MARGHERITA had a disapprove of her temple and a stressed sentiment wrong in her heart. She wasn't generally cheerful for two entire days — not since she had talked unkindly of her little companion Marie, and rehashed a tale about her that she didn't know was valid.
She knew she could never feel great about it until she had talked it over with Mother, however she would have rather not have her know. At last, she couldn't stand it any more, and, tossing her arms around her mom's neck, she informed all concerning it.
Mother looked exceptionally sad, yet all that she said was, "Rita, I need you to go to the three-section of land part around the metal forger shop and assemble a modest bunch of the cocoa seed-units o' the milkweed. On your way home, open the cases and let the little winged seeds take off for a skip with the wind. At that point return to me."
She Ran and Bounced and Hopped Through the Field
This seemed like a light denunciation, and Margherita rapidly discovered some milkweed plants. She ran and bounced and hopped through the field, hurling from her hands the smooth, coasting seeds. Pink-cheeked and grinning, she returned to her mom.
"Presently," said her mom, "backpedal to the field, and, in transit, accumulate the seeds you have scattered, each one, and convey them to me."
The young lady set out to do as she was bidden. Be that as it may, as she go along, she found that the frolicsome wind had scattered the fragile seeds far and wide. Indeed, even among the leaves of the wayside trees they had flown, and through the fences, and over the little waterway that went through the town.
Some of them had found another field, where they settled themselves to build up new states of milkweed plants.
Finally, disheartened and practically in tears, Margherita backpedaled to her mom with just a couple of the seeds she had scattered.
"My little girl," Mother stated, "it was quite recently this that you did when you scattered unkind words about Marie, regardless of whether they were false or genuine. Talked expressions of fault and doubt might resemble little starts of flame falling in dried grass; they may bring about awesome harm — at, home, maybe, or at school, or even on the planet. What's more, words once talked are scattered like milkweed seeds.
Young men flying kites pull in their white-winged fowls;
You can't do that way when you're flying words.
"Cautious with flame," is solid counsel, we know:
"Cautious with words," is ten circumstances doubly so.
Musings unexpressed may once in a while fall back dead;
Yet, God Himself can't execute them when they're said!
She knew she could never feel great about it until she had talked it over with Mother, however she would have rather not have her know. At last, she couldn't stand it any more, and, tossing her arms around her mom's neck, she informed all concerning it.
Mother looked exceptionally sad, yet all that she said was, "Rita, I need you to go to the three-section of land part around the metal forger shop and assemble a modest bunch of the cocoa seed-units o' the milkweed. On your way home, open the cases and let the little winged seeds take off for a skip with the wind. At that point return to me."
She Ran and Bounced and Hopped Through the Field
This seemed like a light denunciation, and Margherita rapidly discovered some milkweed plants. She ran and bounced and hopped through the field, hurling from her hands the smooth, coasting seeds. Pink-cheeked and grinning, she returned to her mom.
"Presently," said her mom, "backpedal to the field, and, in transit, accumulate the seeds you have scattered, each one, and convey them to me."
The young lady set out to do as she was bidden. Be that as it may, as she go along, she found that the frolicsome wind had scattered the fragile seeds far and wide. Indeed, even among the leaves of the wayside trees they had flown, and through the fences, and over the little waterway that went through the town.
Some of them had found another field, where they settled themselves to build up new states of milkweed plants.
Finally, disheartened and practically in tears, Margherita backpedaled to her mom with just a couple of the seeds she had scattered.
"My little girl," Mother stated, "it was quite recently this that you did when you scattered unkind words about Marie, regardless of whether they were false or genuine. Talked expressions of fault and doubt might resemble little starts of flame falling in dried grass; they may bring about awesome harm — at, home, maybe, or at school, or even on the planet. What's more, words once talked are scattered like milkweed seeds.
Young men flying kites pull in their white-winged fowls;
You can't do that way when you're flying words.
"Cautious with flame," is solid counsel, we know:
"Cautious with words," is ten circumstances doubly so.
Musings unexpressed may once in a while fall back dead;
Yet, God Himself can't execute them when they're said!
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