THE LITTLE GOLD BIRD

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 541, 19 December 1928, Page 8

THE LITTLE GOLD BIRD

FIRST-EQUAL Long, long ago, when vear Ito year, age to age, and no min ! counted them: when the wilds were lull of mysteries, and dusk and dawn | crept over the edges of the worldsummer dwelt forever in the woods' The sun shone, and little winds went silently; moon after moon, from year's end to year's end. Xama, the Wood-Spirit, lived u, the woods with the Little Gold Bird. ; and all day she danced in the sunlight where it fell aslant the tall trees, and lay in pools upon the pineneedles. All day. the Little Gold Bird : sang his song of ecstasy and devotion. while a soft wind fluttered ! hither and thither, irresponsibly, ro« ! siping and whispering a thousand little secrets to the leaves. Then one day darkness stole over j the world; the wind was wild, and the rain cold, while white flakes fell i like thistle-down upon the Forest ! floor. “AVe must go/’ shivered the leaver The pines looked down at the Wood-spirit, huddled and shivering against their roots. “We cannot go.’ : they said, “vve must shelter Kama/’ The poplars whispered proudly toI gether. ‘’Silly things,’* they said • ’They will die.” But they did not look belowat the Little Gold Bird, shivering with bedraggled feathers in the branches. So the poplar leaves fluttered away, leaving the pine-needles to brave the storm, and to shelter the Wood-spirit below. Then the sun came again, pale, but faintly warm, and Xama missed the singing of the Little Gold Bird. She called, but there was no answer. So she went to the dead poplars, who stretched gaunt arms to the wide skies. Here, it was strangely silent and a whisper went mourning through the trees. Xama hesitated: something Mysterious was here. Then she found the Little Gold Bird, very, very still upon the Forest floor, with limp claws drawn up against damp feathers. But she did not understand. “He is dead.” whispered the Little Quiet Wind. “He is dead,” moaned the creaking branches. “He is dead,” sighed the pines. “Head?” she faltered, “what ie that?” “He will never sing again,” said the Rustle-of-Leaves. “Oh. . . Would the Little Gold Bird lie there forever and no sun wake him ? Perhaps the cold would come again, and he would be alone. He had never been alone before, i All night she waited, till a splenI did star rose above the trees, and | she heard a wondrous bird-voice singing far above. And suddenly she knew that the Little Gold Bird did not lie in that feathered body, but that somewhere out there, he was singing as he had never sung before... XoA' Xama dances again in sunlit pools on the pine-needles, and the little winds purr in the branches. When the snow comes again, the pines are snug and warm. “We will let you be.” cry the wild winde, “for you were kind.” But they blow mercilessly through the poplars till they arc stark and bare again. Men call it Winter, when the snow comes, but Xama knows that it i? > punishment for the poplars, and sh» often wonders about the Little Gold Bird, who is not lonely any more. —Harvest Moon (Alma Chamberlain).