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“‘Must I thank you, then,’ said the king, ‘Sir Lark,
For flying so high, and hating the dark?
You ask a full cup for half a thirst:
Half is love of me, and half love to be first.
There’s many a bird that makes no haste,
But waits till I come. That’s as much to my taste.

“And the king hid his head in a turban of cloud;
And the lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed.
But he flew up higher, and thought, ‘Anon,
The wrath of the king will be over and gone,
And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold,
Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold.’

“So he flew, with the strength of a lark he flew.
But as he rose, the cloud rose too;
And not a gleam of the golden hair
Came through the depth of the misty air;
Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore,
The strong sun-seeker could do no more.

“His wings had had no chrism of gold,
And his feathers felt withered and worn and old;
So he quivered and sank, and dropped like a stone.
And there on his nest, where he left her, alone,
Sat his little wife on her little eggs,
Keeping them warm with wings and legs.

“Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing!
Full in her face was shining the king.
‘Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired,’ said he.
‘Up is not always the best way to me.
While you have been singing so high and away,
I’ve been shining to your little wife all day.’

“He had set his crown all about the nest,
And out of the midst shone her little brown breast;
And so glorious was she in russet gold,
That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold.
He popped his head under her wing, and lay
As still as a stone, till the king was away.”

As soon as Tricksey-Wee had finished her song, the lark’s wife began a low, sweet, modest little song of her own; and after she had piped away for two or three minutes, she said,–

“You dear children, what can I do for you?”

“Tell us where the she-eagle lives, please,” said Tricksey-Wee.

“Well, I don’t think there can be much harm in telling such wise, good children,” said Lady Lark; “I am sure you don’t want to do any mischief.”

“Oh, no; quite the contrary,” said Buffy-Bob.

“Then I’ll tell you. She lives on the very topmost peak of Mount Skycrack; and the only way to get up is to climb on the spiders’ webs that cover it from top to bottom.”

“That’s rather serious,” said Tricksey-Wee.

“But you don’t want to go up, you foolish little thing! You can’t go. And what do you want to go up for?”

“That is a secret,” said Tricksey-Wee.

“Well, it’s no business of mine,” rejoined Lady Lark, a little offended, and quite vexed that she had told them. So she flew away to find some breakfast for her little ones, who by this time were chirping very impatiently. The children looked at each other, joined hands, and walked off.

In a minute more the sun was up, and they soon reached the outside of the tree. The bark was so knobby and rough, and full of twigs, that they managed to get down, though not without great difficulty. Then, far away to the north, they saw a huge peak, like the spire of a church, going right up into the sky. They thought this must be Mount Skycrack, and turned their faces towards it. As they went on, they saw a giant or two, now and then, striding about the fields or through the woods, but they kept out of their way. Nor were they in much danger; for it was only one or two of the border giants that were so very fond of children.