All at once Hans came upon the most beautiful flower you ever saw, growing up through the snow. It was so white that it sparkled like a hundred snow crystals, and it had the sweetest perfume, like the breath of all the flowers of summer. It seemed to say, “Pick me, little boy.”

Now Hans loved flowers more than anything else in the world. He reached out his hand for this beautiful one, but just then he seemed to see quite plainly his poor mother, waiting so ill at home. A little voice inside him said, “No,no, Hans; wait until you come back. Find the brown herb first.”

So Hans left the beautiful flower and trudged on farther, poking about under the snow. Just as it was growing dark he found the brown herb and put it joyfully into his pocket. He was hurrying home down the mountain side, when he remembered the white flower.

“Now I may pick it.” he said to himself.But when he went back to the place where the wonderful flower had been, it was not there at all. In its place stood a wee little brown elf,bowing and taking off his hat to Hans.

“Don’t be afraid.” he said to the boy, smiling all over his wrinkled little face. “Come right in.”

Then the strangest thing happened. The side of the mountain opened wide like a door!The little elf skipped along in front, to show the way, and Hans found himself in the most beautiful castle you ever saw. It was all so bright that it dazzled his eyes. From room to room they went, and in every room were piles and piles of precious stones — emeralds and rubies and pearls!

“Help yourself, Hans.” said the elf, as he brought out a large sack. “Take as many of these precious stones as you like. A boy who is as good to his mother as you are deserves a present.”

So Hans began to fill the sack with the emeralds, rubies, and pearls, and the elf kept telling him to take more and more. At last the sack was full, and suddenly Hans found himself in the snow again. He could not see even a crack in the ice to show where the little elf had stood.

The bag of precious stones, which Hans had slung over his shoulder, was heavy, but his heart was light, and he went home as fast as his snowshoes would carry him.

“Mother, mother!” he cried, as he ran in and threw his arms about her. “See!” and he emptied the sack upon the floor. “We are not poor any more! And see!” he went on, as he pulled the brown herb from his pocket.

They made a broth with the brown herb, and as soon as the good mother tasted it she was quite well again. And the wonderful sack of jewels never grew empty as long as they lived.

— Carolyn S. Bailey hZMvMr5B4OxR8Ur2P7L7MQPKVQHwpcz4kJLAuowzvIQ59SpoPyQ4LtJ+jSz6uPSO