long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter. he was very poor and sad also, for no child had heaven sent to cheer his old age, and in his heart there was no hope of rest from work till he died and was laid in the quiet grave. every morning he went forth into the woods and hills wherever the bamboo reared its lithe green plumes against the sky. when he had made his choice, he would cut down these feathers of the forest, and splitting them lengthwise, or cutting them into joints, would carry the bamboo wood home and make it into various articles for the household, and he and his old wife gained a small livelihood by selling them.