HAIRY WOODPECKER. 95 
by children and wood fairies opens at his touch. 
The black unshaded tree trunks turn into en- 
chanted lichen palaces, rich with green and gold 
of every tint. The “pert fairies and the dapper 
elves ” have left their magic circles in the grass, 
and trip lightly around the soft green velvet moss 
mounds so well suited for the throne of their 
queen. Here they find the tiny moss spears Lowell 
christened, ‘“ Arthurian lances,” and quickly arm 
themselves for deeds of fairy valor. Here, too, are 
dainty silver goblets from which they can quaff 
the crystal globes that drop one by one from the 
dark moss high on the trees after rain. And 
there — what wonders in fern tracery, silver fili- 
gree and coral for the fairy Guinevere! 
But hark! the children are coming — and off 
the grave magician flies to watch their play from 
behind a neighboring tree trunk. There they 
come, straight to his workshop, and laugh in glee 
at the white chips he has scattered on the ground. 
They are in league with the fairies, too, and 
cast magic spells over all they see. First they spy 
the upturned roots of a fallen tree. It is a moun- 
tain! And up they clamber, to overlook their 
little world. And that pool left by the fall rains. 
Ha! It isalake! And away they go, to cross 
it bravely on a bridge of quaking moss. 
As they pass under the shadow of a giant hem- 
lock and pick up the cones for playthings, they 
catch sight of the pile of dark red sawdust at the 
