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“Rosy, my dear,
Don’t cry,–I’m here
To help you all I can.
I’m only a fly,
But you’ll see that I
Will keep my word like a man.”

Rosy couldn’t help laughing to hear the brisk little fellow talk as if he could do great things; but she was very glad to see him and hear his cheerful song, so she held out her finger, and while he sat there told him all her troubles.

“Bless your heart! my friend the eagle will carry you right up the mountains and leave you at your father’s door,” cried the fly; and he was off with a flirt of his gauzy wings, for he meant what he said.

Rosy was ready for her new horse, and not at all afraid after the whale and the lion; so when a great eagle swooped down and alighted near her, she just looked at his sharp claws, big eyes, and crooked beak as coolly as if he had been a cock-robin.

He liked her courage, and said kindly in his rough voice,–

“Hop up, little girl, and sit among my feathers. Hold me fast round the neck, or you may grow dizzy and get a fall.”

Rosy nestled down among the thick gray feathers, and put both arms round his neck; and whiz they went, up, up, up, higher and higher, till the trees looked like grass, they were so far below. At first it was very cold, and Rosy cuddled deeper into her feather bed; then, as they came nearer to the sun, it grew warm, and she peeped out to see the huts standing in a green spot on the top of the mountain.

“Here we are. You’ll find all the men are down in the mine at this time. They won’t come up till morning; so you will have to wait for your father. Good-by; good luck, my dear.” And the eagle soared away, higher still, to his nest among the clouds.

It was night now, but fires were burning in all the houses; so Rosy went from hut to hut trying to find her father’s, that she might rest while she waited: at last in one the picture of a pretty little girl hung on the wall, and under it was written, “My Rosy.” Then she knew that this was the right place; and she ate some supper, put on more wood, and went to bed, for she wanted to be fresh when her father came in the morning.

While she slept a storm came on,–thunder rolled and lightning flashed, the wind blew a gale, and rain poured,–but Rosy never waked till dawn, when she heard men shouting outside,–

“Run, run! The river is rising! We shall all be drowned!”

Rosy ran out to see what was the matter, though the wind nearly blew her away; she found that so much rain had made the river overflow till it began to wash the banks away.

“What shall I do? what shall I do?” cried Rosy, watching the men rush about like ants, getting their bags of gold ready to carry off before the water swept them away, if it became a flood.

As if in answer to her cry, Rosy heard a voice say close by,–

“Splash, dash!
Rumble and crash!
Here come the beavers gay;
See what they do,
Rosy, for you,
Because you helped me one day.”

And there in the water was the little fish swimming about, while an army of beavers began to pile up earth and stones in a high bank to keep the river back. How they worked, digging and heaping with teeth and claws, and beating the earth hard with their queer tails like shovels! Rosy and the men watched them work, glad to be safe, while the storm cleared up; and by the time the dam was made, all danger was over. Rosy looked into the faces of the rough men, hoping her father was there, and was just going to ask about him, when a great shouting rose again, and all began to run to the pit hole, saying,–