42 Lhe Catskill Fairtes.

1HE OAK-TREE SPRITE.

“Ar the foot of these mountains an oak-tree once waved
its long branches, and towered above the grass bank which
sloped away to the brink of a little brook. The brook sang
sweet songs to itself all day long, as it rippled about large
rocks, then flowed smoothly among rushes and marsh flowers.
The birds trilled delicious music overhead; but the oak-tree
had no ear for music, although it had lived beside the brook
for years, and might certainly have learned something from
association by this time.

“«The summer breeze rustles among my leaves, and the
winter storms clash my branches together,’ said the tree. ‘Is
not that enough noise ?’

“*That amounts to just nothing at all,’ replied the brook,
the sunshine dimpling its surface with golden sparkles as it
hurried on to swell the broad Hudson, and roll still further
onward to the sea.

“At last something happened. <A lamp burned all night in
the poor cottage; the Doctor came with his medicine-box, and
the parents hovered anxiously about the cradle. When morn-
ing dawned the house had grown still, for in the early hours,
before the sun brought returning warmth and brightness to
the glad earth, a little soul had risen on snowy wings to the
gates of heaven—the child was dead.