THE BUCKWHEAT故事

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　　　THE BUCKWHEAT故事
　　    VERY often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of
　　    buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire
　　    had passed over it. The country people say that this
　　    appearance is caused by lightning; but I will tell you what
　　    the sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old
　　    willow-tree which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is there
　　    still. It is a large venerable tree, though a little crippled
　　    by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the crevice grass
　　    and brambles grow. The tree bends for-ward slightly, and the
　　    branches hang quite down to the ground just like green hair.
　　    Corn grows in the surrounding fields, not only rye and barley,
　　    but oats,-pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of
　　    little golden canary-birds sitting on a bough. The corn has a
　　    smiling look and the heaviest and richest ears bend their
　　    heads low as if in pious humility. Once there was also a field
　　    of buckwheat, and this field was exactly opposite to old
　　    willow-tree. The buckwheat did not bend like the other grain,
　　    but erected its head proudly and stiffly on the stem. "I am as
　　    valuable as any other corn," said he, "and I am much
　　    handsomer; my flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the
　　    apple blossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. Do you know
　　    of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree?"
　　    And the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say,
　　    "Indeed I do."
　　    But the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said,
　　    "Stupid tree; he is so old that grass grows out of his body."
　　    There arose a very terrible storm. All the field-flowers
　　    folded their leaves together, or bowed their little heads,
　　    while the storm passed over them, but the buckwheat stood
　　    erect in its pride. "Bend your head as we do," said the
　　    flowers.
　　    "I have no occasion to do so," replied the buckwheat.
　　    "Bend your head as we do," cried the ears of corn; "the
　　    angel of the storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky
            
            

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　　    above to the earth beneath. He will strike you down before you
　　    can cry for mercy."
　　    "But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat.
　　    "Close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the old
　　    willow-tree. "Do not look at the lightning when the cloud
　　    bursts; even men cannot do that. In a flash of lightning
　　    heaven opens, and we can look in; but the sight will strike
　　    even human beings blind. What then must happen to us, who only
　　    grow out of the earth, and are so inferior to them, if we
　　    venture to do so?"
　　    "Inferior, indeed!" said the buckwheat. "Now I intend to
　　    have a peep into heaven." Proudly and boldly he looked up,
　　    while the lightning flashed across the sky as if the whole
　　    world were in flames.
　　    When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the
　　    corn raised their drooping heads in the pure still air,
　　    refreshed by the rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in
　　    the field, burnt to blackness by the lightning. The branches
　　    of the old willow-tree rustled in the wind, and large
　　    water-drops fell from his green leaves as if the old willow
　　    were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he was weeping, when
　　    all around him seemed so cheerful. "See," they said, how the
　　    sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. Do you not
　　    smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you
　　    weep, old willow-tree?" Then the willow told them of the
　　    haughty pride of the buckwheat, and of the punishment which
　　    followed in consequence.
　　    This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when
　　    I begged them to relate some tale to me.
　　    THE END