Childs Story Garden | Page 7

At last they began. Whirr! Whirr! went the shuttles. Spin! Spin! they sang, faster and faster, in and out, over and under, flew the shuttles.
Arachne had chosen the most delicate, lovely threads that she could find, but while she wove these beautiful threads she was thinking of her revenge and other evil and wicked thoughts, while her skillful and swift fingers moved faster and faster.
At the same time Athena was sitting in the sunlight, busily and carefully weaving over and under, and in and out, her dainty, beautiful silken threads, which seemed to have come from the very sunbeams themselves. The colors were most harmonious and exquisite. Even the rainbow was surpassed. Athena was thinking of the fleecy clouds, which were to her as white ships that sailed through the blue sea of the sky. She thought of the brown earth, with its emerald decking of trees and meadows; of the buttercups and daisies of gold, and the roses and lilies which dotted Mother Earth's carpet. She thought of the butterflies that flitted about, and of the birds, in coats of red, blue, glossy black, and dazzling gold.
When Arachne looked at Athena's work she shuddered with shame, for, although her own work had been skillfully done, it was marred by the envy, malice and evil thoughts she had woven into it. While Athena's work was no more skillfully woven, it was by far the more beautiful. The azure sky, with fluffy white clouds; the meadows, dotted with flowers, and fields, with their shady green trees, filled with birds of gorgeous hues, all made a wonderful picture.
Poor Arachne knew her fate. She hastened away and took with her the threads that she had been using in weaving, and wrapped them about her neck. She thought she would end her life by hanging to a tree. This made the beautiful and kind Athena sad, and she said to Arachne: "You must live--live on forever," and she touched Arachne and changed her form. Arachne gradually grew smaller and smaller, until she was no larger than a honeybee. She had many legs and wore a brown, fuzzy coat. Instead of hanging by the threads she had used she now hung from a dainty silken spider web, for Arachne was still a weaver, but not a weaver as of old.
Today, perchance, if you should see a busy little spider, it might be one of Arachne's children, or perhaps Arachne herself. No one knows--neither you nor I.

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH
It was spring, and the little town of Killingworth told of the joy of living again. Every little rivulet had broken from its frozen chain, which had held it fast during the long winter, and was rushing on, rejoicing at its freedom. The purple buds, holding wonderful secrets of things to come, were bursting forth from every tree and bush, while from the topmost boughs the birds called and sang to their mates: "Oh! be happy, be happy, for spring has come!"
There were all the messengers of spring--the robin, the oriole, and the bluebird--filling the orchard with their glad melody. The little sparrow chirped in glee for the very joy of living, and the hungry crows, in great crowds, called loudly the tidings of spring. But not long could they stop to sing, for the homes must be made, and soon from every tree and bush could be seen these dainty, downy nests, and in every nest the eggs, and in every egg a wonderful secret about which all the happy birds twittered and sang together.
The farmers, as they plowed their fields and made their gardens that spring, heard these tree-top concerts, and saw the multitude playing and working about them, and they shook their heads and said: "Never before have we had so many birds in Killingworth. We must surely do something, or they will eat up half of our crops, and take the grain and fruits that should go to feed our own children." Then it was decided to have a meeting. All in the town were free to come, and here they were to decide what was to be done with the troublesome birds. The meeting was held in the new town hall, and to it came all the great men of the town, and from far and near the farmers gathered. The great hall was crowded. The doors and windows were open, and through them came a beautiful flood of bird music, but the sturdy farmers and great men shook their heads as they heard it. And then they told how the birds were eating the grains and spoiling the fruit, and every one said the birds must go. There seemed to be not a single friend to the singers outside, until one man arose--the teacher in the town, much loved by the