Story Hour Readings: Seventh Year - E. C. Hartwell

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foolish fears appal you,

       Come from out the crevices that hide you,

       Leave the worthless stones that are beside you,

       Leave the earth that lies around, above you,

       And come with me, for I do dearly love you."10

      Iron moved not, but timidly answered, "I dare not

       leave my hiding places; for Fire, my brother, waits to

       devour me. He is strong and fierce. He has no pity."

      The Smith shook his head and made reply, still singing:

      "No! your brother does not wish to harm you—15

       Willingly he never would alarm you.

       With his glowing arms he would caress you,

       Make you pure and with his kisses bless you.

       So come with me, my smithy waits to greet you;

       In my forge your brother waits to meet you—20

       Waits to throw his loving arms around you,

       Glad indeed that thus, at last, he's found you."

      These words made Iron feel much braver; and they

       were spoken in tones so sweet and persuasive that he was

       almost minded to obey without another word. But he asked,25

       "Why should I leave these places where I have rested so

       long? What will become of me after I have made friends

       with Fire?"

      Again the Smith replied to the query of Iron in a magic

       song:

      "Come with me, for kindly we will treat you.

       On my anvil gently will I beat you;

       With my tongs, then, deftly will I hold you; 5

       With my hammer I will shape and mold you

       Into forms so fair that all will prize you,

       Forms so rare that none will e'er despise you:

       Axes, knives (so men will wish to use you),

       Needles, pins (so women, too, will choose you). 10

       Come with me, your brother will not harm you,

       Come with me, my smithy sure will charm you."

      Hearing this, Iron came out of his lurking places and

       without more ado bashfully followed the cunning Smith.

       But no sooner was he in the smithy than he felt himself15

       a prisoner. The tongs of bronze gripped him and thrust

       him into the forge. The bellows roared, the Smith shouted,

       and Fire leaped joyfully out of the ashes and threw his

       arms around his helpless younger brother. And bashful,

       bashful Iron turned first red and then white and finally20

       became as soft as dough and as radiant as the sun.

      Then the tongs of bronze drew him forth from the flames,

       and twirled him in the air, and threw him upon the anvil;

       and the hammer of stone beat him fiercely again and again

       until he shrieked with pain.25

      "Oh, spare me! spare me!" he cried. "Do not deal so

       roughly with me. Let me go back to my lonely hiding

       places and lie there in peace as in the days of old."

      But the tongs pinched him worse than before, and the

       hammer beat him still harder, and the Smith answered: 30

      "Not so, not so! Be not so cowardly. We do not hurt

       you; you are only frightened. Be brave and I will shape

       you into things of great use to men. Be brave and you

       shall rule the world."

      Then in spite of Iron's piteous cries, he kept on pounding

       and twisting and turning and shaping the helpless metal 5

       until at length it was changed into many forms of use and

       beauty—rings, chains, axes, knives, cups, and curious

       tools. But it was so soft, after being thus heated and

       beaten, that the edges of the tools were quickly dulled.

       Try as he might, the Smith did not know how to give the 10

       metal a harder temper.

      One day a honeybee strolled that way. It buzzed

       around the smithy and then lit on a clover blossom by the

       door.

      "O bee," cried the busy Smith, "you are a cunning 15

       little bird, and you know some things better than I know

       them. Come now, and help me temper this soft metal.

       Bring me a drop of your honey; bring the sweet liquor

       which you suck from the meadow flower; bring the magic

       dew of the wildwood. Give me all such things that I may 20

       make a mixture to harden Iron."

      The bee answered not—it was too busy with its own

       affairs. It gathered what honey it could from the blossom

       and then flew swiftly away.

      Under the eaves above the smithy door an idler was 25

       sitting—a mischief-making hornet who heard every word

       that the Smith said.

      "I will help him make a mixture," this wicked insect

       muttered. "I will help him to give Iron another temper."

      Forthwith he flew to the thorny thickets and the miry 30

       bogs and the fever-breeding marshes, to gather what evils

       he might. Soon he returned with an arm load—the poison

       of spiders, the venom of serpents, the miasmata of swamps,

       the juice of the deadly nightshade. All these he cast into

       the tub of water wherein the Smith was vainly trying to

       temper Iron.

      The Smith did not see him, but he heard him buzzing 5

       and supposed it was the honeybee with sweets from the

       meadow flowers.

      "Thank you, pretty little bird," he said. "Now I hope

       we shall have a better metal. I hope we shall make edges

       that will cut and not be dulled so easily." 10

      Thereupon he drew a bar of the metal, white hot, from

       the forge. He held it, hissing and screeching, under the

       water into which the poisons had been poured. Little

       thought he of the evil that was there. He heard the hornet

       humming and laughing under the eaves. 15

      "Tiny honeybee," he said, "you have brought me much

       sweetness. Iron tempered with your honey will be sweet

       although sharp. Nothing shall be wrought of it that is

       not beautiful and helpful and kind."

      He drew the metal from the tub. He thrust it back 20

       among the red coals. He plied the bellows and the flames

      

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