“Another man among us!” cried one.

“Let us hang him!” cried another.

“Cut off his head!” cried a third.

But the queen said, “Leave it to me.”

Then she called Conal to her.  Now Conal did not know where to wear his smile, you remember; he always kept it in his pocket.  So he went up to the queen with a very sour face.

The queen said to him, as she had to Donal, “You say our dancing is the worst you have ever seen.  Now, show us that you can do better.”

Conal began to dance, and he could dance well.  The elves were delighted.  They clapped their hands and asked him to dance again, but he said roughly, “No, that is enough.  Do you expect me to dance all night?”

The elves were silent then, and the queen’s face was stern.  But she was a just queen, and she said, “You have danced well.  Will you have some of our silver?”

“Yes,” said Conal, without a word of thanks; and he filled his coat pockets.

“Will you have gold?” asked the queen.

“Yes,” said Conal greedily, as he filled the pockets in his trousers.

“Will you have some of our diamonds?” the queen asked, and her face was dark with anger.

“Yes, yes,” cried Conal.

“You shall not have them, you greedy lad!” cried the queen; “you shall have nothing.”

Just then a cloud passed across the moon, and the elves vanished.

“Oh, well,” said Conal, “I have the gold and silver.”

He plunged his hands into his pockets and lo! the gold and silver had turned to stones.  Then Conal went home a sadder and a wiser lad.

—­IRISH TALE.

[Illustration:  A bird singing]

WHO TOLD THE NEWS?

  Oh, the sunshine told the bluebird,
    And the bluebird told the brook,
  That the dandelions were peeping
    From the woodland’s sheltered nook.

  Then the brook was blithe and happy,
    And it babbled all the way,
  As it ran to tell the river
    Of the coming of the May.

  Soon the river told the meadow,
    And the meadow told the bee,
  That the tender buds were swelling
    On the old horse-chestnut tree.

  And the bee shook off its torpor,
    And it spread each gauzy wing,
  As it flew to tell the flowers
    Of the coming of the spring.

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH

I

It was spring.  The apple trees and the cherry trees were pink and white with blossoms.  They filled the air with fragrance.  The maples were red, and on the oak and poplar the buds were swelling.  The brooklets were rushing and leaping on toward the sea.

It was spring everywhere.  The robin and the bluebird were piping sweetly in the blossoming orchard.  The sparrows were chirping, and hungry crows were calling loudly for food.  The farmers of Killingworth were plowing the fields, and the broken clods, too, told of spring.