might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.

But little Pippa did not know this; she had passed on singing.

Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on. And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:

All service ranks the same with God:
... there is no last nor first."

The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.

Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown faint, and he waited.

And it chanced that Pippa passed, singing, and her song reached the man; and it was to him as if God called. He rose up strong and brave, and leaping to his horse he rode away to give the great deed to the world.

At night when the tired Pippa lay upon her little bed, she said to the day, "Sweet Day, you brought me no loving deed to give in payment for the joy you gave."

But the day knew.

And on the morrow, the child Pippa went back to the mill and wound the silk bobbins, and she was so full of gladness, she hummed with them all day.Contents

Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom,
The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom,
A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows
The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?
Know'st thou it well?
Ah! there—Ah, there would I fare!

—From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."

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By Paul Kiessling

MIGNON

MIGNON.

Once there was a band of people who did nothing but wander about from village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces. They had no homes or gardens or fields, but the fathers earned the living by doing remarkable things.

The little children played in the wagons, and the mothers cooked the meals over the camp-fire when they stopped outside the village, and they were quite happy after their own fashion. But often, when they passed down the streets between the rows of thatched houses with children playing in the yards, it all seemed to them something very beautiful indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was possible.

The little girl of the strong man, and the little boy whose father walked on his hands, often stood a long, long time looking through the fence at children who had real hollyhocks in their yards, besides a little green tree growing right out of the thatch on the top of the roof; and in some of the houses, where the doors stood open, they could see the most shining pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.

But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse, with all the leaves brushed away and the rooms marked out with little sticks, they had to leave it next day. This was very discouraging, of course. Even the fathers and mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when they rode through the beautiful country. It was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it really seemed calling to them in a loving voice. But they always went on and on, from place to place, and no one ever knew what the real message was. But sometimes, deep in the strong man's heart there grew the strangest longing to go into the fields and reap and bind with the reapers, so that he too might see the yellow sheaves standing together when work was over.

In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest weights, and held the little boy and his own little girl straight out with his hands quite a long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But there was never anything after, to show it had been done, except a great deal of clapping and calling from the people. And this was partly for the children, who had such round, pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as the father put them down. The strong man was always thinking of this when he walked beside the wagon and looked off over the fields where the men were working. And it was so with all of them; but as no one spoke of it they were thought to be a very gay company, for they laughed quite often. And after all, it did seem to them a very grand thing when they entered the village. The people ran to the doors and windows, and streamed out of the inn; and the children ran after the wagon, looking at them with the greatest wonder.

Whatever sadness they may have felt about their life, they forgot it entirely when they stood before the people in their spangled suits. Then it seemed to them quite the greatest thing to make a whole village stare. They walked about very proudly, and talked in very deep tones. Sometimes they allowed one or two of the largest boys to help make ready for the show. In one of the villages, the shoemaker's lame Charlie had helped lay the carpet on which the strong man stood when he did his part.

Among these people who went about there was a child. Her name was Mignon; and when the tumblers had leaped over the high rods and stood upon each other's shoulders for the last time, and the strong man had bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause, this Mignon danced for the people. When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful music had sounded, she would come slowly forward, and placing her hands on her breast she would bow very low, and begin to stir and sway in time. How beautiful it was! It was like a flower in the wind, and all the people stood still and looked with wonder.

Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest song that ever was sung by a child. It was always about far-off lands, where it seemed to her the real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes of all the people as they listened, and when it was over and they were again at their work, a deep sadness seemed in everything. They too had begun to think that the real joy might be a long, long way off from them.

And Mignon went on from village to village, singing and dancing and seeking. Always she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow, in the next village or the next, I will find the real joy? it will come to me as I sing or stir with the beautiful music!"

But, children, Mignon never found it.

The feet that were meant to fly on loving errands only danced, and though it was so beautiful it was really nothing, and the real joy was not in it.

Do you not know that every little child that comes into the world has a blessed deed in its