<h2><SPAN name="THE_WHEAT-FIELD" id="THE_WHEAT-FIELD">THE WHEAT-FIELD</SPAN></h2>
<p><span class="upper">Some</span> children were set
to reap in a wheat-field.
The wheat was yellow
as gold, the sun shone
gloriously, and the butterflies
flew hither and
thither. Some of the
children worked better, and some worse;
but there was one who ran here and there
after the butterflies that fluttered about
his head, and sang as he ran.</p>
<p>By and by evening came, and the Angel
of the wheat-field called to the children
and said, “Come now to the gate, and
bring your sheaves with you.”</p>
<p>So the children came, bringing their
sheaves. Some had great piles, laid close
and even, so that they might carry more;
some had theirs laid large and loose, so
that they looked more than they were;
but one, the child that had run to and fro
after the butterflies, came empty-handed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The Angel said to this child, “Where
are your sheaves?”</p>
<p>The child hung his head. “I do not
know!” he said. “I had some, but I
have lost them, I know not how.”</p>
<p>“None enter here without sheaves,” said
the Angel.</p>
<p>“I know that,” said the child. “But
I thought I would like to see the place
where the others were going; besides, they
would not let me leave them.”</p>
<p>Then all the other children cried out
together. One said, “Dear Angel, let him
in! In the morning I was sick, and this
child came and played with me, and
showed me the butterflies, and I forgot
my pain. Also, he gave me one of his
sheaves, and I would give it to him again,
but I cannot tell it now from my own.”</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_fp022.jpg" width-obs="361" height-obs="576" alt="" /> <div class="caption"><p>THE WHEAT FIELD.</p> <p class="plc">[<i>Page 22.</i></p>
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<p>Another said, “Dear Angel, let him in!
At noon the sun beat on my head so
fiercely that I fainted and fell down like
one dead; and this child came running by,
and when he saw me he brought water
to revive me, and then he showed me the
butterflies, and was so glad and merry
that my strength returned; to me also he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span>
gave one of his sheaves, and I would give
it to him again, but it is so like my own
that I cannot tell it.”</p>
<p>And a third said, “Just now, as evening
was coming, I was weary and sad, and
had so few sheaves that it seemed hardly
worth my while to go on working; but
this child comforted me, and showed me
the butterflies, and gave me of his sheaves.
Look! it may be that this was his; and
yet I cannot tell, it is so like my own.”</p>
<p>And all the children said, “We also had
sheaves of him, dear Angel; let him in,
we pray you!”</p>
<p>The Angel smiled, and reached his hand
inside the gate and brought out a pile
of sheaves; it was not large, but the glory
of the sun was on it, so that it seemed to
lighten the whole field.</p>
<p>“Here are his sheaves!” said the Angel.
“They are known and counted, every one.”
And he said to the child, “Lead the way
in!”</p>
<hr class="l1" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span></p>
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