nt their heads to one
another, as the wind caressed them, and said: "Sisters, how lovely you
have become. You make the day bright."

The river, glad of new strength and rejoicing in the unison of all its
waters, murmured to the shores in music, telling of its release from icy
fetters, its swift flight from the snow-clad mountains, and the mighty
work to which it was hurrying--the wheels of many mills to be turned,
and great ships to be floated to the sea.

Waiting blindly in its bed, the clay comforted itself with lofty hopes.
"My time will come," it said. "I was not made to be hidden forever.
Glory and beauty and honour are coming to me in due season."

One day the clay felt itself taken from the place where it had waited so
long. A flat blade of iron passed beneath it, and lifted it, and tossed
it into a cart with other lumps of clay, and it was carried far away,
as it seemed, over a rough and stony road. But it was not afraid, nor
discouraged, for it said to itself: "This is necessary. The path to
glory is always rugged. Now I am on my way to play a great part in the
world."

But the hard journey was nothing compared with the tribulation and
distress that came after it. The clay was put into a trough and mixed
and beaten and stirred and trampled. It seemed almost unbearable. But
there was consolation in the thought that something very fine and noble
was certainly coming out of all this trouble. The clay felt sure that,
if it could only wait long enough, a wonderful reward was in store for
it.

Then it was put upon a swiftly turning wheel, and whirled around until
it seemed as if it must fly into a thousand pieces. A strange power
pressed it and moulded it, as it revolved, and through all the dizziness
and pain it felt that it was taking a new form.

Then an unknown hand put it into an oven, and fires were kindled about
it--fierce and penetrating--hotter than all the heats of summer that had
ever brooded upon the bank of the river. But through all, the clay held
itself together and endured its trials, in the confidence of a great
future. "Surely," it thought, "I am intended for something very
splendid, since such pains are taken with me. Perhaps I am fashioned for
the ornament of a temple, or a precious vase for the table of a king."

At last the baking was finished. The clay was taken from the furnace
and set down upon a board, in the cool air, under the blue sky. The
tribulation was passed. The reward was at