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The Hair Tree

fixed on the nut in Rupert’s hand, which it was eyeing greedily.

“What have you there ?” it said, after a pause, in a much quieter voice. “Surely that is a zirbal nut. Dear me, it is two thousand years since I tasted one. Give me a bit of that one.”

“I am sure you are very welcome to it,” Rupert was beginning, but he stopped himself in time, and said instead,—

“If you will take me on your back across the river, and wait for me and bring me back after I have got some hair seeds, I will give you this one, but on no other condition.”

The swan stopped, and thought, and then said, “Very well;” and swimming close to the bank, beckoned to Rupert to get on his back. He obeyed, and the swan swam swiftly over the water. As it approached the farther side, it turned its long head and said,—

“Whatever you do, don’t let the lip-flowers kiss you. They are sure to ask to. But they won't really want to kiss. They will only bite a piece out of your cheek; they are terribly greedy.”

The sailor thanked the swan for its advice, and sprang upon the mound. It was covered with

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