THE FLOATING ISLAND
Beate was now a year older. During that year she had lost Little Beate, but she had never forgotten her.
Big Beate had many dolls given to her, but not one was like Little Beate. No one was so sweet and good-natured, no one so pretty and graceful.
It was a Saturday, and the next day, Sunday, she expected her friends, Marie and Louise, on a visit, for it was her birthday; therefore she wanted to decorate her doll-house as prettily as she could.
Beate knew what to do. On the hillside by the Black Pond she remembered that she had seen the prettiest little snail shells anyone might wish for—round and fluted, with yellow and brown markings. They would be just the thing for her bureau. She ran off to search for them, slipping in and out through the hazel bushes, and picking empty shells by the dozen.
But all of a sudden she heard a bird utter such a weird cry from the lake. She peeped out between the green branches and saw a big bird swimming about. It had a long blue neck and a white breast, but its back was shining black. It swam fast, and then suddenly dived and was gone.
Beate stood there and stared at the water, hoping to see the bird come up again, but she waited and waited in vain. She was frightened, thinking it was drowned, when she saw it shoot up again far away, almost in the middle of the lake. Then it began to swim slowly toward a tiny green island which lay there, and crept into the high weeds and grasses that hung over the water.
Beate could not get tired of looking at the pretty little island. Willow bushes grew out of the grass in some places, and in one end grew a little white-barked birch tree. Beate thought she had never seen anything half so lovely. It seemed just like a strange little land, all by itself.
At last Beate remembered that she must hurry home. Again she peeped through the leaves and branches to say good-night to the island, when—think of it!—the little green island was gone.
She thought of goblins and fairies, and ran up the path to the top of the hill as fast as she could. But when she got there she had to look again. And she became more astonished than ever, for now she saw the little green island again, but far from the place where she first saw it. It was sailing slowly toward the southern end of the lake, and the silver birch was its sail.