The Fairy Carpet-Bag. 43

“Then the father made a tiny grave beneath the oak-tree’s
shade, and flowers soon bloomed, tended by loving, caretul
hands.

“One morning a tall poppy shot up, the
petals unfolded, and from this little red
house out stepped a sprite dressed in the
oak-tree’s livery of green. You might
easily have mistaken him for a grasshop-
per or a locust at a short distance. In
his hand he carried a carpet-bag, stitched
together neatly out of bits of oak-leaf, and
on his head he wore the small end of an
acorn, fashioned into a cap. Altogether
the sprite had a very brisk manner, and
as he came out of the poppy mansion he
gave it a kick, very ungratefully.

“JT am just born, and I belong to you,’

 

he said, making a low bow to the oak-tree.

“The tree was delighted with the little
man.

“«Shelter yourself in my trunk from the cold, and dance
among my leaves,’ it said, cordially.

“*What am I to do for you in return?’ asked the sprite.

“« You will be my voice,’ replied the tree. ‘The birds shall
teach you to sing,

“«Capital! laughed the sprite. ‘I will hang up my carpet-
bag in a safe corner; I must take good care of that, whatever
happens.’ »

“« Why ? inquired the oak-tree, much interested.