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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END
was quite another thing than his little bed, and the cave was all strange to him. He turned himself on one side and then on the other, and as nothing would do, he raised himself and sat upright to wait till sleep might choose to come. But sleep would not come at all, and the only wakeful eyes in the whole wood were the Child’s. For the harebells had rung themselves weary, and the fire-flies had flown about till they were tired, and even the dragon-fly, who would fain have kept watch in front of the cave, had dropped sound asleep.
The wood grew stiller and stiller; here and there fell a dry leaf which
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