"'We have brought another child,' said his companions; and the gates flew open to admit them.
"In the court of the palace stood the North Wind, looking more radiant than the sun.
"'Do you know me?' she said, kissing Neil.
"'Oh yes,' he replied joyfully. 'You are my own dear mother, who died so long ago.'
"The North Wind was indeed his mother. Little Neil was in heaven."
The Spider heaved a deep sigh when he had finished, although his countenance glowed with the radiance of an inborn genius. "I wish I had ever been able to screw up my courage sufficiently to attempt publishing any of the ideas which occupy my brain," he said.
"Why have you not?" buzzed the Wasp.
"Ah," returned the other, "who ever heard of a Spider turning author, and walking into the office of some magazine with a manuscript under one arm?"
"It is an age of improvement, you know," remarked the Cricket.
"I perceive you have a fine mind," said the Kettle; "only we are not much used to considering the winds in a poetical light, especially when they howl down the chimney winter nights."