His name was Char-ney, and he was very sad and
un-hap-py. He had been put into prison wrong-ful-ly, and it seemed to
him as though there was no one in the world who cared for him.
He could not read, for there were no books in the prison. He was not
allowed to have pens or paper, and so he could not write. The time
dragged slowly by. There was nothing that he could do to make the days
seem shorter. His only pastime was walking back and forth in the paved
prison yard. There was no work to be done, no one to talk with.
One fine morning in spring, Char-ney was taking his walk in the yard.
He was counting the paving stones, as he had done a thousand times
before. All at once he stopped. What had made that little mound of
earth between two of the stones?
He stooped down to see. A seed of some kind had fallen between the
stones. It had sprouted; and now a tiny green leaf was pushing its way
up out of the ground. Charney was about to crush it with his foot,
when he saw that there was a kind of soft coating over the leaf.
"Ah!" said he. "This coating is to keep it safe. I must not harm it."
And he went on with his walk.
The next day he almost stepped upon the plant before he thought of it.
He stooped to look at it.
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