his was my destiny; it is quite a
blessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as every one ought to
be; it is the only way to be happy. I am now divided into twelve pieces,
and yet the whole dozen is all one and the same. It is most
extraordinary good fortune."

Years passed away, and at last the linen was so worn it could scarcely
hold together. "It must end very soon," said the pieces to each other.
"We would gladly have held together a little longer, but it is useless
to expect impossibilities." And at length they fell into rags and
tatters and thought it was all over with them, for they were torn to
shreds and steeped in water and made into a pulp and dried, and they
knew not what besides, till all at once they found themselves beautiful
white paper. "Well, now, this is a surprise--a glorious surprise too,"
said the paper. "Now I am finer than ever, and who can tell what fine
things I may have written upon me? This is wonderful luck!" And so it
was, for the most beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and
only once was there a blot, which was remarkable good fortune. Then
people heard the stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and
better; for all that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a
great blessing was contained in it.

"I never imagined anything like this when I was only a little blue
flower growing in the fields," said the paper. "How could I know that I
should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to men? I cannot
understand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven knows that I have
done nothing myself but what I was obliged to do with my weak powers for
my own preservation; and yet I have been promoted from one joy and honor
to another. Each time I think that the song is ended, and then something
higher and better begins for me. I suppose now I shall be sent out to
journey about the world, so that people may read me. It cannot be
otherwise, for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me than I had
pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever."

But the paper did not go on its travels. It was sent to the printer, and
all the words written upon it were set up in type to make a book,--or
rather many hundreds of books,--for many more persons could derive
pleasure and profit from a printed book than from the written paper; and
if the paper had been sent about the world, it would have been worn out
before it had half finished its journey.

"Yes,