re snuggling down to sleep that night.

One of the haunts of Peter and Pan and Sandy was Cardinal-Flower Path.
This lovely place was along the marshy shore not far from Nearby Island.
It was almost white with the fine blooms of water-parsnip, an
interesting plant from the top of its blossom head to the lowest of its
queer under-water leaves. And here and there, among the lacy white, a
stalk of a different sort grew, with red blossoms of a shade so rich
that it is called the cardinal flower. Every now and then a
ruby-throated hummingbird darted quickly above the water-parsnips
straight to the cardinal throat of the other flower, and found
refreshment served in frail blossom-ware of the glorious color he loved
best of all.

And it would be well for all children of men to know that, although
three bright active children of sandpipers ran teetering about
Cardinal-Flower Path many and many a day, the place was as lovely to
look upon at sundown as at sunrise, for not one wonderful spray had been
broken from its stem. So it happened, because the children who played
there were Sandy and Peter and Pan, that the cardinal flowers lived
their life as it was given them by Nature, serving refreshments for
hummingbirds through the summer day, and setting seeds according to
their kind for other cardinal flowers and other hummingbirds another
year.

But even the charms of Cardinal-Flower Path did not hold Pan and Peter
and Sandy many weeks. They seemed to be a sort of gypsy folk, with the
love of wandering in their hearts; and it is pleasant to know that, as
soon as they were grown enough, there was nothing to prevent their
journeying forth with Peter and Mother Piper.

Of all the strange and wonderful plants and birds and insects they met
upon the way I cannot tell you, for, in all my life, I have not traveled
so far as these three children went long before they were one year old.
They went, in fact, way to the land where the insects live that are so
hard and beautiful and gemlike that people sometimes use them for
jewels. These are called "Brazilian beetles," and you can tell by that
name where the Pipers spent the winter, though it may seem a very far
way for a young bird to go, with neither train nor boat to give him a
lift.

Not even tired they were, from all accounts, those little feather-folk;
and why, indeed, should they be tired? A jaunt from a northern country
to Brazil was not too much for a healthy bird, with its sure