POVERINA

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Aw old farmer lay upon his death-bed. He had lived an honest, pure, and blameless life, and therefore awaited death with calm resignation.

He cast his eyes about him — the house was old, yet well built — it was filled with the comforts supplied by a moderate income. His lands were well-tilled and rich in a summer verdure.

The old man pondered how his old companions had grown wealthy, built fine houses, and bought herds and jewels.

As the first shudder of death crept over his soul, he called unto his bedside three daughters, all young, fair, and sensible.

"My beloved ones," he whispered, "I have passed my youth and later years in endeavoring to find the best way to live — I have found it in moderation. You, I cannot expect to be satisfied with my experience. You shall judge for yourselves.

"When I commenced to grow rich, I looked around me. Some friends had become wealthy in advance. They bought and built, added luxuries to comforts and replaced comforts with show. They were never satisfied — but always grasping, hoping, wishing for more. I owned my farm. My business was prosperous. I founded a scheme I then believed the height of wisdom. I dug a trench in my cellar and placed therein all my overplus funds. It is astonishing how fast they multiplied; but I cared not for them. I had the means of living like my neighbors, and this rendered me satisfied.

"I feel now that this gold could have done much good in the world. I have retained bread from hungry mouths, and clothing from suffering bodies. We have no right to hoard money — justice and right require that it be constantly passing and exchanging, that the poor may catch a glimpse of it, or the necessities it brings them. I leave to you, my children, the distribution of my earnings. Take it — each one seek the happiest life."

Soon after, the old man expired.

His daughters truly grieved for so estimable a parent. Three years after his death, they sat alone in the sitting room. The sun shone through the elm branches, and imaged a shower of golden coins upon the painted floor.

Reichen, the eldest, gazed upon them musingly.

"Sisters," she exclaimed, starting from a revery, "the great wealth our father left us, still lies buried in the earth. His last wish is unfulfilled. Let us this day choose our path and follow it. We can divide the gold, take each her portion, and commence a search for happiness."

"I agree," replied Parnassa. "What do you say, little sister?"

"Our father's wish should be fulfilled," answered the youngest.

"Let us then make our choice," cried the enthusiastic Reichen.

"Commence then; you are eldest."

"Well, I will seek the rich and fashionable, the lovers of fun and frolic, the leaders of mirth. They have always appeared to me happy as the day is long."

"And you, Parnassa," said the younger.

"I will remain here in our old home. I will seek for knowledge and fame. Those whose name trembles on every lip with praise, must be supremely happy. I will exchange all my gold for a laurel wreath."

"You choose, little sister."

"I would try a lower path — a descent is often happier than an ascent. It is easier to rise than fall."

The sisters shook their heads and answered, "You have chosen badly, Poverina. Reconsider, there is yet time." But she smiled faintly and was steadfast. All that week, they passed in counting and dividing the gold; and the next week in making preparations for their departures.

One bright morning Reichen, dressed in silks and jewels, stepped into an elegant carriage; her gold was in handsome trunks in the carriage; a liveried servant held the reins, and another closed the door. As far as the other two could see her, her mirthful bonnet-plumes waved in the air, and her laced pocket handkerchief fluttered a last farewell.

An hour after little Poverina, in a gray hood and coarse blue gown, passed out on foot. She dragged behind her a little wagon filled with her share of the treasure, and covered ostensibly with carrots and cabbages for the market.

Parnassa watched the last fold of her dress, as she turned down the hill, and, wiping away her tears, cried, "Now for books, books!" and went into the house, closing the door after her.

Next Part POVERINA 2

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