wild rose, but she did not say it--it
is not her nature to express her ideas openly, though it might have
been well had she done so--"it appears to me that the sunbeam should
have had the first prize of honour, and the second also. It passes in
a moment the immeasurable space from the sun down to us, and comes
with such power that all nature is awakened by it. It has such beauty,
that all we roses redden and become fragrant under it. The high
presiding authorities do not seem to have noticed _it_ at all. Were I
the sunbeam, I would give each of them a sunstroke, that I would; but
it would only make them crazy, and they will very likely be that
without it. I shall say nothing," thought the wild rose. "There is
peace in the wood; it is delightful to blossom, to shed refreshing
perfume around, to live amidst the songs of birds and the rustling of
trees; but the sun's rays will outlive us all."

"What is the first prize?" asked the earth-worm, who had overslept
himself, and only now joined them.

"It gives free entrance to the kitchen garden," said the mule. "I
proposed the prize, as a clear-sighted and judicious member of the
meeting, with a view to the hare's advantage. I was resolved he should
have it, and he is now provided for. The snail has permission to sit
on the stone fence, and to enjoy the moss and the sunshine; and,
moreover, he is appointed to be one of the chief judges of the next
race. It is well to have one who is practically acquainted with the
business in hand--on a committee, as human beings call it. I must say
I expect great things from the future--we have made so good a
beginning."

_The Bell's Hollow._

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded from the buried bell in Odensee river.
What sort of a river is that? Every child in the town of Odensee knows
it. It flows round the foot of the gardens, from the locks to the
water-mill, away under the wooden bridges. In the river grow yellow
water-lilies, brown feather-like reeds, and the soft velvet-like
bulrushes, so high and so large. Old, split willow trees, bent and
twisted, hang far over the water by the side of the monks' meadows and
the bleaching greens; but a little above is garden after garden--the
one very different from the other; some with beautiful flowers and
arbours, clean and in prim array, like dolls' villages; some only
filled with cabbages; while in others there are no attempts at a
garden to be seen at all, only great elder trees stretc