s
in the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it an
oak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of
me so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid of
mice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have, for I might
have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke to
her in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage.
At last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then I told her
what had brought me out into the world, and she promised me that
perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one
of the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me that
Phantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as the
god of love, that he remained often for many hours with her under
the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than
ever over them both. He called her his dryad, she said, and the tree
his tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just to
his taste. The root, spreading deep into the earth, the top rising
high in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keen
wind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. 'Yes,' continued
the dryad, 'the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk to
each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign
lands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his
nest,--it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant to
hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases
Phantaesus, but it is not enough for him; I am obliged to relate to
him of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when I
was little, and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging-nettle
could overshadow it, and I have to tell everything that has happened
since then till now that the tree is so large and strong. Sit you
down now under the green bindwood and pay attention, when Phantaesus
comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull
out one of the little feathers. That feather you shall have; a
better was never given to any poet, it will be quite enough for you.'

"And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and," said
the little mouse, "I seized and put it in water, and kept it there
till it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but I
managed to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one's
self into a poet, there are so many things to get throug