“How your cheerful little gleam, Joyful makes the darkness seem, Where you flit no elf is sad, Twinkle, twinkle, firefly glad.” “I don’t see why you should sing that now,” said Owly. “It isn’t the least bit appropriate; the fireflies are not twinkling and won’t be for some time to come if we can judge by the look of the sky.” “Isn’t that just like Owly?” said Slumber. “You are always so literal, Owly,” said Rhymo. “Don’t you know that fact hasn’t half as much to do with music and poetry as fancy?” “Just the same,” said Owly, “I think ‘Our New Home’ would have been much more appropriate.” “Why can’t you be more agreeable, Owly?” asked the flower-elf. “Anything is appropriate when you’re happy, and besides, Captain Featherweight left the choosing to Tono, and why shouldn’t you?” “The music was beautiful,” said Captain Featherweight. “I always love to hear about the gay little fireflies. But look at the pink in the east! That means that the King of Day is coming over the hills in his chariot. To rest! To rest.” Then the Elves of Mount Fern lay down on their soft little beds of leaves and moss, and slumbered till starlight again. * * * * * The Elves always begin their _day_ in the evening instead of the morning, so that what is early for them is late for us, and what is early for us is late for them. Every evening as soon as the stars peeped out of the sky, Captain Featherweight always gave the command: “Right! Left! Shoulder arms!” This simply meant, “Get to work,” and was the signal for every elf to be about his business. All night long the gay little Elves were as busy as bees, but no matter where they were or what they were doing, they always came back to Mount Fern before sunrise, and rested till starlight again. The next evening Captain Featherweight gave his usual command and every elf began to work. Iris-Wing, the flower-elf, scampered lightly down the fern ladder and went about his business in the garden. Although all the Elves loved the flowers, he was the one who took most care of them, and so the other Elves called him “Iris-Wing, the flower-elf.” As he wandered about from flower to flower he whispered to each a word of good cheer. The tulips and daisies were all fast asleep and heard not a word that he said, but the roses were as wide-awake as in broad daylight, and they bowed to the flower-elf and said: “We’re watching the Queen of Night climbing over the tall stone chimneys of Templeton Hall.” While the roses were watching the moon, the flower-elf went on, and was just going to speak to the foxgloves when he heard two monster voices from the Giant World. And he listened, for he couldn’t help listening, the voices were so loud and harsh; or so it seemed to him, although we would call them very sweet voices. It was Mary and Anna Templeton, the Doctor’s daughters, who were talking.