er from
the public well, for that was outside the gate. And sometimes she stayed
about and let the strange men talk with her, because she liked to look at
their bright silver ornaments. The Sabine soldiers wore heavy silver
rings and bracelets on their left arms,--some wore as many as four or
five.

The soldiers knew she was the daughter of the keeper of the citadel, and
they saw that she had greedy eyes for their ornaments. So day by day they
talked with her, and showed her their silver rings, and tempted her. And
at last Tarpeia made a bargain, to betray her city to them. She said she
would unlock the great gate and let them in, _if they would give her what
they wore on their left arms._

The night came. When it was perfectly dark and still, Tarpeia stole from
her bed, took the great key from its place, and silently unlocked the gate
which protected the city. Outside, in the dark, stood the soldiers of the
enemy, waiting. As she opened the gate, the long shadowy files pressed
forward silently, and the Sabines entered the citadel.

As the first man came inside, Tarpeia stretched forth her hand for her
price. The soldier lifted high his left arm. "Take thy reward!" he said,
and as he spoke he hurled upon her that which he wore upon it. Down upon
her head crashed--not the silver rings of the soldier, but the great brass
shield he carried in battle!

She sank beneath it, to the ground.

"Take thy reward," said the next; and his shield rang against the first.

"Thy reward," said the next--and the next--and the next--and the next;
every man wore his shield on his left arm.

So Tarpeia lay buried beneath the reward she had claimed, and the Sabines
marched past her dead body, into the city she had betrayed.

THE BUCKWHEAT[1]

[Footnote 1: Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.]

Down by the river were fields of barley and rye and golden oats. Wheat
grew there, too, and the heaviest and richest ears bent lowest, in
humility. Opposite the corn was a field of buckwheat, but the buckwheat
never bent; it held its head proud and stiff on the stem.

The wise old willow-tree by the river looked down on the fields, and
thought his thoughts.

One day a dreadful storm came. The field-flowers folded their leaves
together, and bowed their heads. But the buckwheat stood straight and
proud.

"Bend your head, as we do," called the field-flowers.

"I have no need to," said the buckwheat.

"Bend your head, as we do!" warned