de. Then the gray squirrels pushed forward,
and in spite of many wounds, broke through the ranks of the hornets.
They had nearly reached Weeng when the bees, buzzing more indignantly
than ever, made one fierce dash at them. The gray squirrels fought
bravely, but at every turn they met terrible, stinging blows. At last
they could not see what they were doing, and, like the red squirrels,
many of them fell from the limb.

While this part of the battle was going on, the chipmunks had been
waging a war of their own with the wasps, who had attacked them. The
battle had been a sharp one, and many soldiers of both armies lay dead
on the ground below the tree. But the chipmunks had won the victory,
and now made their way along the branches towards Weeng. Their leader,
a large, bold-looking chipmunk, made a fierce rush at Weeng, and almost
touched him. But just as he did so, with a noiseless swoop, down came
the mosquitoes upon him. They covered his head, until not a part of it
was to be seen. He slapped wildly at them, lost his hold on the
branch, and fell to the ground. With redoubled fury on rushed the
other chipmunks and the red squirrels, who had by this time recovered.
They were met by a solid wall of insects bristling with sharp swords,
for the wasps, the hornets, and flies had placed themselves across
their path. Then came the hottest part of the battle, and in one
confused mass they struggled and fought on the slender branch. In the
midst of this there sounded a soft, sweet call. It was the sleep call
of the fairy Weeng. At once all the insects sheathed their swords, and
turning, fluttered slowly home to bed. As each one departed, he
uttered a soft good-night to Weeng.

The hunter, who was watching all this anxiously, wondered that although
the Red Squirrel's army was still fighting it was making no headway.
He wondered how this could be. Suddenly he remembered the leaf in his
pocket. At once he chewed it, and he then saw the reason for the
squirrels' defeat. At the call of Weeng his sleep fairies had come
forth, and now with their clubs were knocking their enemies on the
head. Blow after blow they struck. The squirrels resisted bravely,
but it was useless. In a few minutes they were driven back and off the
branch of the tree, and were glad to escape to their homes. As the
darkness gathered and the magic of the leaf began to wear away, the
hunter could just dimly see Weeng sitting in the midst of