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The Children and the Garland

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“TOMORROW is May-day,” the youngsters said; “the winged animals must call us early, and we will go to the forested areas and make a wreath.” And in the morning, much sooner than the sun had looked over the highest points of the houses into the town road, they were far away in the forested areas.

“I will issue them a few astonishingly back,” the cultivator said. “They should put them among the spring blossoms, as a swallow among the thrushes, to demonstrate that mid year is headed.”
At the point when the kids had made their laurel and a posy for every one of them, they set out for some singing all down the town road, over the dark stone scaffold, past the hayricks, and past the houses on the slope side.

In one of the houses there was a pale little kid with a tragic, slender face. “Mother,” he said, “here are a few youngsters with a laurel. Will it be summer when they have passed by?” He shouted toward them as they went on, ” Return, gracious, return once more!”

“Yes, we will return,” they replied, yet they went on their way singing. All during that time he sat tight for them, however they didn’t come; and finally, when it was evening, the mother took him up into her arms to convey him to his bed. Abruptly he heard the kids singing out there. “Gracious, mother,” he shouted, “they are impending;” and he viewed till they came up the slope again and remained before him. ” However where is your wreath? “he asked.

” We offered it to faltering Mary, the postman’s wife, for she is continually aching to see the fields,” they addressed ; ” however these roses are for you, dear young man; they are just for you,” and placing them into his hands they retreated to the town.

“You are exceptionally drained,” the tyke said to the roses; “every one of your leaves are hanging. Poor roses, maybe you are forlorn far from the patio nursery; however you should rest close me, and there is a star ascending in the sky; it will watch every one of us as the night progressed.” Then the tyke settled down in his white bed he and his minimal warm heart, in which there was adoration for all things. While he rested the roses took a gander at his pale little face and moaned, and right away they stole delicately on to his cheeks and rested there. The kids saw them still there when the mid year was over; when the wreath was dead, and faltering Mary yearned for the fields no more.


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