the fat old rat who swam across the
river was a grandfather, his children used to ask him, "What made you
follow the music, Grandfather?" and he used to tell them, "My dears, when
I heard that tune I thought I heard the moving aside of pickle-tub boards,
and the leaving ajar of preserve cupboards, and I smelled the most
delicious old cheese in the world, and I saw sugar barrels ahead of me;
and then, just as a great yellow cheese seemed to be saying, 'Come, bore
me'--I felt the river rolling o'er me!"

And in the same way the people asked the little lame child, "What made you
follow the music?" "I do not know what the others heard," he said, "but
I, when the Piper began to play, I heard a voice that told of a wonderful
country hard by, where the bees had no stings and the horses had wings,
and the trees bore wonderful fruits, where no one was tired or lame, and
children played all day; and just as the beautiful country was but one
step away--the mountain closed on my playmates, and I was left alone."

That was all the people ever knew. The children never came back. All that
was left of the Piper and the rats was just the big street that led to the
river; so they called it the Street of the Pied Piper.

And that is the end of the story.

WHY THE EVERGREEN TREES KEEP THEIR LEAVES IN WINTER[1]

[Footnote 1: Adapted from Florence Holbrook's _A Book of Nature Myths_.
(Harrap & Co. 9d.)]

One day, a long, long time ago, it was very cold; winter was coming. And
all the birds flew away to the warm south, to wait for the spring. But one
little bird had a broken wing and could not fly. He did not know what to
do. He looked all round, to see if there was any place where he could keep
warm. And he saw the trees of the great forest.

"Perhaps the trees will keep me warm through the winter," he said.

So he went to the edge of the forest, hopping and fluttering with his
broken wing. The first tree he came to was a slim silver birch.

"Beautiful birch-tree," he said, "will you let me live in your warm
branches until the springtime comes?"

"Dear me!" said the birch-tree, "what a thing to ask! I have to take care
of my own leaves through the winter; that is enough for me. Go away."

The little bird hopped and fluttered with his broken wing until he came to
the next tree. It was a great, big oak-tree.

"O big oak-tree," said the little bird, "will you let me live in your warm
branches until the springtime comes?"

"Dear