with his forefinger and thumb when up she flew. It
was only a small, grey, twilight moth!

Very much puzzled and confused, and perhaps a little frightened at
these curious deceptions, he laid himself down on the grass and shut
his eyes so as to go to sleep; but no sooner had he shut his eyes
than he heard a soft, soft little voice calling, "Martin! Martin!"

He started up and listened. It was only a field cricket singing in
the grass. But often as he lay down and closed his eyes the small
voice called again, plainly as possible, and oh so sadly, "Martin!
Martin!"

It made him remember his beautiful mother, now perhaps crying alone
in the cave on the mountain, no little Martin resting on her bosom,
and he cried to think of it. And still the small voice went on,
calling, "Martin! Martin!" sadder than ever, until, unable to endure
it longer, he jumped up and ran away a good distance, and at last,
too tired to go any further, he crept into a tussock of tall grass
and went to sleep.

CHAPTER XVII

THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA

Next day Martin journeyed on in the old way, jumping up and taking a
good long run, then dropping into a trot, then a walk, and finally
sitting down to rest. Then up again and another run, and so on. But
although feeling hungry and thirsty, he was so full of the thought
of the great blue water he was going to see, so eager to look upon
it at last after wishing for it so long, that he hardly gave himself
any time to hunt for food. Nor did he think of his mother of the
hills, alone to-day, and grieving at his loss, so excited was he at
the prospect of what lay before him.

A little past noon he began to hear a low murmuring sound that
seemed in the earth beneath him, and all about him, and in the air
above him; but he did not know that it was the sound of the sea. At
length he came to a place where the earth rose up in long ridges of
yellow sand, on which nothing grew but scattered tufts of stiff,
yellow grass. As he toiled over the loose sand, sometimes sinking
ankle-deep in it, the curious deep murmuring sound he had heard for
so long grew louder and louder, until it was like the sound of a
mighty wind in a wood, but deeper and hoarser, rising and falling,
and at intervals broken by great throbs, as of thunder echoed and
re-echoed among the distant hills. At length he had toiled over the
last ridge of sand; and then all at once the world--his world of
solid earth at all events--came to an a