THE BALLOON
A little boy walks by his mother's side, with one hand in hers and a balloon in the other. A sudden gust of wind snatches the balloon away from the boy's hand and bears it skyward. As it flies higher, the excited people in the street all look up. "Surely," the balloon says to itself, feeling proud of its uprising, "they all envy me of my ascent." Then in its upward flight it passes by a balcony on which a group of boys and girls are standing, giving a cry of excitement when seeing an escaped balloon hurry on its way of freedom. "They are cheering me, I'm sure." The balloon thinks. Up and up it soars, above the roof, above the spire, through a thin cloud, into the blue sky. Then a dove hovers near, but after a glance at it, flies away with indifference. "Of course, the bird nears to salute me," The buoyant balloon flatters itself in exultation, "but as I ignore her to keep my dignity, she takes herself away in awe and respect." The higher it clambers, the haughtier it becomes, till it reaches the zenith where it means to stay for millions of years, but, alas, it bursts!