“They have no clothes to guard with care,
No shoes upon their feet,—
For fur and feathers never tear,
And claws are always neat,—
No hooks to hook, no strings to tie.
Small wonder that they skip and fly!
“The wood-folk frolic everywhere,
With all the sky o’erhead,
A swaying bough for rocking-chair,
A hollow trunk for bed.
And yet, for all this woodland joy,
Who would not rather be a boy?”
“Well, everyone to his taste,” remarked an odd-looking elf, who appeared suddenly from nowhere in particular. “For my part, I prefer to be just exactly what I am. Once a witch changed me into a boy for ten minutes, and I give you my word I never was so uncomfortable in my life.”
“Are witches here?” cried Ann, as she fixed her big eyes on the elf.
“Certainly,” said the elf and the Brownie briskly, in one breath. “Don’t you have witches up your way?”
“Only at Hallowe’en,” Amos told them.
The elf looked thoughtful. “Oh, at Hallowe’en,” he said. Then his eyes began to twinkle, and he spoke as follows:—
“Suppose this year at Hallowe’en, without a bit of warning,
The roly-poly pumpkin heads we cut and carved that morning
Should grow slim bodies, legs, and feet,
And quick, from post and steeple,
Come skipping ’mongst us, pert and fleet,
Real, frisky pumpkin people!
Suppose that you and I had just completed one that minute,
As day grew late, down by the gate, and set a candle in it,
So that its eyes were deep and wide,
Its mouth a grinning yellow,
Then turn to find him at our side,
A living pumpkin fellow?
Suppose we ran with twinkling heels and met a throng advancing,
Their teeth a-row, their eyes aglow, all whirling, pranking, prancing;
Suppose they twirled us merrily,
The whole dark landscape lighting—
This Hallowe’en, I think, would be
A little too exciting!”