“Yes,” said the elm tree. “I have heard that a great man once said, ‘God, God, God walks on thy watery rim.’”
“Wonderful, glorious,” murmured the flowers.
“They tell stories at Chautauqua—pretty stories about things and people; and I have heard that Ocean has a wonderful story. We might send word to ask if he will tell it,” suggested Bachelor.
“I fear he cannot leave home,” said the wind, “but we might try him.”
So it was agreed that the woodpecker should write a beautiful letter, earnestly inviting him to take part in the grand new movement for the coming summer. The brook agreed to carry the daintily-carved missive to the lake, and the lake to the river, and the river would carry it to the sea.
Bachelor spoke next: “They have a School of Languages at Chautauqua, could we have one?”
“I have thought of that,” said the fish, “but who could teach it?”
“That is the trouble,” said Bachelor, slowly shaking his head.
“I know,” said a little bird. “I went to church last night and heard the Bible read, and it said, ‘Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard.’ I think the day and the night could teach the School of Languages.”
“The day and the night, the day and the night,” said the brook.