The Magic Flutes/At the End of Day
AT THE END OF DAY
It was the first night in May. The air was full of fragrance; overhead, the sky was crowded with stars. In a glade near a rose tree a little fire burned, casting its ruddy glow into the darkness.
The eight Mouse sons were seated around it. They were watching the dancing flames and thinking about an old legend. It is said on this night alone, in all the year, the ferns by the spring under the cliffs, unfold a golden blossom. This shining fernflower has a magic power. 
Whoever plucks it at midnight on the first night of May, will be served for a whole year by all the woodland elves.
They will open for him the rocky caverns in which treasures lie hidden. If he loses his way in the forest, they will lead him safely out again. Everything he longs for, everything he wishes, will be granted him.
But the fairy flower can be seen only on this one night. Ah—lucky—a hundred times most lucky—he who picks it at the stroke of twelve!
Seven of the eight Mouse brothers spoke at once: “Come, we will seek this magic blossom!“ The seven nodded, but the eighth brother was still.
He gazed first into the fire, then into the distance. He raised his flute to his lips and played the song that he heard in his soul.
The first notes were full of sorrow. It seemed as though hearts wept at parting. Next, hope crept into the music. It was as if a pilgrim, returning from a long journey smiled as he neared his native hut. Lastly, the song rose like the spirit of a joyful child, who, after long absence, is enfolded again in his dear mothers arms.
The flute ceased. Midnight struck in the silence. Eight sons followed the song in their minds. They seemed to see gleaming in their distant birthplace, not the golden fern blossom, but another flower, tar more precious. It was the most beautiful flower ever to be found on earth. It blooms not only once a year, but blossoms every day; in all loyalty, it shields one from the cradle to the grave.
Eight hearts leapt to meet it, as the eight brothers sprang up from the moss and raced along a single path:
“Home—home—to Mother!“
