am
I?" asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, like the voices of those
who were with her. No earthly music could imitate it.

"Among the daughters of the air," answered one of them. "A mermaid has
not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of
a human being. On the will of another hangs her eternal destiny. But the
daughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul,
can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm
countries and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the
pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and
restoration.

"After we have striven for three hundred years to do all the good in our
power, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of
mankind. You, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to
do as we are doing. You have suffered and endured, and raised yourself
to the spirit world by your good deeds, and now, by striving for three
hundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul."

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes toward the sun and, for the
first time, felt them filling with tears.

On the ship in which she had left the prince there were life and noise,
and she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her. Sorrowfully
they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself
into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of the bride and fanned
the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a
rosy cloud that floated above.

"After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of
heaven," said she. "And we may even get there sooner," whispered one of
her companions. "Unseen we can enter the houses of men where there are
children, and for every day on which we find a good child that is the
joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is
shortened. The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that
we smile with joy at his good conduct--for we can count one year less of
our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or a wicked child we
shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of
trial."

[Illustration]

BUCKWHEAT

IF YOU should chance, after a tempest, to cross a field where buckwheat
is growing, you may observe that it looks black and singed, as if a
flame of fire had passed over it. And should you ask the reason, a
fa