“It sounds kind and good,” said Tricksey. “It is water running. Now it must be running from somewhere to somewhere. I think we had better go on, and we shall come somewhere.”
It was now rather difficult to go on, for they had to climb as if they were climbing a hill; and now the passage was wide. Nearly worn out, they saw light overhead at last, and creeping through a crack into the open air, found themselves on the fork of a huge tree. A great, broad, uneven space lay around them, out of which spread boughs in every direction, the smallest of them as big as the biggest tree in the country of common people. Overhead were leaves enough to supply all the trees they had ever seen. Not much moonlight could come through, but the leaves would glimmer white in the wind at times. The tree was full of giant birds. Every now and then, one would sweep through, with a great noise. But, except an occasional chirp, sounding like a shrill pipe in a great organ, they made no noise. All at once an owl began to hoot. He thought he was singing. As soon as he began, other birds replied, making rare game of him. To their astonishment, the children found they could understand every word they sang. And what they sang was something like this:—
“I will sing a song.
I’m the Owl.”
“Sing a song, you Singsong
Ugly fowl!
What will you sing about,
Night in and Day out?”“Sing about the night;
I’m the Owl.”
“You could not see for the light,
Stupid fowl.”
“Oh! the Moon! and the Dew!
And the Shadows!—tu-whoo!”
The owl spread out his silent, soft, sly wings, and lighting between Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob, nearly smothered them, closing up one under each wing. It was like being buried in a down bed. But the owl did not like anything between his sides and his wings, so he opened his wings again, and the children made haste to get out. Tricksey-Wee immediately went in front of the bird, and looking up into his huge face, which was as round as the eyes of the giantess’s spectacles, and much bigger, dropped a pretty courtesy, and said—“Please, Mr. Owl, I want to whisper to you.”
“Very well, small child,” answered the owl, looking important, and stooping his ear towards her. “What is it?”
“Please tell me where the eagle lives that sits on the giant’s heart.”
“Oh, you naughty child! That’s a secret. For shame!”
And with a great hiss that terrified them, the owl flew into the tree. All birds are fond of secrets; but not many of them can keep them so well as the owl.
So the children went on because they did not know what else to do. They found the way very rough and difficult, the tree was so full of humps and hollows. Now and then they plashed into a pool of rain; now and then they came upon twigs growing out of the trunk where they had no business, and they were as large as full-grown poplars. Sometimes they came upon great cushions of soft moss, and on one of them they lay down and rested. But they had not lain long before they spied a large nightingale sitting on a branch, with its bright eyes looking up at the moon. In a moment more he began to sing, and the birds about him began to reply, but in a different tone from that in which they had replied to the owl. Oh, the birds did call the nightingale such pretty names! The nightingale sang, and the birds replied like this:—
“I will sing a song.
I’m the nightingale.”
“Sing a song, long, long,
Little Neverfail!
What will you sing about,
Light in or light out?”“Sing about the light
Gone away;
Down, away, and out of sight—
Poor lost Day!
Mourning for the Day dead,
O’er his dim bed.”
The nightingale sang so sweetly, that the children would have fallen asleep but for fear of losing any of the song. When the nightingale stopped they got up and wandered on. They did not know where they were going, but they thought it best to keep going on, because then they might come upon something or other. They were very sorry they had forgotten to ask the nightingale about the eagle’s nest, but his music had put everything else out of their heads. They resolved, however, not to forget the next time they had a chance. So they went on and on, till they were both tired, and Tricksey-Wee said at last, trying to laugh—
“I declare my legs feel just like a Dutch doll’s.”
“Then here’s the place to go to bed in,” said Buffy-Bob.
They stood at the edge of a last year’s nest, and looked down with delight into the round, mossy cave. Then they crept gently in, and, lying down in each other’s arms, found it so deep, and warm, and comfortable, and soft, that they were soon fast asleep.
Now, close beside them, in a hollow, was another nest, in which lay a lark and his wife; and the children were awakened, very early in the morning, by a dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Lark.
“Let me up,” said the lark.
“It is not time,” said the lark’s wife.
“It is,” said the lark, rather rudely. “The darkness is quite thin. I can almost see my own beak.”
“Nonsense!” said the lark’s wife. “You know you came home yesterday morning quite worn out—you had to fly so very high before you saw him. I am sure he would not mind if you took it a little easier. Do be quiet and go to sleep again.”
“That’s not it at all,” said the lark. “He doesn’t want me. I want him. Let me up, I say.”
He began to
