,
It was now some two or three million times more.
Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks
Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;
And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries:
"Take care"--"See there"--"O, dear, my eyes!"
"I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs,
Till to land they drew.

"Yeo-ho! Pull to
Tiller-rope thro' and thro'!"
And all's right anew.
"Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.
(Eh, what is this? . . . where are they, at all?
Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?
Well, as I live" . . .) He looks blank as a wall,
Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,
But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes
Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,
And he stands alone,
Like a statue of stone,
In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,
And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear,
With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee quee! bah! bah!
Fizzigig-giggidy! pshee! sha sha!"
"O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!"
The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,
And there, alas, to his horror perceives
That the little folk's mode of making him richer
Has been to pay him with withered leaves!

* * * * *

THE WORLD

"The world is wet," said the little frog;
"What isn't water is mostly bog."
"Oh, not at all!" said the little fly;
"It's full of spiders, and very dry!"
"The world is dark," said the moth polite,
"With ruddy windows and bows of light."
"My poor young friend, you have much to learn:
The world is green," said the swaying fern.
"O listen to me," sang the little lark:
"It's wet and dry, and it's green and dark.
To think that's all would be very wrong;
It's arched with blue, and it's filled with song."

* * * * *

FANCIFUL STORIES

* * * * *

WHITE MAGIC

Blind folks see the fairies,
Oh, better far than we,
Who miss the shining of their wings
Because our eyes are filled with things
We do not wish to see.
They need not seek enchantment
From solemn printed books,
For all about them as they go
The fairies flutter to and fro
With smiling friendly looks.

Deaf folk hear the fairies,
However soft their song;
Tis we who lose the honey sound
Amid the clamor all around