THE MOONLIGHT DANCE.
Minnie tripped behind, watching the little team. She had grown so nimble
that she could keep nearer than squirrel thought.
When he supposed he was out of sight from her, he lifted his whip, and
gave yellow-bird a smart stroke across his shoulders.
But she knew how to punish him;--spreading her wings at once, she rose
into the air, and made the deceitful squirrel roll out of his chariot.
He was ashamed to see Minnie after this, so limped away, whining that he
had broken his paw, and would tell his mother.
Then yellow-bird sung one of her droll little songs, that were like
twenty laughs shaken together, and, when Minnie came, begged her to
take the squirrel's place, and drive home.
The little woman was too thoughtful of her kind friend for that. She
went behind and pushed, while yellow-bird dragged the shell, and they
soon had it safe beneath the elm.
Then they slipped off the humming-bird's skin in a trice, hung it a
while on the sunny side of the elm to dry, and Minnie's good friend
pulled out from among the twigs of the nest that dear piece of her
mother's dress, and gave it to her for a lining.
You never saw a prettier and more fairy-like little garment than this
when it was finished; the tiny feathers all lay together so evenly, and
whenever the wearer moved they took such brilliant hues! Now the cloak
was red, now brown, now green and gold, and again it glittered with all
these colors at once.
Minnie had always seemed like a bird, with her quick, light, flying
ways, and more than ever she seemed one now, with her gay feather cloak,
and the fluttering, sailing motions she had caught from yellow-bird.
Mrs. Yellow-bird, having put the last stitch in Minnie's cloak, fastened
it about her neck, and looked at her guest with great satisfaction.
Then, at a chirp, her mate came, and readily consented to be Minnie's
escort; so away they flew together.
The evening was mild, and clear moonlight filled the wood. Owl had
chosen a lovely green dell in which to meet his friends, and had fitted
it up with taste, and no little pains. All among the bushes and lower
boughs of the trees he had tied live fire-flies and bright green
beetles. He had built for the dance a tent of bark, and had sanded the
floor with a curious dust that is found in the wood countries, and is
like pale coals of fire.
The birds dared not step on this fiery carpet at first, for fear of
singeing their feet; but owl assured them that it had no warmth. As for
the fire-fly lanterns, it must be confessed that the birds' mouths
watered in passing them, but they were too civil to eat up their host's
decorations.
There was an orchestra of crickets, and they played such merry tunes
that the guests all danced and waltzed till they were tired, and then
it was supper-time.
Alas! owl had not been so thoughtful as the squirrels, and had only
furnished such food as he liked himself. You may judge the surprise and
disgust of the company, when, to the music of the band, they were
marched in front of a heap of dead mice!
The owl began to eat at once, and begged his guests not to be diffident.
Not one of them tasted a morsel, however. Some politely refused, some
went home angry, and a few had the courage to own that they were not
fond of mouse-flesh.
Thus owl's party ended, and, indeed, all his parties, for, the next time
he sent out invitations, every bird in the wood respectfully declined.
If we think of no one but ourselves, we shall soon be left to ourselves.