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安徒生童话 LITTLE TUK

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  "WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of God comes down

  from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his

  great white wings, and flies with him over all the places

  which the child had loved during his life. Then he gathers a

  large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the Almighty1,

  that they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on

  earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to His heart, but

  He kisses the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives a

  voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss2."

  These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried

  a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a

  dream. Then they passed over well-known spots, where the

  little one had often played, and through beautiful gardens

  full of lovely flowers.

  "Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be

  transplanted there?" asked the angel.

  Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some

  wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds

  hung faded and withered3 on the trailing branches.

  "Poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us take it with us

  to heaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden."

  The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child,

  and the little one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered

  also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble

  buttercups and heart's-ease.

  "Now we have flowers enough," said the child; but the

  angel only nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.

  It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here they

  remained, and the angel hovered4 over a small, narrow street,

  in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings5 from

  the houses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of

  plates, pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish

  not pleasant to see. Amidst all this confusion, the angel

  pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump of

  earth which had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from

  falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field-flower,

  which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.

  "We will take this with us," said the angel, "I will tell

  you why as we fly along."

  And as they flew the angel related the history.

  "Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor

  sick boy; he had been afflicted6 from his childhood, and even

  in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the

  room on crutches7 once or twice, but no more. During some days

  in summer, the sunbeams would lie on the floor of the cellar

  for about half an hour. In this spot the poor sick boy would

  sit warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the red

  blood through his delicate fingers as he held them before his

  face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing

  of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor's

  son brought him a green bough8 from a beech-tree. This he would

  place over his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood

  while the sun shone, and the birds carolled gayly. One spring

  day the neighbor's boy brought him some field-flowers, and

  among them was one to which the root still adhered. This he

  carefully planted in a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat

  near his bed. And the flower had been planted by a fortunate

  hand, for it grew, put forth9 fresh shoots, and blossomed every

  year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick boy, and

  his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and cherished

  it, and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam

  that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest morning

  ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself even in

  his dreams- for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume.

  And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even

  in death, when the Lord called him. He has been one year with

  God. During that time the flower has stood in the window,

  withered and forgotten, till at length cast out among the

  sweepings into the street, on the day of the lodgers10' removal.

  And this poor flower, withered and faded as it is, we have

  added to our nosegay, because it gave more real joy than the

  most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."

  "But how do you know all this?" asked the child whom the

  angel was carrying to heaven.

  "I know it," said the angel, "because I myself was the

  poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own

  flower well."

  Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the

  glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they

  found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness

  and joy. And God pressed the dead child to His heart, and

  wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel, hand

  in hand. Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to His

  heart; but He kissed the withered field-flower, and it

  received a voice. Then it joined in the song of the angels,

  who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant

  circle, but all equally happy. They all joined in the chorus

  of praise, both great and small,- the good, happy child, and

  the poor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on

  a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street.

  THE END

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