ten
to its babble as it runs under the little bridge over there. I think
_she_ will soon hear what it says, and then we will lead her along
higher and higher till she finds the spring, and is able to tell every
one the happy secret," said Iris, shaking out her many-colored robe
before she skimmed away to float over the pool, so like a glittering
dragon-fly few guessed that she was a fairy.

"Yes, she is a sweet child," said the blue-bird, hopping to the wall to
look along the lane to see if she was coming. "She never throws pebbles
in the water to disturb the minnows, nor breaks the ferns only to let
them die, nor troubles us as we work and play as most children do. She
leans there and watches us as if she loved us, and sings to herself as
if she were half a bird. I like her, and I hope she will be the first to
find the spring."

"So do I," said Skip, going to sit by his friend and watch for the
child, while Brownie peeped through a chink in the wall that she might
not be frightened at sight of him, small as he was.

"She is coming! she is coming!" called Iris, who had flown to the
railing of the rustic bridge, and danced for joy as a little figure came
slowly down the winding lane.

A pretty child, with hair like sunshine, eyes blue as the sky, cheeks
like the wild roses nodding to her on either side of the way, and a
voice as sweet as the babbling brook she loved to sing with. May was
never happier than when alone in the woods; and every morning, with her
cup, and a little roll of bread in her basket, she wandered away to some
of her favorite nooks, to feast on berries, play with the flowers, talk
to the birds, and make friends with all the harmless wood-creatures who
soon knew and welcomed her.

She had often wondered what the brook sang, and tried to catch the words
it seemed to be calling to her. But she never quite understood till this
day, for when she came to the bridge and saw her friends--blue-bird,
squirrel, and dragon-fly--waiting for her, she smiled, and waved her
hand to them, and just at that moment she heard the song of the brook
quite plainly,--

"I am calling, I am calling,
As I ripple, run, and sing,
Come up higher, come up higher,
Come and find the fairy spring.
Who will listen, who will listen
To the wonders I can tell,
Of a palace built of sunshine,
Where the sweetest spirits dwell?--
Singing winds, and magic waters,
Golden shadows, silv