One wonderful, mysterious, summer evening thousands of fireflies were peopling the atmosphere. I had never seen so many before, and wanted to stay up and play with them. But the tyranny of the elders decreed that I should be put to bed at the customary hour, as if it had been any ordinary night.
I believe few of the elders retain the powers of childhood—which see far beyond the confines of the seen world—else why should they have insisted on my leaving this romantic world outside, which was beckoning me to join its revels?
However, they did put me to bed, and as usual told me to shut my eyes tight and go to sleep. But shutting one's eyes does not make one go to sleep. On the contrary one sees many more things than before. The beauty of the night had intoxicated me. I was a part of nature, and she was claiming me for her own. There was a pond in our garden where frogs lived. They, too, must have felt the power of to-night's beauty; for they were far more loquacious than usual. I listened to them for a long time—and presently I understood that they were talking to me.
"Get up, little girl!" they were saying. "Get up, little girl!"
For hours and hours they kept this up, now softly and insinuatingly, then swelling into loud command.
They ended by persuading me. I crept from
