136 THE FAIRY-FOLK OF THE BLUE HILL.

powerless than ever. The placid face of the
moon. seemed to encourage him, and, taking
heart, in a faint voice he called on the little
gray man thus :—

“O most mighty man in gray,
Listen to my call, I pray.
Almost, now, the night is gone,
And my work is left undone.
Thou alone canst do the deed ;
Wilt thou not my summons heed ?”

All was still as before; not a rustle of leaf
or twig broke the profound silence that fol-
lowed the brown beetle’s appeal; but he gave
a great start of surprise as the little gray man
stood suddenly before him.

“Thou hast summoned me, little brown
beetle; what is it thou wouldst have me do?”
asked the little gray man.

“O mighty man in gray,” cried the brown
beetle, “the rover’s little maid is fast in the
cold, wet cranberry bog, calling vainly for help.
Wilt thou not rescue her?”

“Why dost thou concern thyself about
that little maid?” asked the little gray man,
looking intently, but not unkindly, on the brown
beetle.