his ears were bent forward to listen. But the river was paying no attention whatever to the blue kitten. It gurgled and hissed and splattered along over the stones—splattered and hissed and gurgled. Not until the blue moon began to peer over the mountain did the river hush gradually into quiet. Only when—like a great cat’s-eye—the moon was clear of the mountain and its light reflected all along the water, the river began to sing—a song the kitten had never heard.
And the kitten, a little dark shadow in the moonlight, felt the song slipping into his ears, along his backbone, and tingling even the tips of his four paws and the end of his tail.
Yet this was strange. For the song itself was as simple and wonderful as life in a meadow. Beauty and peace and content were there. And a glory flooding over—like the light of the blue moon shining around the blue kitten.
“Sing your own song,” said the river.
“Out of yesterday song comes.
It goes into tomorrow,
Sing your own song.
“With your life fashion beauty,
This too is the song.
Riches will pass and power. Beauty remains.
Sing your own song.
“All that is worth doing, do well, said the river.
Sing your own song.
Certain and round be the measure,
Every line be graceful and true.
Time is the mold, time the weaver, the carver,
Time and the workman together,
Sing your own song.
“Sing well,” said the river. “Sing well.”
“Purr,” went the kitten, slowly and carefully. “Purr, purr, purrr.” That was the first line.
But as he finished it, the blue kitten suddenly felt afraid. So he began to bargain with the river. Being a blue kitten, he was wiser than most.
“Before you teach me the rest of the song, river,” he begged, “help me a little. There must be many people in Castle Town. Tell me about them so I shall know whom to choose.”
The river gurgled before answering. No one had ever questioned the river in this manner, and therefore it was a little uncertain as to how much even a blue kitten should know. Finally, however, the river began, slowly and soothingly.
“Well, there is a pewterer in Castle Town. His name is Southmayd. Ebenezer is the first name. Once he sang the song. But of late he has forgotten. Still he has ears which should recognize the song when he hears it again. And it is possible there is yet a tune in his throat. And magic in his hands. Though whether he has time enough to fashion beauty, being only a river, I cannot say.”
“Um!” said the kitten, nodding his head. “Southmayd, Ebenezer.”
“There is a weaver in Castle Town,” went on the river, “who came from Ireland. He has never sung the song, but once he dreamed of singing it. If you could only get him started, who knows? The hearth you are seeking might be there. The name of the weaver is John Gilroy.”
“Gil—roy,” said the kitten sleepily. “John. Ho—ho—hum!” He opened his mouth so wide and tipped his head so far back one would have thought he expected to swallow the stars.
“Ho—ho—hum!” After all the kitten had never before been long away from the warm nest of dried clover, Queen Anne’s lace and chickory. Nor tried to stay awake all night for that matter. While naturally the light of a blue moon is soothing.
He meant to listen very carefully. But the voice of the river was gentle and slow. The cat settled down and closed his eyes so the light of the blue moon on the waters should not distract him. And almost at once he began to sink deeper and deeper into the dark velvet softness of a kitten s sleep.
But the river was too busy telling its secrets to notice. Or perhaps it did notice and thought— Well, after all, I am keeping my part of the bargain.
“Beware of Arunah Hyde,” it whispered. “Beware! Never sing your song to him. Take heed of what I say, blue kitten. For you and Arunah work different spells. Arunah loves gold very much. And the dark spell he is fashioning has him in its clutches. He seeks after something and knows not what, so he seeks the more desperately. His hands are full and spilling over with gold. But his heart is empty of beauty and peace. He has never known content.
“The top whirls fast and yet faster,
Till it falls, slung wide from its whirling.
The spring wound too tight will break from the straining.
“There is Bright Enchantment and man is its master.
And there is dark seeking forever, and that masters the man.”
So sang the river. “Forever and ever, and ever.”
By this time the kitten’s nose was buried deep in his paws, and he sighed a little in his sleep. While the wind swept through the valley in a long, dreary moan.
The river spoke a little louder. “And in trying to rid himself of the dark spell, Arunah is but spreading it. Arunah is planning now to make Castle Town the center of the Vermont Universe.”
The blue kitten opened his eyes and shook the river spray from his whiskers.
“Vermont? Universe?” he asked sharply.
“It is all the same,” declared the river. “Any Vermonter will tell you so.”
“Ah,” said the kitten. And he curled down once more and drew the dark, soft sleep back over him like a shawl. But this time the tip of his left ear stuck out, and it did hear a little. Though the kitten was not to remember for a long, long while what the left ear heard.
The river took up its murmuring. “So, whatever you do, blue kitten, beware of Arunah Hyde. Never, I warn you, sing your song to him. Arunah, too, has a song. And that spreads his dark enchantment. One of you will win in the end, for on your two songs does the future of Castle Town depend. And in the end, too, one of you will be overpowered by his own song.”
Had the kitten been awake—really awake, he would have cried out like his mother that such words were nonsense.
“Now, remember, the name is Arunah Hyde,” repeated the river. Then, with a sharp swish, it flung a dash of cold water over the small form curled by the reeds. “Did you hear what I said, blue kitten?”
“Of course,” sniffed the kitten with a shiver, sitting up now very straight. “His name is Arunah Hyde.”
“Mm!” came from the river. “Beware too of the man who wants office because he thinks the office will make him important.”
“Of course,” yawned the kitten.
“And of the loud talker, the one who wants
