'Why not? What higher joy can they know? They are happy, for they ask no better because they know no better.' When night fell, and the shadows of the trees were merged in uniform gloom, the mysterious vitality of the forest knew no rest. The branches snapped and cracked, the dry leaves rustled hither and thither among the grass and in the underwood. Then Johannes felt the touch of invisible wings and was aware of the presence of invisible beings. He could plainly hear the murmur of little voices and tripping of little feet. There! there in the darkest depth of the thicket, a tiny blue spark glowed and vanished. There was another and another!--Hark! When he listened attentively he could hear a rustling in the leaf-strewn floor near him, close to the black tree-trunk. The blue lights again were visible and then stood still on the top. Now Johannes saw such lights all about him; they flitted among the brown leaves, dancing along with airy leaping; and in one place a large sparkling mass beamed like a blue bonfire. 'What fire is that?' asked Johannes. 'It burns splendidly.' 'That is a rotten tree-stump,' replied Windekind. They went towards a bright light which remained steady. 'Now I will introduce you to Wistik.[1] He is the oldest and wisest of the Wood-Sprites. As they approached Johannes saw him sitting by his candle. The wrinkled little face with its grey beard could be plainly seen by the blue light; he was reading diligently with knitted brows. On his head he wore an acorn-cup with a tiny feather in it. Before him sat a wood-spider listening to his reading. When the pair went near him, the little boguey, without raising his head, looked up from his book and lifted his eyebrows. The spider crept away. 'Good-evening,' said he. 'I am Wistik. Who are you?' 'My name is Johannes. I should like to make acquaintance with you. What are you reading?' 'It is not meant for your ears,' said Wistik. 'It is only for wood-spiders.' 'Just let me once look at it, dear Wistik,' begged Johannes. 'I cannot. This is the sacred book of the spiders, and is in my charge. I may not let it out of my own hands. I have the keeping of the sacred books of the snails, and the butterflies, and the hedge-hogs, and the moles, and all the creatures that live here. They cannot all read, and when they want to know anything I read it to them. This is a great honour for me, a post of trust, you understand.' The sprite nodded very gravely several times, and pointed with his tiny forefinger. 'And what were you studying just now?'