joy of the tired traveler who sees his own little nook again. That night
he ate his bread and drank his draught of water on his own doorstone; and
watched the white owls fly, hoping that Wisdom would let him be quiet
awhile in the arms of the forest before she sent him out again to teach
the restless hearts of men.




THE TREE IN THE DARK WOOD


In the kingdom of the Princess Myrtle were many forests cut through with
roaring streams which dashed and danced their way over immense shining
black bowlders that looked like ebony bears lying in the current. So high
were the trees of these woods that they shut out the sun, and he who
walked through them felt himself among the columns of a gigantic temple.

In the darkest wood of all people sometimes lost their way on bitter
nights when the white stars hung just above the tree-tops and the
frost-fairies filled the air with the little snaps and crackles of their
orchestra--the queer, marred music of winter. The reddening of dawn found
these poor adventurers frozen unless they had the good fortune to find
what all the countryside knew as "The Tree in the Dark Wood."

The whispers of generations had established the fact of the existence
of this tree since the hour when the woodcutter, Peter Garland, had
wandered too far into the forest, and had been benighted on the feast
of St. Stephen when the air sometimes sings with snow. He had become
half paralyzed with the cold, his poor lantern had gone out, and he was