There was once a little rock that was weary of lying in the same spot day after day. It was smooth and dull grey, not like its great neighbours that towered above it, covered with bright green moss, or those that had turned out fine white pebbles after a good scrubbing.
The little thing sighed deeply and said to itself, “If I had only something to do there might be some sense in lying here; but, as it is, it is just dull, dull, dull! If I could only run races like the water-cresses, blowing my green top along so lightly that one can hardly see it in what the people call a ‘breeze,’ or only grow into a strong tree and take a sweet little birdie on my head like that tall flowering rush that is standing back in its sunny nook going to sleep because it doesn’t know what else to do, and watches the crickets jump instead; or only be a bush, or something else fresh and pretty!”
“Oh dear, if I could only jump about and dance along like the grasshoppers! How I should love to do that!” said the little rock.
It was in a sunny field, where all sorts of living creatures were perched, or crawling, or hopping about, or tumbling over each other, or blowing trumpets, just as their fancy led them, without stopping a moment to think of the varying opinions of their neighbours.
Rocky the Rock sighed again. It was not long to wait before punishment for his discontent came. At evening-time came a terrible tempest, with howling, shrieking wind, and rain which beat and blinded him, and daffodils, daisies, and such like, whom he had often spoken ill of, were flowing like a stream one after the other, which they could with difficulty all the time keep up-right.
Still the poor little rock tried to endure with patience the terrible punishment, when he could hear instead of all these confused sounds a little creature as it were repeatedly lifting up its voice with:
“Social happiness starts with kindness and helping others. No matter how small a thing one does for the sake of others, it will be sure to yield fruit; small things make great things grow. Oh listen, good friend!”
And Rocky the Rock listened and felt that the thing that crawled round his rough hard head was a snail.
The next day it was calm again, and his neighbours, all crying bitterly for their lost daffodils and daisies, had nothing to say against Rocky; so he resolved to remain firm and unchanged in the determination he had made to be nothing but what he was.
Later, however, came two thirsty travellers, a goose and a baby, right where he was lying. The former stopped, slapped his bill about, cackled and cried, “No water, no water! What a miserable spot!”
And yet just there was a little pool left that trickled little by little between the stones.
“What a charming place, my darling. What lovely fresh spring-water there is!” said the old woman to the little traveler when they stopped to lay a little baby-like face into the cup the crickets had made.
And the barnacles crept close up to the surface of the pool, and were refreshed like sponges, while the little rock began to hope again.
A little brown book-worm crawled in and out of the cracks and crevices that were in the little unfortunate rock, and read a great deal that he had never got before, the big ones reading-at least what they had to say from the book of nature.
But the last thing to happen was, that a most beautiful little starry flower placed itself on a rich green stem, and looked around as its neighbours here and there left a broad space for it to grow in, but advanced towards Rocky, and with the shyest of voices said, “Look, here I am. Will you not please let me? I can grow nowhere else; I am lowly and humble, but no one can help me more than you do.”
Then did Rocky the Rock wake up, strike root, blossom, waft scent, revive his stagnant water, and said resolutely, “Securely will I abide here, happy will I be. He who strives for his fellow men will sure be rewarded in himself, no matter how small it is that we do.”