plumag-e, and gyrate gracefully, or flutter, or soar off at random on quick wings. 



Sometimes he sings flat on the breast like a song-sparrow, or again high up 

 in the sky like the lark. However he sings, heaven bless the singer ! "The earth 

 would be a cheerless place were there no more of these." 



But legend tells the story of singing birds in its own way — the story of a 

 time long, long eons ago, when not a single bird made glad the heart of anything 

 or anybody. 



True, there were some large sea birds and great walking land birds, too 

 deformed for any one to recognize as birds in these days, but there was no such 

 thing as a singing bird. 



One day there came a great spring freshet, the greatest freshet ever dreamed 

 of, and all the land animals sought shelter in the trees and high mountains. But 

 the water came up to the peaks and over the treetops, and sorrow was in all 

 the world. Suddenly a giraffe, stretching its long neck in all directions, espied 

 a big boat roofed over like a house. The giraffe made signs to the elephant, 

 and the elephant gave the signal, as elephants to this day do give signals that 

 are heard for many a mile, so they say ! Then there carne a scurrying for the 

 big boat. A few of all the animals got on board, by hook or crook, and the rain 

 was coming down in sheets. All at once along came the lizards, crawling up 

 the sides of the boat and hunting for cracks and l<:not-holes to crawl into, just 

 as lizards are in the habit of doing on the sly to this day. But not a crack or 

 knot-hole could they find in the boat's side, for the loose places, wide enough 

 for a lizard to flatten himself into, had all been filled up with gum, or something. 



Then the lizards began to hiss, exactly the way they hiss to this day when 

 they are frightened, and the big animals inside the boat poked out their noses 

 to see what was to pay. 



"Oh, they are nothing but lizards !" exclaimed the giraffe to the elephant, 

 who had naturally taken possession of more than his share of the only foothold 

 in existence. "Let them drown in the freshet." 



But a big, awkward land bird, with teeth, and a tail like a church steeple, 

 took pity on the lizards and gnawed a hole in the wall of the boat. 



Of course, in trooped the lizards. Once in, they disposed themselves in 

 nooks and corners, and right under the flapping ears of the telephant and between 

 the pointed ears of the giraffe. And they began to whisper. 



It was a very low, hissing whisper, as if they had never gotten farther than 

 the s's in the alphabet, but the big animals understood. 



Plenty of room was made for the lizards, and they were allowed to make a 

 square meal now and then on the flies that had come in at the boat's door, unin- 

 vited, plenty of them. 



After a few days the spring freshet came to an end, and the giraffe opened 

 the door of the boathouse and looked out. He made signs to the elephant, and 

 the elephant gave the signal, and out walked all the animals on "dry ground," 

 which, to tell the truth, was rather muddy. 



64 



