as they were outside by the rabbit, Johannes said: "Will you not tell us your history, Glow-worm?"
"Alas!" sighed the glow-worm, "it is a sad and simple story. It will not amuse you."
"Tell us! Tell us, all the same!" they cried.
"Well, then, you know that we glow-worms are very peculiar beings. Yes, I believe no one would contradict that we glow-worms are the most highly gifted of all who live.
"Why? I do not know that," said the rabbit. At this, the glow-worm asked disdainfully, "Can you give light?"
"No, indeed, I cannot," the rabbit was obliged to confess.
"Now we give light—all of us. And we can make it shine or can extinguish it. Light is the best gift of Nature, and to make light is the highest achievement of any living being. Ought any one then to contest our precedence? Moreover, we little fellows have wings, and can fly for miles."
"I cannot do that, either," humbly admitted the rabbit.
"Through the divine gift of light which we have," continued the glow-worm, "other creatures stand in awe of us, and no bird will attack us. Only one animal—the human being—the basest of all, chases us, and carries us off. He is the most detestable monster in creation!"
At this sally Johannes looked at Windekind as though he did not understand. But Windekind smiled, and motioned to him to be silent.
"Once, I flew gaily around among the shrubs, like a bright will-o'-the-wisp. In a moist, lonely meadow on the bank of a ditch there lived one whose existence was inseparably linked with my own happiness. She sparkled beautifully in her light emerald-green as she crept about in the grass, and my young heart was enraptured. I circled about her, and did my best, by making my light play, to attract her attention. Gratefully, I saw that she had perceived me, and demurely extinguished her own light. Trembling with emotion, I was on the point of folding my wings and sinking down in rapture beside my radiant loved one, when the air was filled with an awful noise. Dark figures approached. They were human beings. In terror, I took flight. They chased me, and struck at me with big black things. But my wings went faster than their clumsy legs."
"When I returned—"
Here the narrator's voice failed him. After an instant of deep emotion, during which the three listeners maintained a respectful silence, he continued:
"You may already have surmised it. My tender bride—the brightest, most glowing of all—she had disappeared; kidnapped by cruel human beings. The still, dewy grass-plot was trampled, and her favorite place by the ditch was dark and deserted. I was alone in the world."
Here the impressionable rabbit once again pulled down an ear, and wiped a tear from his eye.
"Since that time I have been a different creature. I have an aversion for all idle pleasures. I think only of her whom I have lost, and of the time when I shall see her again."
"Really! Do you still hope to?" said the rabbit, rejoiced.
"I more than hope—I am certain. In heaven I shall see my beloved again."
"But—" the rabbit objected.
"Bunnie," said the glow-worm, gravely, "I can understand that one who was obliged to grope about in the dark might doubt, but when one can see, with his own eyes! That puzzles me. There!" said the glow-worm, gazing reverently up at the star-dotted skies; "there I behold them—all my forefathers, all my friends, and her, too, more gloriously radiant than when here upon earth. Ah, when shall I be able to rise up out of this lower life, and fly to her who beckons me so winsomely? When, ah, when?"
With a sigh, the glow-worm turned away from his listeners and crept back again into the dark passage.
"Poor creature!" said the rabbit. "I hope he is right."
"I hope so too," added Johannes.
"I have my doubts," said Windekind, "but it was very touching."
"Dear Windekind," began Johannes, "I am very tired and sleepy."
"Then come close to me, and I will cover you with my mantle."
Windekind took off his little blue mantle and spread it over Johannes and himself.
So they lay down on the gentle slope, in the fragrant moss, with their arms about each other's neck.
"Your heads lie rather low," said the rabbit. "Will you rest them against me?"
They did so.
"Good-night, Mother!" said Windekind to the moon.
Then Johannes shut the little gold key tight in his hand, pressed his head against the downy coat of the good rabbit, and fell fast asleep.
[1] Windekind = Child of the Winde or Windflower.
[2] In Dutch, the word sun is feminine.
III
Where is he, Presto?—Where is he? What a fright to wake up in the boat, among the reeds, all alone, the master gone and not a trace of him! It is something to be alarmed about.
And how long you have been running, barking nervously, trying to find him, poor Presto! How could you sleep so soundly and not notice the little master get out of the boat? Otherwise, you would have wakened as soon as he made the least move.
You could scarcely find the place where he landed, and here in the downs you are all confused. That nervous sniffing has not helped a bit. Oh, despair! The master gone—not a sign of him. Find him, Presto, find him!
See! straight before you on the hillside. Is not that a little form lying there? Look! look!
For an instant the little dog stood motionless, straining his gaze out into the distance. Then suddenly he stretched out his head, and raced—flew with all the might of his four little paws toward that dark spot on the hillside.
And when it proved to be the grievously wanted little master, he could not find a way to fully express his joy and thankfulness. He wagged his tail, his entire little body quivering with joy—he jumped, yelped, barked, and then pushed his little cold nose against the face of his long-sought friend, and licked and sniffed all over it.
"Cuddle down, Presto, in your basket," said Johannes, only half awake.
How stupid of the master! There was no basket there, as any one could see.
Very, very slowly the day began to break in the mind of the little sleeper.
Presto's sniffings he was used to—every morning. But dream-figures of elves and moonshine still lingered in his soul as the morning mists cling to the landscape. He feared that the chill breath of the dawn might chase them away. "Eyes fast shut," thought he, "or I shall see the clock and the wall-paper, just as ever."
But
