WATER-LILY'S MISSION

"Come away, beautiful flower," said the kingfisher; "do not waste your
beauty in this melancholy mere; float away down the gleaming river
where tall bulrushes grow and where you shall find companions."

But the water-lily said, "No, I cannot go, for up in yonder tower is a
prisoner, and I cheer his lonely days. He watches me and smiles, and
forgets that he is a captive. I cannot leave one so unhappy."

"As you like," said the kingfisher, "but you would not catch me
spending my life under those barren walls," and away flew the
kingfisher.

A swallow came and wheeled round and round the tower. "Swallow,"
called the water-lily, "come to me." And the swallow came twittering
down.

"I am in a great hurry," he said; "what do you want?"

"Bite through my stem, swallow, and carry me up to the grating in the
tower, and place me on that window-sill."

"But you will die--and you are so beautiful," said the swallow, looking
regretfully at the lily.

"Ah, some deaths are better than living," said the water-lily.

So the swallow plucked the water-lily and carried her up to the
prisoner's window. A thin hand passed through the bars and took the
flower. The captive pressed her passionately to his lips, and his
tears fell fast on the waxen petals. As the tears fell the water-lily
revived.

"How beautiful you are," said the captive, and he took his tin mug of
water from a shelf and tenderly placed her in it so she would not die.

Just then a jailer entered, "Ho, ho!" he said, "how did you come by
that; it will just do for my button-hole." And he seized the
water-lily and placed it in his coat.

The poor prisoner fell upon his knees and begged hard that the flower
might be left to him. "Let me have a few days' joy," he pleaded. "The
flower will soon die, and you are free, and can gather the flowers when
you will."

But the rough jailer only laughed, and departed to his own pleasant
room, leaving the captive in tears.

[Illustration: Child with basket of flowers]

"Look here," said the jailer to his little daughter, "there is a flower
I have just taken away from the prisoner in the tower. I don't know
how he got it, but he cried like a baby when I took it away."

"Poor prisoner!" said the little girl, with tears in her own eyes.

"Nay, my little maid, do not weep," said the jailer, taking the child
in his arms.

But the little one hid her face against her father's breast and sobb