A little girl passing by with a water-pitcher saw it shaking, and
asked: "Why do you shake yourself, little tree?"
"Why may I not?" said the tree:
"The little Spider's scalt herself,
And the Flea weeps;
The little door creaks with the pain,
And the broom sweeps;
The little cart runs on so fast,
And the ashes burn."
Then the maiden said: "If so, I will break my pitcher;" and she threw
it down and broke it.
At this the streamlet, from which she drew the water, asked:
"Why do you break your pitcher, my little girl?"
"Why may I not?" she replied; for
"The little Spider's scalt herself,
And the Flea weeps;
The little door creaks with the pain,
And the broom sweeps;
The little cart runs on so fast,
And the ashes burn;
The little tree shakes down its leaves--
Now it is my turn!"
"Ah, then," said the streamlet, "now must I begin to flow." And it
flowed and flowed along, in a great stream, which kept getting bigger
and bigger, until at last it swallowed up the little girl, the little
tree, the ashes, the cart, the broom, the door, the Flea, and, last of
all, the Spider, all together.
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