nd shipwrecks, and lion
hunts, and all such things as that; but you must take my story as it is,
and think over it in your quiet moments.

"There was once an old garden. Flowers and fruit of every description
grew in it, and when no human creature was about the air was full of
flower laughter and fruit conversation. One day in autumn some saucy
sparrows were teasing a young walnut-tree that stood between an apple
and a pear-tree, opposite a wall which was covered with beautiful golden
plums.

"'What are you here for?' they said, pecking at the round green balls
that hung on the tree, and then wiping their beaks in disgust on the
grass underneath. 'Ugh! you're sour and bitter and nasty enough to
poison a person! You're a disgrace to your master. The red and yellow
apples next door to you are delicious this warm day, and the pears make
one's mouth fairly water, while as to the plums over there--well, every
one is fighting for them, from the slugs and snails to every bird in the
country, and the boys and girls and men and women--all of us have to be
kept off by those horrible nets which the old gardener is continually
spreading!'

"'I'm sure,' whispered the young walnuts, humbly, 'we don't mean any
harm. We don't quite know why we are here ourselves. We have been hoping
to see our green skins get red and yellow, and soft and ripe, like
everything else round us, but they seem to get harder and uglier as time
goes by. They feel very heavy, and our stems ache with holding them up;
do you think it just possible there may be something inside?'

"'Inside!' laughed the sparrows; 'who ever heard of the inside being
better than the outside? You're stuffed with conceit, but nothing else.'

"And away they flew, for they were not a year old themselves, and knew
nothing about autumn nuts and berries.

"The walnuts sighed and appealed to an old crow flying by.

"'Do you think we have been planted in this beautiful garden by
mistake?' they said. 'We have been waiting a long time to give pleasure
and to do good to those around us. The bees give us a wide berth--they
say they can get no honey from us; we have no sweet scent to please the
passer-by, no lovely blossoms to delight their eyes. The apples have had
blossoms and fruit, and all the other trees the same, yet here we hang
and grow, and the days go by and we're only laughed at for our ugliness
and want of sweetness.'

"'Wait a little longer,' said the old crow; 'wait, and ta