“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

There was no agreeing. So in the end, off went the younger man, leaving his brother behind.

He had not gone far into the forest when he came upon a stream, easily swam across it, and spied a mother bear asleep on the bank. Snatching up her cubs, he dashed off without a backward glance, toward a distant hill on whose crown stood a castle. As he ran up the hill, he was astonished to see the castle doors swing open and a great procession emerge, drawing a golden carriage. The people came toward him with great cheers, swept him up, deposited him upon the carriage’s crimson cushions, and drove back to the castle to crown him King.

That was the prize of which the Stone had spoken!

The young man reigned a full five years, but in the sixth year misfor- tune befell him. Without warning, his castle was attacked by another king, even mightier than himself, and he was driven out.

He wandered alone back into the forest, swam across the same stream, and eventually arrived at his brother’s cottage. The elder brother was now living a modest life in a modest way, neither well-to-do nor wanting for food.

How pleased the brothers were to meet again. Over a glass of this and a bowl of that, they recounted their adventures. And at the end of the telling, they each sat back contented.

Said the elder:

“Now you see the wisdom of my choice. All the while I’ve lived in peace and tranquillity; and though you’ve been king, you’re now a pauper, worse off than before.”

But the younger smiled.

“I have no regrets,” he said. “I may be poor in worldly goods, but what wonderful memories I have to treasure!”

A YOUNG BOY’S STORY OF
HOW HE FOUND QUEEN BEES
FOR HIS GRANDDAD

My granddad used to spend his summers in a bee garden. When I visited him he would give me some honey

Once, I had gone to the bee garden and was walking between the hives. I was not frightened of bees because Granddad had taught me to be quiet and still as I approached them. And the bees had grown used to me and did not sting me. But that day I heard something making an awful din in one of the hives. So I went to Granddad in his little hut and told him about it.

He came with me, listened carefully, and said:

“One swarm, the primer, has already left this hive with the old queen bee; and now young queen bees are hatching out. Tomorrow they’ll fly off with other swarms.”

I asked Granddad what sort of bees the queens were, and he said:

“Well, a queen bee is just like an emperor among the people. Without her there would be no bees.”

“But what does she look like?” I asked.

“Come here tomorrow,” he said, “and, God willing, they’ll be swarming. I’ll show you and give you some honey”

Next day when I visited Granddad he had two swarms of bees in cardboard boxes on his porch. Granddad told me to put on a face net that covered my neck. Then he took one swarm of bees in a cardboard box and carried it to the bee garden. How the bees buzzed in their box! I was a bit scared of them and thrust my hands deep into my jacket pockets. But since I so wanted to take a look at the queen bee I followed Granddad.

Once in the garden, Granddad went up to an empty wooden trough, opened the cardboard box, and tipped the bees out of it into the trough. The bees crawled along the trough into a hollow log attached to it, trumpeting all the while, as Granddad poked them with his broom.

And there was the queen! He pointed her out with his broom.

She had a long body and short wings. At once she mingled with the others and soon was lost from sight.

Then Granddad took off my face net and led me back to the hut, where he gave me a big piece of honey As I ate it I got it smeared all over my face and hands, so when I came home my mother said:

“Your silly old Granddad’s been spoiling you with honey again!”

“But he gave me honey,” I said, “for finding him a hive of young queen bees yesterday, and just now we’ve been planting a new swarm together“

THE TIRED SWAN

Across the open sea flew a flock of swans to warmer climes. Farther, yet farther they winged their way through golden dawns and crimson sunsets, cloudless days and stormy nights, on and on without a rest above the shifting waters.

Beating their graceful wings in tuneful rhythm like some angelic choir, the tired swans longed for repose, a haven to rest their aching bodies. But there was no stopping place on their perilous journey Nothing but the boundless sky above and the forbidding sea below.

It was night. The moon cast a violet haze upon the water and lit up a lone white figure steadily falling behind the flying group. All of a sudden, with a resigned quiver of its tired wings, it ceased to flap and plunged down toward the ocean.

Meantime, its companions flew on without a backward glance, their bodies arched in graceful silhouette against the moonlit sky No silent witness to the loss.

Sending up a sudden spray, the lone swan landed on the water; the sea bobbed and bounced beneath it as it floated on the angry waves.

By now the flock of swans was no more than a thin white line smeared across the distant sky And in the still of night the lone swan barely caught the faint swish of beating wings. Its sad gaze followed them out of sight until, with a heaving sigh, it curved back its neck and closed its tired eyes.

It made no struggle: the sea rose and fell with it into the wide rolling waves.