right off; it'll be too dark if you don't make haste," and Mrs.
Gilder drew a bunch of keys out of one of her apron pockets and unlocked
the closet door and brought out a broom for Effie. Effie took the broom
and went down cellar. "Well," thought she, "I must do my work at any
rate, and the old man may not come by till I get it done." So she set to
work, sweeping out the cellar. She had just finished and stooped to
pick up a perverse chip. As she lifted herself up, there stood that same
old man again!

"Why! how _did_ you get in, sir?" said she.

"The sun is most down, Effie," said he without answering her question,
"what is your Last Wish?" As he said it his head shook harder than ever
before, and he leaned on his cane so that he was almost bent double.

"Oh, sir! I wish," said Effie, "that I might do some great work that
should make others happy, and that I might be able to sing the whole of
the Song of the Mountain." As she said this the old man raised his head
slowly from his staff, and when she finished, lo! he was changed into a
great beam of light that cast its rays all about the cellar. Effie flew
up stairs with her broom, and ran to the cottage door. The sea was
sparkling with light, and the sun went down clear and beautiful.

"Aye! there's a sunset for you, chicky," said Father Gilder, coming up
from the shore. "There'll be no storm after that! Do you remember your
last birth day, little one, when there was such a sudden storm came
up?" Yes, indeed, Effie remembered it and wondered whether the sky would
always be clear now.

The next day Effie looked for somebody to come and give her some great
thing to do, and teach her the Song of the Mountain, as she had wished
for her last wish. But no one came--no, nor the next day, nor the day
after; and then every thing went wrong. Her mother became sick and
cross, and finally died; and Effie had to wear the wonderful apron with
so many pockets, and work hard every day. How could she do any great
work? All she could do was to take care of the house and do little
things--ever so many of them there were, too, so that when the evening
came she was quite tired out. But her father said she was a comfort to
him, and he loved to have her sit by him and sing to him. She sang the
two songs over and over, as she did every day at her work, and never
tired of singing them, nor did he tire of hearing them.

So she lived on. She had a great many more birthdays, but no old man
c