"Which of them is Misfortune's flower and which is that of Happiness?" asked
she.

"That I will not tell thee," said Death; "but this thou shalt know from me,
that the one flower was thy own child! it was thy child's fate thou
saw'st--thy own child's future life!"

Then the mother screamed with terror, "Which of them was my child? Tell it me!
Save the innocent! Save my child from all that misery! Rather take it away!
Take it into God's kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my prayers, and all that I
have done!"

"I do not understand thee!" said Death. "Wilt thou have thy child again, or
shall I go with it there, where thou dost not know!"

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our Lord:
"Oh, hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is the best! hear me not!
hear me not!"

And she bowed her head down in her lap, and Death took her child and went with
it into the unknown land.



THE FALSE COLLAR

There was once a fine gentleman, all of whose moveables were a boot-jack and a
hair-comb: but he had the finest false collars in the world; and it is about
one of these collars that we are now to hear a story.

It was so old, that it began to think of marriage; and it happened that it
came to be washed in company with a garter.

"Nay!" said the collar. "I never did see anything so slender and so fine, so
soft and so neat. May I not ask your name?"

"That I shall not tell you!" said the garter.

"Where do you live?" asked the collar.

But the garter was so bashful, so modest, and thought it was a strange
question to answer.

"You are certainly a girdle," said the collar; "that is to say an inside
girdle. I see well that you are both for use and ornament, my dear young
lady."

"I will thank you not to speak to me," said the garter. "I think I have not
given the least occasion for it."

"Yes! When one is as handsome as you," said the collar, "that is occasion
enough."

"Don't come so near me, I beg of you!" said the garter. "You look so much like
those men-folks."

"I am also a fine gentleman," said the collar. "I have a bootjack and a
hair-comb."

But that was not true, for it was his master who had them: but he boasted.

"Don't come so near me," said the garter: "I am not accustomed to it."

"Prude!" exclaimed the collar; and then it was taken out of the washing-tub.
It was starched, hung over the back of a chair in the sunshine, and was then
laid on the ironing-blanket; then came the warm box-iron. "Dear lady!" said
the collar. "Dear widow-lady! I feel quite hot. I am quite changed. I begin to
unfold myself. You will burn a hole in me. Oh! I offer you my hand."

"Rag!" said the box-iron; and went proudly over the collar: for she fancied
she was a steam-engine, that would go on the railroad and draw the waggons.
"Rag!" said the box-iron.

The collar was a little jagged at the edge, and so came the long scissors to
cut off the jagged part. "Oh!" said the collar. "You are certainly the first
opera dancer. How well you can stretch your legs out! It is the most graceful
performance I have ever seen. No one can imitate you."

"I know it," said the scissors.

"You deserve to be a baroness," said the collar. "All that I have is a fine
gentleman, a boot-jack, and a hair-comb. If I only had the barony!"

"Do you seek my hand?" said the scissors; for she was angry; and without more
ado, she CUT HIM, and then he was condemned.

"I shall now be obliged to ask the hair-comb. It is surprising how well you
preserve your teeth, Miss," said the collar. "Have you never thought of being
betrothed?"

"Yes, of course! you may be sure of that," said the hair-comb. "I AM
betrothed--to the boot-jack!"

"Betrothed!" exclaimed the collar. Now there was no other to court, and so he
despised it.

A long time passed away, then the collar came into the rag chest at the paper
mill; there was a large company of rags, the fine by themselves, and the
coarse by themselves, just as it should be. They all had much to say, but the


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