THIS is a very good story to read at night just before going to sleep. And if you ask why, I must only tell you that you will find out before you reach the end of the tale.  
There was once a Heron, a pretty, long-legged, slender lady Heron, who lived in the mushy-squshy, wady-shady swamp. The lady Heron lived in her swamp all alone, earning her living by catching little fish; and she was very happy, never dreaming that she was lonesome, for no one had told her what lonesome was. She loved to go wading in the cool waters; she loved to catch the little fish who swam by unsuspectingly while she stood still upon one leg pretending to think about something a thousand miles away. And she loved to look at her slender, long-legged blue reflection in the water; for the lady Heron was just a little bit vain.
 
Now one day Mr. Stork came flying over the mushy-squshy, wady-shady swamp where the Heron lived, and he too saw the reflection in the water. And he said to himself, "My! How pretty she is! I wonder I never noticed her before. And how lonesome she must be there all by herself in such a nasty, moist, mushy-squshy old swamp! I will invite her to come and share my nice, warm, dry nest on the chimney-top. For to tell the truth, I am growing lonely up there all by myself. Why should we not make a match of it, we two long-legged creatures?"
 
Mr. Stork went home to his house, which he set prettily in order: for he never dreamed but that the lady Heron would accept his offer at the very first croak. He preened his feathers and made himself as lovely as he could, and forthwith off he flew with his long legs dangling, straight to the wady-shady swamp where Miss Heron was standing on one leg waiting for her supper to get itself caught.
 
"Ahem!" croaked Mr. Stork, waving his wing politely. "Good evening, Miss Heron. Fine weather we are having, eh? But how horribly moist it is down here! I should think that your nice straight legs would grow crooked with rheumatism. Now I have a comfortable, dry house on the roof."
 
"Pouf!" grunted Miss Heron disdainfully.
 
But Mr. Stork pretended not to hear, and went on with his remarks,—"a nice dry house which I should be glad to have you share with me. Come, Miss Heron! Here I am a lonely old bachelor, and here are you a lonely old maid"—
 
"Lonely old maid, indeed!" screamed the Heron interrupting him. "I don't know what it is to be lonely. Go along with you!" and she splashed water on him with her wings, she was so indignant.
 
Poor Mr. Stork felt very crestfallen at this reception of his well-meaning invitation. He turned about and stalked away towards his nest upon the roof, without so much as saying good-by to the lady.
 
But no sooner was he out of sight than Miss Heron began to think. He had said that she was lonely; was she lonely? Well, perhaps he ought to know better than she, for he was a very wise bird. Perhaps she was lonely, now that she came to think of it. However, there was no reason why she should go to live in that stupid, dry, old nest on the house-top. Why could he not come to dwell in her lovely, mushy-squshy, wady-shady swamp? That would be very pleasant, for he was a good sort of fellow with nice long legs; and there were fish enough in the water for two. Besides, he could then do the fishing for the family; and, moreover, there would then be two to admire her reflection in the water. Yes; her mind was made up. She would invite him. She glanced down at her reflection and settled some of the feathers which her fit of temper had ruffled out of order. Then off she started in pursuit of Mr. Stork.
 
Mr. Stork had not gone very far, for a sad, rejected lover is a dawdling creature. And so she came up with him long before he was in sight of his nest.
 
"Good evening, Mr. Stork," said the lady nervously. "I—I have been thinking over what you said to me just now, and I have concluded that perhaps I was a bit hasty. To tell you the truth, sir, I am a trifle lonely, now that you suggest the thought to me. And it would be very agreeable to have pleasant company. I am ready, sir, to agree to your proposal. But of course I cannot think of changing my abode. My swamp is the most beautiful home that a maiden ever knew, and I could not give it up for any one. As for your ugly old nest on the chimney-top, bah! I cannot endure the idea with patience."
 
Mr. Stork was gradually stiffening into an angry attitude, but she did not notice. "Now you can come and live in my swamp," Miss Heron went on warmly, "and you will be very welcome to catch fish for me, and to look in my mirror. It will be very nice indeed!"
 
"Nice!" croa............