“Tremblingly Prince Adelstan and his bride bade her change them, for, miserable as they were, they knew she spoke the truth. They would never be happy in Fairyland again; they would always long to see the sunrise. Then silence fell upon them all, as the Queen slowly raised her glittering wand.
“Presently there arose upon the stillness of the night a most glorious sound. It was the mocking-bird raising its voice in thanksgiving and praise for happiness found again. Again and again those delicious sounds floated out on the air, filling the night with sweetness, until the very fairies stood breathless to listen. It seemed marvellous that so much sweetness of sound could be contained in such a tiny body; but the little songsters trilled and sang in glorious delight.
“Only in this land of sunshine and magnolias will you find this wonderful bird. It never wanders far from the Gulf. It flourishes best amid the magnolias, and it fills the southern woods with music. It sings at all hours; at night, when the Moon is looking kindly down upon the Earth, and the Earth is serenely smiling to the Moon, its clear notes ring out joyously, until even the stars from their glittering palaces lean down to listen. But it is at the witching hour of dawn that the most wonderful of its melodies is heard. Then it awakens to watch again that miracle of the world, the mystery of the rising Sun, and as the golden spears of light streak the heavens, cutting away the white veil of mist and coloring the skies with rainbow hues, its glorious voice rings out and floods the world with music; for at that hour the mocking-bird is telling over and over again the story of that magnificent sight—the sunrise.”
CHAPTER IV
THE LITTLE DWELLERS IN THE MARSH
As the guide finished his charming description of the southern nightingale, he pointed out to them the marsh. It was a strange-looking place, and Ethelda asked many questions concerning it. Why was it dangerous to cross? Why must they skirt the marsh and go around it, as they were doing? It was much the shorter way to cut right across it, but instead, they walked miles out of their way to reach the other side. Their guide assured them that the marsh was not so charming as it looked. Down amid its dark cypresses, where the jagged palmetto fans and latanier grew, and where the tall rushes and reeds were so fine that, swaying softly under the breeze, they looked like moving water, but water dyed in emerald and topaz tints—lurked many dangers. Rattlesnakes and toads and deadly insects made it their home, and the ground was all a quagmire, so that stepping on it they would sink deep in mud and slime, and perhaps die there.
“Oh,” said the Princess, “how awful! Does nothing nice live there? Those beautiful tiger-lilies and big purple passion-flowers bloom so charmingly, surely there must be something there to enjoy them.”
“Well,” answered the guide, “the birds frequently nest there, and the great pelicans and cranes hide in it; but beside them there are only three respectable families that I know of who ever enter it.”
“Who are they?” asked Ethelda, deeply interested at once.
“Why, the first family I mean,” replied the Sun messenger, “is the Crayfish family. Deep down in the black slime live this family, who delight in digging and burrowing in the mud. They live in very black dirt, but a happier family it would be hard to find. They are splendid little housekeepers, too, and spend most of their mornings in their own homes, trying to build up and beautify their houses, and they never meddle with any one else. Any time of day you can see their bright eyes peering out of their mud windows wonderingly. The Crayfish babies are very tiny, and are carefully and tenderly watched. They never are allowed to play with others, and cannot leave their mother’s side a single minute until they are five years old. Indeed, they hold on to her sides until that age. By that time they are considered grown, and can care for themselves and choose their own friends. On this account, perhaps, the Crayfishes don’t visit much, because with a dozen children clinging to her the mother is hardly a welcome guest anywhere; the Crayfishes have few friends in consequence. The Mud-Turtles, I believe, are about their only callers, and only through them do they occasionally hear of the outside world.”