The fairies began to look blue, for they hate nothing so much as to give up one whom they have once held captive. “We can give you gold,” said they, “or precious stones, or the root of long living, or the waters of happiness, or the sap of youth, or the seed of plenty, or the blossom of beauty. Choose any of these, and we can give it you.” The old man again caught hold of his son’s feet. “Don’t choose these,” he whimpered, “choose me!” So because he had a capful of moonshine in his head, and because the moonbeams were laying their white hands on his hair, he chose the weak, shrivelled old man, who crouched and clung to him, imploring not to be let go. The fairies, for spite and anger, bestowed every one a parting pinch on their tumble-down old bondsman; then they handed him to his son, and swung back with careless light hearts to their revels. As father and son went down the hill together, the old man whistled and piped like a bird. “Why, why!” he said, “you are a lad of strength and inches: with you to work and look after me, I can keep on to a merry old age! Ay, ay, I have had long to wait for it; but wisdom is justified in her children.” THE MOON-STROKE In the hollow heart of an old tree a Jackdaw and his wife had made themselves a nest. As soon as the mother of his eggs had finished laying, she sat waiting patiently for something to come of it. One by one five mouths poked out of the shells, demanding to be fed; so for weeks the happy couple had to be continually in two places at once searching for food to satisfy them. Presently the wings of the young ones grew strong; they could begin to fly about; and the parents found time for a return to pleasuring and curiosity-hunting. They began gathering in a wise assortment of broken glass and chips of platter to grace the corners of their dwelling. All but the youngest Jackdaw were enchanted with their unutterable beauty and value; they were never tired of quarrelling over the possession and arrangement of them. “But what are they for?” asked the youngest, a perverse bird who grouped himself apart from the rest, and took no share in their daily squabblings. The mother-bird said: “They are beautiful, and what God intended for us: therefore they must be true. We may not see the use of them yet, but no doubt some day they will come true.” The little Jackdaw said: “Their corners scratch me when I want to go to sleep; they are far worse than crumbs in the bed. All the other birds do without them--why should not we?” “That is what distinguishes us from the other birds!” replied the Janedaw, and thanked her stars that it was so. “I wish we could sing!” sighed the littlest young Jackdaw. “Babble, babble!” replied his mother angrily. And then, as it was dinner-time, he forgot his grief as they all said grace, and fell-to. One evening the old Jackdaw came home very late, carrying something that burned bright and green, like an evening star; all the nest shone where he set it down.