from, then?' asked the girl.

"'Why, an angel from heaven brings them under his cloak, but no man
can see him; and that's why we never know when he brings them.'

"At that moment there was a rustling in the branches of the willow
tree, and the children folded their hands and looked at one another:
it was certainly the angel coming with the baby. They took each
other's hand, and at that moment the door of one of the houses opened,
and the neighbour appeared.

[Illustration: WATCHING THE STORK.]

"'Come in, you two,' she said. 'See what the stork has brought. It is
a little brother.'

"And the children nodded gravely at one another, for they had felt
quite sure already that the baby was come."

FOURTEENTH EVENING.

"I was gliding over the Lueneburg Heath," the Moon said. "A lonely hut
stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew near it, and a
nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly. He died in the coldness
of the night: it was his farewell song that I heard.

"The morning dawn came glimmering red. I saw a caravan of emigrant
peasant families who were bound to Hamburgh, there to take ship for
America, where fancied prosperity would bloom for them. The mothers
carried their little children at their backs, the elder ones tottered
by their sides, and a poor starved horse tugged at a cart that bore
their scanty effects. The cold wind whistled, and therefore the little
girl nestled closer to the mother, who, looking up at my decreasing
disc, thought of the bitter want at home, and spoke of the heavy taxes
they had not been able to raise. The whole caravan thought of the same
thing; therefore, the rising dawn seemed to them a message from the
sun, of fortune that was to gleam brightly upon them. They heard the
dying nightingale sing: it was no false prophet, but a harbinger of
fortune. The wind whistled, therefore they did not understand that the
nightingale sung, 'Fare away over the sea! Thou hast paid the long
passage with all that was thine, and poor and helpless shalt thou
enter Canaan. Thou must sell thyself, thy wife, and thy children. But
your griefs shall not last long. Behind the broad fragrant leaves
lurks the goddess of Death, and her welcome kiss shall breathe fever
into thy blood. Fare away, fare away, over the heaving billows.' And
the caravan listened well pleased to the song of the nightingale,
which seemed to promise good fortune. Day broke through the light
clouds; country people went acros