This time there was a terrible earthquake, until the sea boiled and rolled into huge waves as if churned by a mighty churn at the very bottom of things, and with a terrified scream the Bluebird flew high into the air.

But when the noise and the rumbling died away and once more the sea lay calm and still, what do you think the Bluebird saw?  The great ocean which had once stretched an unbroken sheet of blue as far as the eye could see was now dotted here and there by islands, big islands and little islands, groups and archipelagoes of them, just as on the map one sees them to-day peppering the Pacific Ocean.  Samoa came up, and Tonga, and Tulima, and many others with names quite as bad, if not worse.  From one island to another the Bluebird flew, finding rest and refreshment on each, until he reached the mainland in safety.  And there the islands remain to this day for other travelers to visit, breaking their journey from west to east or from east to west.  There are forests and cascades, springs of fresh and pleasant water, delicious fruits, wonderful birds and animals, and finally a race of strange, dark men. (But they came long, long after.)

So the Bluebird crossed the Pacific, folk tell.  Was it not wonderful how the kind Father came to scatter those many islands in the Pacific Ocean,—­stepping-stones for a tiny little Bluebird so that he need not wet his feet in crossing that wide salty river?

THE PEACOCK’S COUSIN

Long, long ago in the days of wise King Solomon, the Crow and the Pheasant were the best of friends, and were always seen going about together, wing in wing.  Now the Pheasant was the Peacock’s own cousin,—­a great honor, many thought, for the Peacock was the most gorgeous of all the birds.  But it was not altogether pleasant for the Pheasant, because at that time he wore such plain and shabby old garments that his proud relative was ashamed of him, and did not like to be reminded that they were of the same family.  When the Peacock went strutting about with his wonderful tail spread fan-wise, and with his vain little eyes peering to see who might be admiring his beauty, the Peacock’s cousin and his friend the Crow, who was then a plain white bird, would slink aside and hide behind a tree, whence they would peep enviously until the Peacock had passed by.  Then the Peacock’s cousin would say,—­

“Oh, how beautiful, how grand, how noble he is!  How came such a lordly bird to have for a cousin so homely a creature as I?”

But the Crow would answer, trying to comfort his friend, “Yes, he is gorgeous.  But listen, what a harsh and disagreeable voice he has!  And see how vain he is.  I would not be so vain had I so scandalous a tale in my family history.”

Then the Crow told the Peacock’s cousin how his proud relative came to have so unmusical a voice.

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