Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees,
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!

FOOTNOTES:

[17] By William Allingham.



THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE


Once upon a time, there was a little brown Field Mouse; and one day he
was out in the fields to see what he could find. He was running along in
the grass, poking his nose into everything and looking with his two eyes
all about, when he saw a smooth, shiny acorn, lying in the grass. It was