A GATE and the post that it latched to could not get along peacefully together. The gate swagged somewhat, and the post, instead of leaning back a little to accommodate it, seemed purposely to lean forward. As a consequence, there was difficulty whenever they met. The gate accused the post of getting in the way, and the post charged the gate with striking against it. Things remained in this unhappy condition for a long while, and very often the gate might be seen swinging back and forth in the wind, unable to latch itself, while the post showed ugly scars on either side, which were growing uglier and deeper every day. Neither seemed willing to yield, or even to make the first movement toward a reconciliation.

At length, on a gusty morning, after a squall had banged the gate against the post with unusual violence, the latter said:

“You needn’t think I’m going to give in. That last blow did you as much damage as it did me.”

“I don’t want you to give in,” replied the gate; “all I ask is that you lean back a little, so that I can swing free and fasten my latch as I used to do.”

“It’s your own fault that you cannot do so still,” said the post; “you began to swag and bear down on me, and then, of course, I began to butt against you.”

“Well, now,” replied the gate, “though I don’t agree to all you say, I am willing to admit this much—that there may be faults on both sides. But here we are together, and here we’ve got to stay. I can’t go off to look for another post, and you can’t go and hunt up another gate. Why can’t we try and get along as we did at first? I’m sure we were a great deal more comfortable then.”

“Agreed,” said the post; “I’m as tired of it as you are. Let us from this time do all we can to keep out of each other’s way.”

As this conversation took place in the early spring, when the ground was freezing and thawing almost every day, the two had the best possible chance of carrying out their good resolutions; and by the help of wind and rain, with an honest purpose on both sides, their efforts at last were crowned with success. Then all was pleasant and serene again. The gate swung free, the latch caught on the post without fail, and they upheld and supported each other, without either one trespassing on the other’s rights.

But after this tranquil state of things had lasted for some time, one day the latch, in passing, left a slight scratch on the post’s fresh paint. At once there was scolding and faultfinding on both sides. It was only a scratch, to be sure, and neither seemed disposed to make it any more; but, on the other hand, neither would recede enough to make it any less. And so, after they had overcome far greater difficulties, and proved that peace and harmony were attainable, they sacrificed them both because they could not overlook a very small offence. The consequence was that discord reappeared between them. When I last saw them, they were still giving each other (not at all times, but every now and then, when the wind was from a certain quarter) this irritating little scratch. I suppose it is thus with them still, and probably will be so to the end.

After surmounting great and serious difficulties in the way of our happiness, we often allow insignificant ones to keep us back from its possession.