"You couldn't keep him out of mischief unless you told stories all night. He loves tales dearly, but won't stay still and listen unless they are always new and very charming," said the bat, peeping out with one eye to see who the stranger might be.
"I know hundreds! for I was born of a fancy, and my head is full of lovely ones, and I sing such merry songs all the birds used to listen to me for hours. If I could only reach this Willy Wisp I think I could amuse him till the people got safely home," said Bud.
"Come and try; I'll carry you," said the bat, shutting his wings and looking like a black mouse as he crept nearer for Bud to mount.
"No, no; stay with us, and don't go to that dismal marsh full of ugly things and bad air," cried the honeysuckles, trying to hold her fast with soft, sticky hands.
But Bud was eager to do all the good she might, and bravely mounted her new horse, singing as she flew away,—
"On the bat's back I do fly
After summer, merrily."
"She won't do it," said the glow-worm, putting out his lamp as he went to bed.
"Alas, no! Poor little thing! she will die over there, and never be a fairy," sighed the flowers, looking like sad white ghosts in the dim light.
A cloud of fireflies danced over the marsh, where frogs croaked, mosquitoes hummed, and tall yellow lilies rang their freckled bells. The air was damp and hot; a white mist rose from the water that glimmered between the forests of reeds and the islands of bog moss, and sleek muskrats and bright-eyed snakes glided about, while wild ducks slept with their heads under their wings in quiet corners.
A strange, shadowy place, and Bud's heart died within her as she thought of staying here alone. But she did want to see if she could make the bad Willy behave better and not lead poor people into danger; so she held fast while the bat skimmed to and fro looking for the naughty fellow. Soon he came dancing toward them,—a dark little body with a big head like a round lantern, all shining with the light inside.