a beautiful piece of white linen. All the flax,
even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece. "Well, this
is quite wonderful; I could not have believed that I should be so
favored by fortune. The fern was not wrong with its song of

'Snip, snap, snurre,
Basse lurre.'

But the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning.
How wonderful it is, that after all I have suffered, I am made
something of at last; I am the luckiest person in the world--so strong
and fine; and how white, and what a length! This is something
different to being a mere plant and bearing flowers. Then I had no
attention, nor any water unless it rained; now, I am watched and taken
care of. Every morning the maid turns me over, and I have a
shower-bath from the watering-pot every evening. Yes, and the
clergyman's wife noticed me, and said I was the best piece of linen in
the whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now."

After some time, the linen was taken into the house, placed
under the scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then pricked
with needles. This certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was made
into twelve garments of that kind which people do not like to name,
and yet everybody should wear one. "See, now, then," said the flax; "I
have become something of importance. This was my destiny; it is
quite a blessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as everyone
ought to be; it is the only way to be happy. I am now divided into
twelve pieces, and yet we are all one and the same in the whole dozen.
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. "I am now finer than ever, and I
shall be written upon, and who can tell what fine things I may have
written upon me. This is wonderful luck!" And sure enough the most
beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once was
there a blot, which was very fortunate. Then people h