Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach,-- One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; He starts not at my fitful song, Or flash of fluttering drapery; He has no thought of any wrong; He scans me with a fearless eye. Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? My driftwood fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the sky; For are we not God's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I? --Mrs. Thaxter. [1] Used by permission of and special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co. THE CIRCLING OF CRANES One autumn day ages and ages ago, the cranes were preparing to go south. Cranes always dreaded the cold and flew away to the summer-land at the first glitter of the frost. The crane leader had a loud, hoarse voice, and he called and called to his flock to hurry. The cranes came from all directions at the call of their leader. The father and mother cranes came. The old cranes came and the young cranes came. Even the babies, whose feathers were scarce grown, came flying at the call of the leader. All the cranes were happy, for they were going to the summer-land. They were glad to go, for already the frost jewels sparkled on the brown grasses and the cold winds were beginning to blow. "Come! come!" cried the crane leader, and his voice was hoarse with shouting. "Come! It is full time we were off!" Young and old spread their wings for flight. They waited a moment for their leader to take his place. As they waited the cranes glanced down to the cold, bare country which they were about to leave. Thus looking down, the cranes saw a beautiful maiden standing alone at the edge of the village. "How lovely she is!" said the crane leader. "And how lonely she seems!" "How thin her dress is!" said another crane. "See, she is weeping!" cried a third. Just at that moment the maiden looked up and saw the flock of cranes above her. "Oh," she cried, "you are going to the summer-land. I wish I had wings. I would fly away with you! "Alas! in this cold, cheerless Northland I shall starve and freeze. I have no home. I have no friends. "There is no oil in my stone stove! There is no meat in my kettle. What shall I do when the thick snow flies and the winter winds cut like knives?"