II. The Little Bird
One morning shortly before Christmas, Werner, with his ax on his shoulder, went alone into the forest, for the forester, who liked the well-behaved boy, had this year again permitted him to cut down a little pine tree for their Christmas Eve. The pretty, graceful little tree which the children had already selected, stood in rather a lonely spot, far out in the woods, sheltered by a kindly old beech. It was a beautiful mild winter day, and when Werner at last reached the spot he sat down on a tree-stump to rest.
Round about him all was still as in a lonely church; only a brooklet murmured softly, and from afar came the shrill cry of a jay. Again he dreamed of the wonderful Christmasland, and the longing to see its glories grew so strong that he cried aloud: “Oh, if only some one could show me the way to Christmasland!”
Then from the waves of the brook came clear sounds like rippling laughter, a wood mouse peeped from her house and laughed a wee little laugh, and from the top of the old beech tree came a stirring and a waving, as though she were shaking her head at such folly. But from the little pine tree which stood directly before him he suddenly heard a sweet, clear chirping; it was a blue titmouse, hopping gayly from branch to branch, incessantly crying: “I know! I know!”
“What do you know?” asked Werner.
The little bird threw herself backward from a branch, turning over in the air in the drollest way, then alighting again, cried: “I know the way! I know the way!”
“Then show me the way!” said Werner quickly.
Again the little bird began to chirp softly, but the boy understood everything. “You were good to me!” said she. “You protected my little children, my ten little children! I know the way! I’ll show you the way! Quick! Quick!”
And the little thing flew to the nearest bush, then farther, and Werner followed. At first he had comprehended but half of what the bird had said, but at last he remembered that it was a titmouse whose frightened cries had drawn him to the old beech tree last spring. There he saw a jay sitting before the hollow of the tree where the little bird had built her nest, about to seize the naked babies and devour them. The poor little mother was hovering about, trying to defend them, crying piteously. He picked up a stone and threw it so happily that the jay fell to the ground dead.
So now the little titmouse wished to show her gratitude. She kept flying before him from bush to bush toward the source of the brook, which came from the mountains. Soon the ground began to rise, and the brook at Werner’s feet babbled louder; then he came to an ascending valley which grew narrower and narrower, while the walls on both sides grew steeper, and at last, when the brook suddenly disappeared behind a projecting rock, Werner saw before him a smooth wall of stone, towering high and crowned with mighty pine trees. The little bird suddenly vanished, but away up in the distance her voice could be faintly heard, crying: “Soon! Soon!”