364 WHAT THE MOON SAW.

“ At that moment there was a rustling in the branches of the
willow tree, and the children folded their hands and looked at
one another: it was certainly the angel coming with the baby.
They took each other’s hand, and at that moment the door of
one of the houses opened, and the neighbour appeared.

“<Come in, you two,’ she said. ‘See what the stork has brought.
It is a little brother.’

“ And the children nodded gravely at one another, for they had
felt quite sure already that the baby was come.”

FOURTEENTH EVENING,

“T was gliding over the Liineburg Heath,” the Moon said.
“A lonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew
near it, and a nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly. He
died in the coldness of the night: it was his farewell song that I
heard.

“The morning dawn came glimmering red. I saw a caravan
of emigrant pedsant families who were bound to Hamburgh, there
to take ship for America, where fancied prosperity would bloom
for them. The mothers carried their little children at their backs,
the elder ones tottered by their sides, and a poor starved horse
tugged at a cart that bore their scanty effects. The cold wind
whistled, and therefore the little girl nestled closer to the mother,
who, looking up at my decreasing disc, thought of the bitter want
at home, and spoke of the heavy taxes they had not been able to
raise. The whole caravan thought of the same thing; therefore
the rising dawn seemed to them a message from the sun, of for-
tune that was to gleam brightly upon them. They heard the
dving nightingale sing: it was no false prophet, but a harbinger
of fortune. The wind whistled, therefore they did not understand
that the nightingale sang, ‘Far away over the sea! Thou hast
paid the long passage with all that was thine, and poor and help-
less shalt thou enter Canaan. Thou must sell thyself, thy wife,
and thy children. But your griefs shall not last long. Behind
the broad fragrant leaves lurks the Goddess of Death, and her
welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. Fare away, fare
away, over the heaving billows.’ And the caravan listened well
pleased to the song of the nightingale, which seemed to promise
good fortune. The day broke through the light clouds; country
people went across the heath to church: the black-gowned women
with their white head-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped
forth from the church pictures. All around lay a wide dead plain,
covered with faded brown heath, and black charred spaces be-
tween the white sand hills. The women carried hymn-books,
and walked into the church. Oh, pray, pray for those who are
wandering to find graves beyond the foaming billows.”