out of school, and the last spark was the schoolmaster. They often thought the last spark had come; and one would cry, “There goes the schoolmaster;” but the next moment another spark would appear, shining so beautifully. How they would like to know where the sparks all went to! Perhaps we shall find out some day, but we don’t know now.
The whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire, and was soon alight. “Ugh,” cried the paper as it burst into a bright flame; “ugh.” It was certainly not very pleasant to be burning; but when the whole was wrapped in flames, the flames mounted up into the air higher than the flax had ever been able to raise its little blue flower, and they glistened as the white linen never could have glistened. All the written letters became quite red in a moment and all the words and thoughts turned to fire.
“Now I am mounting straight up to the sun,” said a voice in the flames; and it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words and the flames darted up through the chimney, and went out at the top. Then a number of tiny beings, as many in number as the as the flowers on the flax had been, and unseen to mortal eyes, floated above them. They were even lighter and more delicate than the flowers from which they were born; and as the flames went out, and nothing remained of the paper but black ashes, these little beings danced upon it; and whenever they touched it, bright red sparks appeared.
“The children are all out of school, and the schoolmaster was the last of all,” said the children. It was good fun, and they sang over the dead ashes
Basse lurre:
The song is ended.”
But the little unseen beings said, “The song is never ended; the most beautiful is yet to come.”
But the children could neither hear nor understand this, nor should they, for children must not know everything.
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