Once upon a time, in a busy meadow, there lived a very small ant. Though tiny, the ant had a heart full of courage. One hot summer’s day, the sun blazed so fiercely that the streams dried up, and the grass curled into brown wisps. The ant grew desperately thirsty.
He scurried here and there, searching for even a drop of water. Scuttle-scuttle, scuttle-scuttle! He peered under leaves, checked between pebbles, and even climbed a tall stalk of wheat, but there was nothing.
At last, the ant sank to the ground, dizzy with thirst. “Oh no,” he thought. “I will surely die.” Just then, plop!, a single drop of water fell from the sky. It landed right beside him, sparkling like a jewel. With all the strength he had left, the ant crawled to the drop and drank.
Instantly, he felt refreshed and alive again. But this was no ordinary drop of water: it was a magical tear that had fallen from someone nearby. And because of its power, something remarkable happened: the ant suddenly discovered that he could understand and speak the language of humans!
Curious, he followed the sound of soft sobbing. Soon, he came upon a grain store. There, in the shadowy corner, sat a little girl. Her cheeks were wet with tears.
“Why are you so sad?” asked the ant, in a tiny but clear voice.
The girl gasped. “An ant, talking!” Then she sighed. “I am imprisoned here by a cruel ogre. He says he will only set me free if I sort these three enormous heaps of grain: rye, barley, and wheat. But they are all mixed together in one mountain! Even if I worked forever, I could never finish.” She buried her face in her hands. “If it isn’t done by tomorrow, he will eat me for his supper.”
The ant’s heart was moved with pity. “Do not weep,” he said kindly. “You are not alone. My friends and I will help you.”
Off he ran, as fast as his little legs could carry him. Scuttle-scuttle, scuttle-scuttle! Soon, he returned with hundreds, no, thousands, of fellow ants from his colony. They lined up like a black river and poured into the grain store.
All night long, they worked. Tiny jaws clicked, tiny feet carried seeds, and the great mountain of grain began to shrink. Rye went into one heap, barley into another, wheat into a third. The little girl watched in wonder.
By morning, when the ogre stomped in with his heavy boots and booming voice, he was stunned. Before him stood three neat heaps of grain, perfectly sorted.
“What?” roared the ogre. “How is this possible?”
The girl lifted her chin bravely. “I have had help.”
The ogre snorted and stomped out, defeated. He dared not break his promise, so he let the girl go free.
As for the ant, he watched her skip away into the sunshine. She looked back, smiled, and whispered, “Thank you, little friend.”
And so it was that a single tear, full of kindness and magic, saved not only a thirsty ant but also a child’s life.
From that day on, the ants of the meadow were known as helpers of the helpless, and the girl never forgot her tiny rescuer.