The Hill

CANNOT walk up this hill," said the little boy. "I cannot possibly do it. What will become of me? I must stay here all my life, at the foot of the hill: it is too terrible!"

"That is a pity!" said his sister. "But look, little boy! I have found such a pleasant thing to play. Take a step, and see how clear a footprint you can make in the dust. Look at mine! every single line in my foot is printed clear. Now, do you try, and see if you can do as well!"

The little boy took a step.

"Mine is just as clear!" he said.

"Do you think so?" said his sister. "See mine, again here! I tread harder than you, because I am heavier, and so the print is deeper. Try again."

"Now mine is just as deep!" cried the little boy. "See! here, and here, and here, they are just as deep as they can be."

"Yes, that is very well," said his sister; "but now it is my turn; let me try again, and we shall see."

They kept on, step by step, matching their footprints, and laughing to see the gray dust puff up between their bare toes.

By and by the little boy looked up.

"Why!" he said, "we are at the top of the hill!"

"Dear me!" said his sister. "So we are!"