"O balmy wind of summer,
O silver-singing brook,
Why rustle through the branches?
Why shimmer in your nook?
'I flutter, blithesome Bessie,
Like a blessing far and wide;
I scatter bloom and verdure
Where'er my footsteps glide.'
Whirl, busy wheel, faster.
Spin, little thread, spin.
The sun shines fair without.
And we are gay within.
"O brook and breeze and blossom.
And robin on the tree,
You make a joy of duly,
A pride of humility;
Teach me to work as blithely,
With a willing hand and heart:
The world is full of labor.
And I must do my part.
Whirl, busy wheel, faster.
Spin, little thread, spin,
The sun shines fair without.
And we are gay within."
"Yes," sighed the elf, as she listened, "it is as Madam Mouse said,—there is no real pleasure in idleness. I will no longer think of selfish ease alone, but try to gather resolution from all I have suffered, and begin my task for love of dear mamma."
So anxious was she to be gone, that, scarcely staying to thank the friendly child, Moss hurried away, fearing some fresh misfortune would befall her unless she fell to work at once. With many tears she owned her fault, asking to be made a diligent and happy elf. Madam Mouse re-
