ne like the starry sky. He ran to the nearest, yes, a nest; and here
and there, each different kind of lamp stood for another kind of nest. A
beautiful purple blaze in a low tangle caught his eye. He ran to it, and
found a nest he had never seen before. It was full of purple eggs, and
there was the rare bird he had seen but once. It was chanting the weird
song he had often heard, but never traced. But the eggs were the
marvelous things. His old egg-collecting instinct broke out. He reached
forth to clutch the wonderful prize, and--in an instant all the lights
went out. There was nothing but the black woods about him. Then on the
pathway shone again the soft light. It grew brighter, till in the
middle of it he saw the Little Brown Lady--the Fairy of the Woods. But
she was not smiling now. Her face was stern and sad, as she said: "I
fear I set you over-high. I thought you better than the rest. Keep this
in mind:

"Who reverence not the
lamp of life can never
see its light."

Then she faded from his view, and he never saw the lamps again.

TALE 102

The Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods

Once a great American poet was asked which he thought was the sweetest
voice in the woods. He said: "The sweetest sound in Nature is the
calling of the Screech Owl."

Sometimes, though rarely, it does screech, but the sound it most often
makes is the soft mournful song that it sings in the woods at night,
especially in the autumn nights.

It seems to be moaning a lament for the falling leaves, a sad good-bye
to the dear dying summer.

Last autumn one sat above my head in the dark October woods, and put his
little soul into a song that seemed to be

Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
The leaves are falling:
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
A sad voice calling;
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
The Woodbirds flying;
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
Sweet summer's dying,
Dying, Dying.

[Illustration: The Lament of the Owl.

Notation by Ann Seton]

A mist came into my eyes as I listened, and yet I thanked him. "Dear
voice in the trees, you have said the things I felt, and could not say;
but voicing my sadness you have given it wings to fly away."

TALE 103

Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol

Oh, that was a stirring, glowing time! All the air, and the underwood
seemed throbbed with pleasant murmuring voices. The streams were
laughing, the deep pools smiling, as pussy-willows scattere