For a few days the leaves danced and whispered, laughing over their beautiful hues. Then Po-poon-o-ki came back, and with his swift, cold breath, he blew against the trees, and the little leaves were tossed and torn from the friendly branches. They did not fly up into the heavens, but frightened and sobbing they dropped to the earth.
“We shall die!” they cried. “We shall die!”
Then a strange thing happened. The guardian spirit of the tree whispered, “No, little leaves, you shall not die. You shall be changed into living forms. I will give you breath and life.” And instantly there arose from the earth where the leaves had dropped, a great flock of winged birds, red, and brown, and yellow, and crimson, [!-- original location of illustration --] all the beautiful colors that Po-poon-o-ki had given the leaves. Then they flew away to the South Land, where winter’s breath could not reach them.
“THERE AROSE A GREAT FLOCK OF WINGED BIRDS”
But in the spring, when Ni-poon-o-ki, the spirit of summer, came stealing up from the South, and Po-poon-o-ki went back to his ice lodge in the far North, then the birds came back, too. There were new leaves on the trees, but the birds flew straight to the branches which had been their home, and there, safely sheltered by the new leaves, they built their nests.
And after awhile, when there were eggs in all the home nests, the hearts of the birds became so full of joy that they could no longer be silent. Their throats swelled, and opening wide their little mouths, they filled all the air with bursts of happy song.