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I once knew a
little girl named Amy Stuart, who liked to play better than to work.
She loved to run in the garden, and hear the birds sing, or chase
the butterflies and smell the sweet flowers. Amy had no little
brothers or sister to talk to, so she talked to the animals, insects
and flowers, and she said they talked to her, and she understood
them.
One day her mother said: "Amy, I think you are big enough now to
begin to do a little work. Yu will learn, as you grow older, that
every one has some work to do, and it is best to learn young to be
industrious."
"Oh, mamma," said Amy, "I don't like to work; I would rather play;
it is much nicer. Can't I go in the woods a little while and play,
before I do my work?"
"Well," said her mother, "as I haven't anything ready just now for
you to do, you may go."
So away went Amy through the pleasant garden into the woods. A gray
squirrel ran across her path, and Amy called to it:
"Say, dear squirrel, you don't have anything to do but to play and
eat nuts, do you?"
"My dear child," said the squirrel, "you are very much mistaken. I
have quite a large family to support, and am very busy now laying by
a store of nuts to last them all winter; so I cannot stop to talk to
you." And away he skipped.
Just then a bee came buzzing by. Amy said:
"Little bee, do you have any work to do? I never heard of you doing
anything, but getting honey from the lovely flowers."
"Indeed," said the bee, "it seems to me I never have time for
anything but work. After I have filled my bags with honey from the
flowers, I go home to my hive, build a beautiful honey-comb, and
fill the cells with honey; so you see I have plenty to do." And away
he flew to alight on a lovely pink clover.
Amy walked on a little way, when she saw some ants that seemed to be
in a great hurry. She watched them a little while, and then spoke to
one of them, saying, "Isn't that bread-crumb too heavy for you to
carry? It makes me feel so sorry for you. I thought you could play
all the time and enjoy yourself."
"Oh," said the ant, "I am so glad to get it, that I quite enjoy
carrying it, although it is rather heavy. I will rest awhile and
tell you about a lazy fit I had once: Our house was entirely
destroyed one day. I don't know what did it, but we just escaped
with our lives. My brothers and sister said, 'Let us build a new
one;' but I said, 'No, I am tired of working; let's go travelling
and see if we can't find a house ready-made for us, then perhaps we
will find time to play a little like the butterflies do.' We
travelled a long way, but we found no house ready for us. As we were
very tired, we tried to get some of our relatives to share their
houses with us, but they all said, 'No, you must be very lazy ants,
or you would have built yourselves a new house long ago.' At last we
were forced to go to work and build a house, and since then we have
been very well contented to do all the necessary." And the little
ant picked up his breadcrumb and hastened away.
Amy sat down on a stone, and this is what she said to herself: "It
seems to me that everything has something to do, and what is so
strange is, that they all seem it like their work; but I don't
believe flowers have any employment. I will ask one of them." So she
walked into the garden and said to a handsome poppy, "Dear poppy, do
flowers ever work?"
"Of course we do; did you never hear that flowers turned into
fairies at night, and each one must do some good deed, or it will
not have any honey the next day? Now I go and visit all the sick
people, and fan their weary eyelids with my leaves until they fall
asleep."
She next walked up to the pinks, with petals of red and white
stripes, sitting modestly along the border of the walks, and said,
"Dear pink, do you, like the poppy, turn into a fairy, and have work
to do?"
"Yes, Amy," replied the pink, "while the poppy is fanning the weary
eyelids to rest, I bathe the feverish brow with balmy dew, and when
morning returns, I am rewarded for my labors with a cupful of honey
for the busy bee."
Amy walked slowly home, went to her mother and said: "The bee, the
ants, the squirrels and the flowers, all have something to do, and I
think I will try to finish hemming that towel I began so long ago."
I have since heard that Amy grew up to be a very industrious woman,
while she loved flowers, insects and animals as much as ever.
Amy Stuart
A Fictional Short Story by
Agnes Taylor Ketchum & Ida M. Jorgensen
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