22 THE OPEN AIR. 



summer night, and the fern owls flew to and fro, and 

 the bats and crickets chirped, and the stars shone 

 faintly, as if they were made pale by the heat. The 

 poor papa never had a house, but that little Guido 

 lived to grow up a great man, and he worked so hard, 

 and he was so clever, and every one loved him, which 

 was the best of all things. He bought this very field 

 and then another, and another, and got such a lot of 

 the old fields back again, and the goldfinches sang 

 for joy, and so did the larks and the thrushes, because 

 they said what a kind man he was. Then his son 

 got some more of them, till at last your papa bought 

 ever so many more. But we often talk about the 

 little boy who slept in the wheat in this field, which 

 was his father's father's field. If only the wheat 

 then could have helped him, and been kind to him, 

 you may be sure it would. We love you so much 

 we like to see the very crumbs left by the men who 

 do the hoeing when they eat their crusts ; we wish 

 they could have more to eat, but we like to see their 

 crumbs, which you know are made of wheat, so that 

 we have done them some good at least." 



" That's not a story," said Guido. 



"There's a gold coin here somewhere," said the 

 Wheat, " such a pretty one, it would make a capital 

 button for your jacket, dear, or for your mamma ; 

 that is all any sort of money is good for ; I wish all 

 the coins were made into buttons for little Guido." 



"Where is it? "said Guido. 



" I can't exactly tell where it is," said the Wheat. 

 "It was very near me once, and I thought the next 

 thunder's rain would wash it down into the streamlet 



