The WONDERFUL PUMP

Not many years ago there lived on a stony, barren New England farm a man and his wife.  They were sober, honest people, working hard from early morning until dark to enable them to secure a scanty living from their poor land.

Their house, a small, one-storied building, stood upon the side of a steep hill, and the stones lay so thickly about it that scarce anything green could grow from the ground.  At the foot of the hill, a quarter of a mile from the house by the winding path, was a small brook, and the woman was obliged to go there for water and to carry it up the hill to the house.  This was a tedious task, and with the other hard work that fell to her share had made her gaunt and bent and lean.

Yet she never complained, but meekly and faithfully performed her duties, doing the housework, carrying the water and helping her husband hoe the scanty crop that grew upon the best part of their land.

One day, as she walked down the path to the brook, her big shoes scattering the pebbles right and left, she noticed a large beetle lying upon its back and struggling hard with its little legs to turn over, that its feet might again touch the ground.  But this it could not accomplish; so the woman, who had a kind heart, reached down and gently turned the beetle with her finger.  At once it scampered from the path and she went on to the brook.

The next day, as she came for water, she was surprised to see the beetle again lying upon its back and struggling helplessly to turn.  Once more the woman stopped and set him upon his feet; and then, as she stooped over the tiny creature, she heard a small voice say: 

“Oh, thank you!  Thank you so much for saving me!”

Half frightened at hearing a beetle speak in her own language, the woman started back and exclaimed: 

“La sakes!  Surely you can’t talk like humans!” Then, recovering from her alarm, she again bent over the beetle, who answered her: 

“Why shouldn’t I talk, if I have anything to say?

“’Cause you’re a bug,” replied the woman.

“That is true; and you saved my life—­saved me from my enemies, the sparrows.  And this is the second time you have come to my assistance, so I owe you a debt of gratitude.  Bugs value their lives as much as human beings, and I am a more important creature than you, in your ignorance, may suppose.  But, tell me, why do you come each day to the brook?”

“For water,” she answered, staring stupidly down at the talking beetle.

“Isn’t it hard work?” the creature inquired.

“Yes; but there’s no water on the hill,” said she.

“Then dig a well and put a pump in it,” replied the beetle.

She shook her head.

“My man tried it once; but there was no water,” she said, sadly.

“Try it again,” commanded the beetle; “and in return for your kindness to me I will make this promise:  if you do not get water from the well you will get that which is more precious to you.  I must go now.  Do not forget.  Dig a well.”