all the children got dreadfully stung.  Then he tried settle, and hung the kettle over the settle.  But that was no place for it; they had to go without their tea, and everybody who sat on the settle bumped his head against the kettle.  At last it occurred to Father Flower that if he should make a slight change in the language the kettle could rhyme with the skillet, and sit beside it on the stove, as it ought, leaving harmony out of the question, to do.  Accordingly all the children were instructed to call the skillet a skettle, and the kettle stood by its side on the stove ever afterward.

[Illustration:  The Settle]

The house was a very pretty one, although it was quite rude and very simple.  It was built of logs and had a thatched roof, which projected far out over the walls.  But it was all overrun with the loveliest flowering vines imaginable, and, inside, nothing could have been more exquisitely neat and homelike; although there was only one room and a little garret over it.  All around the house were the flower-beds and the vine-trellises and the blooming shrubs, and they were always in the most beautiful order.  Now, although all this was very pretty to see, and seemingly very simple to bring to pass, yet there was a vast deal of labor in it for some one; for flowers do not look so trim and thriving without tending, and houses do not look so spotlessly clean without constant care.  All the Flower family worked hard; even the littlest children had their daily tasks set them.  The oldest girl, especially, little Flax Flower, was kept busy from morning till night taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, and weeding flowers.  But for all that she was a very happy little girl, as indeed were the whole family, as they did not mind working, and loved each other dearly.

Father Flower, to be sure, felt a little sad sometimes; for, although his lot in life was a pleasant one, it was not exactly what he would have chosen.  Once in a while he had a great longing for something different.  He confided a great many of his feelings to Flax Flower; she was more like him than any of the other children, and could understand him even better than his wife, he thought.

One day, when there had been a heavy shower and a beautiful rainbow, he and Flax were out in the garden tying up some rose-bushes, which the rain had beaten down, and he said to her how he wished he could find the Pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow.  Flax, if you will believe me, had never heard of it; so he had to tell her all about it, and also say a little poem he had made about it to her.

The poem ran something in this way: 

  O what is it shineth so golden-clear
     At the rainbow’s foot on the dark green hill? 
  ’Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year
     Has shone, and is shining and dazzling still. 
  And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray? 
  For thee, Sweetheart, should’st thou go that way.