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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END
tender moss pressed his little feet, and the delicate grass embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his hands, and even the branches stroked his cheeks with a kind and refreshing touch, and the high trees threw their fragrant shade around him.
There was no end to his delight. The little birds warbled and sang, and fluttered and hopped about, and the delicate woodflowers gave out their beauty and their odours; and every sweet sound took a sweet odour by the hand, and thus walked through the open door of the Child’s heart, and held a joyous nuptial dance therein. But the nightingale and the lily of the
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