This is a very good story to read at night just before going to sleep.
And if you ask why, I must only tell you that you will find out before
you reach the end of the tale.
* * * * *
There was once a Heron, a pretty, long-legged, slender lady Heron, who
lived in the mushy-squshy, wady-shady swamp. The lady Heron lived in her
swamp all alone, earning her living by catching little fish; and she was
very happy, never dreaming that she was lonesome, for no one had told
her what lonesome was. She loved to go wading in the cool waters; she
loved to catch the little fish who swam by unsuspectingly while she
stood still upon one leg pretending to think about something a thousand
miles away. And she loved to look at her slender, long-legged blue
reflection in the water; for the lady Heron was just a little bit vain.
Now one day Mr. Stork came flying over the mushy-squshy, wady-shady
swamp where the Heron lived, and he too saw the reflection in the water.
And he said to himself, "My! How pretty she is! I wonder I never noticed
her before. And how lonesome she must be there all by herself in such a
nasty, moist, mushy-squshy old swamp! I will invite her to come and
share my nice, warm, dry nest on the chimney-top. For to tell the truth,
I am growing lonely up there all by myself. Why should we not make a
match of it, we two long-legged creatures?"
Mr. Stork went home to his house, which he set prettily in order: for he
never dreamed but that the lady Heron would accept his offer at the very
first croak. He preened his feathers and made himself as lovely as he
could, and forthwith off he flew with his long legs dangling, straight
to the wady-shady swamp where Miss Heron was standing on one leg waiting
for her supper to get itself caught.
"Ahem!" croaked Mr. Stork, waving his wing politely. "Good evening, Miss
Heron. Fine weather we are having, eh? But how horribly moist it is down
here! I should think that your nice straight legs would grow crooked
with rheumatism. Now I have a comfortable, dry house on the roof."
"Pouf!" grunted Miss Heron disdainfully.
But Mr. Stork pretended not to hear, and went on with his remarks,--"a
nice dry house which I should be glad to have you share with me. Come,
Miss Heron! Here I am a lonely old bachelor, and here are you a lonely
old maid"--
"Lonely old maid, indeed!" screamed the Heron interrupting him. "I don't
know what it is to be lonely. Go along with you!" and she splashed water
on him with her wings, she was so indignant.
Poor Mr. Stork felt very crestfallen at this reception of his
well-meaning invitation. He turned about and stalked away towards his
nest upon the roof, without so much as saying good-by to the lady.
But no sooner was he out of sight than Miss Heron began to think. He had
said that she was lonely; was she lonely? Well, perhaps he ought to know
better than she, for he was a very wise bird. Perhaps she was lonely,
now that she came to think of it. However, there was no reason why she
should go to live in that stupid, dry, old nest on the house-top. Why
could he not come to dwell in her lovely, mushy-squshy, wady-shady
swamp? That would be very pleasant, for he was a good sort of fellow
with nice long legs; and there were fish enough in the water for two.
Besides, he could then do the fishing for the family; and, moreover,
there would then be two to admire her reflection in the water. Yes; her
mind was made up. She would invite him. She glanced down at her
reflection and settled some of the feathers which her fit of temper had
ruffled out of order. Then off she started in pursuit of Mr. Stork.
Mr. Stork had not gone very far, for a sad, rejected lover is a dawdling
creature. And so she came up with him long before he was in sight of his
nest.
"Good evening, Mr. Stork," said the lady nervously. "I--I have been
thinking over what you said to me just now, and I have concluded that
perhaps I was a bit hasty. To tell you the truth, sir, I _am_ a trifle
lonely, now that you suggest the thought to me. And it would be very
agreeable to have pleasant company. I am ready, sir, to agree to your
proposal. But of course I cannot think of changing my abode. My swamp is
the most beautiful home that a maiden ever knew, and I could not give it
up for any one. As for your ugly old nest on the chimney-top, bah! I
cannot endure the idea with patience."
Mr. Stork was gradually stiffening into an angry attitude, but she did
not notice. "Now you can come and live in my swamp," Miss Heron went on
warmly, "and you will be very welcome to catch fish for me, and to look
in my mirror. It will be very nice indeed!"
"Nice!" croaked the Stork, "I should say as much! What can you be
thinking of, Miss? I to give up my comfortable home on the house-top,
close by the warm chimney, and go to live in that disgusting
mushy-squshy bog of yours! Ha-ha! That is really too ridiculous! I bid
you good morning." And with an elaborate bow he turned his back and flew
away.
Miss Heron flounced back to her swamp, mortified because she had left it
to propose terms to so ungallant a fellow. But hardly had she begun her
tardy supper when once more Mr. Stork's shadow darkened the mirror
before her, and once more she heard his apologetic croak.
"Ahem, ahem!" he began. "I hope I find you well, Miss Heron? I have
been--ha hum!--considering your last most condescending words, and I
find that I have been hasty. You are so good as to express a belief that
I should make a pleasant companion. So I should! so I should! And as for
you," he bowed gallantly, "one can readily imagine the charm of your
society. Come, then, Miss Heron, why should we not make a happy couple,
if we can only arrange this one little foolish matter? Be my wife: come
live with me in my lovely nest."
But at this word Miss Heron uttered a little scream and cried, "Be off
with you, you villain! Leave my premises instantly!" and she waved her
wings so fiercely that once more Mr. Stork took to his and flapped away
to his home.
Now when he had gone Miss Heron found that she had been bad-tempered,
and she thought how pleasantly they might have arranged the matter if
only she had been more moderate. So she spread her beautiful blue wings
and flew to the housetop where Mr. Stork lived, and, perching on the
chimney, she said,--
"Oh, Mr. Stork, I was bad-tempered and impolite, and I beg your pardon.
Let us be friends once more. Leave this hot old stupid house-top and
come live in my cool, moist, wady-shady swamp, and I will be your very
loving little wife."
But the Stork arose in his nest, flapping his wings crossly, and cried,
"Be off, you baggage! Don't come here to insult my beautiful house. Be
off, I say, to your mushy-squshy, rheumaticky bog. I want no more of
you!"
So the Heron flew back disconsolately to the watery swamp, where she
began to feel very lonely indeed. And the Stork, too, began to feel very
lonely indeed; and he was sorry that he had been rude to a lady.
Presently, once more he came flapping to the mushy-squshy marsh, where
he found Miss Heron just ready to go to sleep.
"Oh, dear Miss Heron!" he cried. "I made a great mistake, and said
things for which I am truly sorry. Do come to be my loving wife, as you
promised, and we will live happily ever after on the chimney-top, far
above the other birds. And I will never be cross again."
But the Heron answered, "Away with you! I want to go to sleep. I am
tired of your croaking voice. Leave me alone!" So the Stork flew away in
a huff.
But the Heron could not sleep, she was so lonely. So she rose, and,
flying through the still night air, came again to the Stork's high-built
nest.
"Come, Storkie dear," she said in her sweetest tone, "come home to your
dear wife's house in the wady-shady, mushy-squshy marsh, and I will be
good."
But the Stork pretended to be asleep, and only snored in reply. So the
Heron flew home in a huff. But the Stork could not truly sleep, he was
so lonely. So he rose, and, flying through the still night air, came
again to the Heron's home in the marsh.
"Come, my dear," he said. "Come home to your dear husband's house, and I
will be good."
But the Heron made no answer, pretending to be asleep. So the Stork flew
home in a huff. But the Heron could not truly sleep, she was so lonely.
So she rose at break of day, and, flying through the cool morning air,
came again to the Stork's nest.
"Come, Storkie dear," she said, "come home to your dear wife's house,
and I will be good."
But the Stork did not answer, he was so angry. So the Heron flew home in
a huff.
* * * * *
And if you are not asleep when you get as far as this, you may go on
with the story by yourself, perfectly well. You may go on just as long
as you can keep awake. For the tale has no end, no end at all. It is
still going on to this very day. The Stork still lives lonely on his
house-top, and the Heron still lives lonely in her marsh, growing
lonelier and lonelier, both of them. But because they have no tact, they
are never able to agree to the same thing at the same time. And they
keep flying back and forth, saying the same things over, and over, and
over, and over....