When
she had said her prayers she hugged her little friend and said: "Never,
never can I thank you enough, because you saved me from that horrible
deep well, dear Little Beate. You shall be my very best friend, always,
and when I grow up you shall be the godmother to my first daughter, and
I shall call her Little Beate for you."

THE FLOATING ISLAND

Beate was now a year older. During that year she had lost Little Beate,
but she had never forgotten her.

Big Beate had many dolls given to her, but not one was like Little
Beate. No one was so sweet and good-natured, no one so pretty and
graceful.

It was a Saturday, and the next day, Sunday, she expected her friends,
Marie and Louise, on a visit, for it was her birthday; therefore she
wanted to decorate her doll-house as prettily as she could.

Beate knew what to do. On the hillside by the Black Pond she remembered
that she had seen the prettiest little snail shells anyone might wish
for--round and fluted, with yellow and brown markings. They would be
just the thing for her bureau. She ran off to search for them, slipping
in and out through the hazel bushes, and picking empty shells by the
dozen.

But all of a sudden she heard a bird utter such a weird cry from the
lake. She peeped out between the green branches and saw a big bird
swimming about. It had a long blue neck and a white breast, but its back
was shining black. It swam fast, and then suddenly dived and was gone.

Beate stood there and stared at the water, hoping to see the bird
come up again, but she waited and waited in vain. She was frightened,
thinking it was drowned, when she saw it shoot up again far away, almost
in the middle of the lake. Then it began to swim slowly toward a tiny
green island which lay there, and crept into the high weeds and grasses
that hung over the water.

Beate could not get tired of looking at the pretty little island. Willow
bushes grew out of the grass in some places, and in one end grew a
little white-barked birch tree. Beate thought she had never seen
anything half so lovely. It seemed just like a strange little land, all
by itself.

At last Beate remembered that she must hurry home. Again she peeped
through the leaves and branches to say good-night to the island,
when--think of it!--the little green island was gone.

She thought of goblins and fairies, and ran up the path to the top of
the hill as fast as she could. But when she got there she had to look
again.