"Once there was a man," said the Singing Mouse, "who loved to go
into the mountains. He would go alone, far into the mountains,
and climb up to the tops of the tallest peaks. Nothing pleased
him so much as to climb to the top of some mountain where no
other man had ever been. No one ever knew what he said to the
mountains, or what the mountains said to him, but that they
understood each other very well was sure, for he could go among
the mountains where other men dared not go. At the tops of the
high mountains he would sit and look out over the country that
lay beyond. He would not say what he saw, for he said he could
not tell, and that, moreover, the people would not understand
it, for they did not know the way the mountains thought.
"One time this man climbed to the top of a very high mountain
peak in a distant country. This peak looked out over a wide
land, and the man knew that from its summit he could see many
things.
"The man was now growing old, so when he got to the top of this
mountain he sat down to rest. When he sat down, he put his chin
in his hand, and his arm upon his knee; and so he looked out
over the land, seeing many things.
"The sun came up, but the man did not move, but sat and thought.
The moon came, but still he did not move. He only looked, and
thought and smiled.
"After many days it was seen that this man would not come down
from the mountain. The mountain made him part of itself, and
turned him into stone, as he sat there, with his chin in his
hand. He is there to-day, looking out over many things. He never
moves, for he is now of stone. I have seen that place myself.
Once I thought I heard this man whisper of the things he saw.
He sits there to-day."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: At the Place of the Oaks ...]
[Illustration]