looked as pleased as she does now.

"'I know when the gol