“Shame!  Shame!” cried the birds indignantly.  “Old Master Owl, you ought to be ashamed.  But if you are so selfish we will not have you in our society.  Go back to your hollow tree!”

“Yes, go back to your hollow tree,” cried the Eagle sternly; “and when winter comes may you shiver with cold as you would have left the brave little Wren to shiver this day.  You shall ruffle your feathers as much as you like, but you will always feel cold at heart, because your heart is selfish.”

And indeed, since that day for all his feathers the Owl has never been able to keep warm enough in his lonely hollow tree.

But the Wren became one of the happiest of all the birds, and a favorite both with his feathered brothers and with men, because of his brave deed, and because of the great fire-gift which he had brought from the sun.

HOW THE BLUEBIRD CROSSED

Of course every one knows that the Bluebird was made from a piece of the azure sky itself.  One has only to match his wonderful color against the April heaven to be sure of that.  Therefore the little Bluebird was especially dear to the Spirit of the sky, the Father in Heaven.

One day this venturesome little bird started out upon a long journey across the wide Pacific Ocean toward this New World which neither Columbus nor any other man had yet discovered.  Under him tossed the wide, wide sea, rolling for miles in every direction, with no land visible anywhere on which a little bird might rest his foot.  For this was also before there were any islands in all that stretch of waters.  Soon the poor little Bluebird became very weary and wished he had not ventured upon so long a flight.  His wings began to droop and he sank lower and lower toward the sea which seemed eager to overwhelm his blueness with its own.  He had come so far over the salty wastes that he was very thirsty; but with water, water everywhere there was not a drop to drink.  The poor little bird glanced despairingly up toward the blue sky from which he had been made and cried,—­

“O Spirit of the blue sky, O my Father in Heaven, help your child the Bluebird!  Give me, I pray you, a place to rest and refreshment for my thirsty throat, or I perish in the cruel blue waters!”

At these sorrowful words the kind Father took pity upon his little Bluebird.  And what do you think?  He made a baby earthquake which heaved a rocky point of land up through the waves, just big enough for a little bird’s perch.  It was a tiny reef, and a crack in the rock held but a few drops of the rain which began to fall; but it meant at least a moment’s safety and draught of life for the weary bird, and glad enough he was to reach it.

He had not been there long, however, when a big wave almost washed him away.  He was not yet safe.  Still he lacked the rest and refreshment which he so sorely needed.  For the raindrops were soon turned brackish by the waves which dashed upon the reef from all sides, and the Bluebird had to keep hopping up and down to avoid being drowned in the tossing spray.  He was more tired than ever, and this continuous exercise made him even more thirsty.  Once more he prayed to the Father for help.  And once more the kind Spirit of the Sky heard him from the blueness.