And sure enough, there sat a pale wisp of a dragon-fly in the moonlight. "But I have no wings," he cried in disappointment. "I cannot fly."
"Only wait," said the grass-blade spirit, and he waited in eager, trembling excitement.
He waited while the stars turned round the heavens and the moon sank.
Then his heart lifted up, and he felt his wings, and he flew.
He flew, trembling, quivering, white but touched with iridescent colour, on, on above the pointed shaft, on still in the dawn.
The grass-blade spirit watched. "Yes! yes!" he cried from below; "splendid—O beautiful spirit—but higher!"
Higher he went, and then he sank exhausted.
"You have found your dream," cried the grass-blade spirit, as the dragon-fly felt the warmth about him.
He opened his eyes. He saw blue and gold and yellow of sunlight flashing in the dawn. About him was fragrance and rest and peace.
"I love you," said the iris flower, where he had fallen; "and I have waited for you—it is day."