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summer there had been a long drought, made more painful by intense heat. Young trees drooped; many plants withered away; and the newly-mown grass crisped under the feet as though it would never spring again.

The master of a garden went forth at the sunset to water it. He was grieved to see how his nurslings suffered. The slight branches of the fruit-bearing trees were brittle, and broke at the touch; and the juiceless berries, shrinking away, tried to hide behind their yellow leaves.

The cisterns had become low, and the shallow brooklets were dry; yet he gave water to all his plants, as plentifully as he could. Still they looked languidly at him, as if asking—"Can you do nothing more to help us?" Some were perishing at the root, for the earth to which they clung was like powder and dust.