DOWN at the plantation house where the broad galleries were supported by large red brick pillars, the green window-shutters of a front room on the second floor were flung wide open, for in the room lay a little girl getting well. She was only six years old and she had been very ill; but now the gloomy days had passed, and, except that she was as white as the big magnolia-blossoms on the trees, she was beginning to be herself again.

"Sunshine is all she needs," said the doctor; "let her live in the open air."

So one day propped up with pillows, she lay on the balcony in a large chair. She could see the long row of umbrella china-trees on either side of the pebbled walk leading down to the front gate; and the handsome hedges of acacias, with their tiny yellow blossoms filling the air with fragrance, which lined the fences everywhere. Off in a corner of the yard clustered a dozen or more pecan trees, and now and then the sharp chatter of the squirrels reached her as they stole the nuts and scampered away to hide them. The lawn, soft and green, sloped down to the white oyster-shell road, and a mile away, shimmering in the distance, the broad bayou ran curling around the marsh, smiling in brilliant sparkles under the blue sky.

Little Zeline lay happy and contented just to be out of the house again, and able to enjoy such beautiful things. Presently a red-throated, brilliant-colored lizard ran across her chair, then, frightened at what it had done, darted along the rail of the baluster until it reached a safe distance from the child. There the excited little creature stopped, and turning its head gazed steadily back with its tiny bright eyes at Zeline. It was about eight inches long, and its tail, which it kept wriggling all the time, had black markings on it, while its body changed its colors from brown to green in various shades every few minutes. Zeline lay very quiet watching it, and finally, losing its fear of her, the beautiful little creature came closer, and at last ran across her hand.

Day by day the lizard returned to watch Zeline among her pillows, but it would dart away swiftly at the least movement of the child or any sudden noise in the house. Zeline was fascinated with her new pet and could talk of nothing else. It helped her to pass away the time, and it became so tame that it ate from her hand. One warm, balmy day, as the little girl was watching it blink its eyes and change its colors, she said:

"Oh, you wise-eyed lizard, if you could only talk to me!"

"But I can," promptly replied the lizard.

"Good gracious!" said the little girl, "can you really talk?"

"Certainly," the lizard replied. "I came especially to talk to you, but you never gave me a chance."

"What do you mean by a chance?" asked Zeline. "I was very quiet at first for fear of frightening you; why couldn't you talk then?"

"Because," replied the lizard, "some one must always ask us a question before we can answer."

"Dear me," gasped Zeline, "tell me, then, where do you live and what do you do?"

So the lizard told her he had many homes: one was in the pretty trees, where, when he ran up the sides, he looked like the brown bark; and another was in the tall grass, where, gliding through, all his hues seemed wonderful shades of green.

"Do you know any stories?" asked the child.

"Oh, yes," the lizard said, "I know many, but I came especially to tell you one."

"How nice of you," Zeline murmured, and seated herself back comfortably among her pillows to listen; "please begin."

"Well," began the lizard, blinking his eyes and darting out his long tongue to snap a passing fly, "many years ago, in a charming spot out in the woods, a most exquisite baby nymph was found by the birds of the forest. It had been apparently deserted by its parents, and was lying alone, covered up with brown leaves, but it was not afraid and was cooing with delight when discovered. As there was no one to claim it, the birds decided to adopt it for their own.

"The little thing soon grew up to be a lovely child, and became the delight of her adopted parents. They built her a beautiful home of jasmine hedges and covered it with leaves. They taught her to sing exquisite melodies, and she lived a gay, light-hearted creature. Her food was the delicious berries she found in the forest, and her drink the crystal streams that bubbled through them. All day she roamed the woods, but there was not an animal or a creature in the broad forest that did not love the pretty nymph child Nerida, so she went and came unharmed.

"Free to enjoy herself as she pleased, there was only one thing she was forbidden to do: she could never enter the marsh nor tread its enticing-looking ground. For its soft green grass and its attractive flowers concealed dreadful terrors. An old witch lived there with an ugly alligator for her son, and this horrible son demanded human beings for his food. The birds feared that Nerida's beauty might make him want to devour her also.

"The witch adored her ugly son, and near the lagoon in which he lived she had made her dwelling. This she did by turning the land into a marsh; that is, she filled the ground with reeds and rushes and soft grass, making it look like land, and then soaked it through and through with water, so that the beautiful earth one saw was really not earth at all, but only a deadly quagmire.

"If one stepped out of the little pirogue or  canoe floating on the bayou and tried to gather the beautiful tiger-lilies or purple passion-flowers that grew everywhere about, he was never seen again. The moment he put his foot on the marsh he sank rapidly to his knees, and in spite of all his efforts to save himself, was drawn down lower and lower into the mud. The old witch had him in her clutches and would never release him. Only his little pirogue was left floating down the bayou to tell his sad fate.

"Every one, therefore, was warned against the deadly dangers of the marsh-lands. The birds could venture there because their wings protected them, and if they stopped to drink or rest, they flew lightly away again unhurt. The witch hated them because they were beautiful and innocent, but she had no power over them, she could harm nothing that could fly. So also with the butterflies who came to sip the sweetness from the flowers.

"Years went by and the wood nymph had grown into a charming maiden. Her long hair fell to her knees, and her bright eyes sparkled like dew-drops. Her pretty teeth gleamed between her red lips when she laughed, and she laughed long and merrily because everything was bright and beautiful in the woods. The birds were anxious, however, to see her well married, and in their long journey northward they looked eagerly for a suitable husband. But Nerida was not in a hurry, for she loved her foster parents and her companions in the wood. She loved the squirrels, and the red-throated lizards were her delight, but she loved her liberty best of all, and she would sit for hours on the banks of the sunny bayou twining leaves in her hair and singing her pretty songs.

"One day a river god was swimming in the river, and hearing the singing he stopped to listen. He thought he had never seen anything more beautiful than Nerida, or heard more bewitching music than her songs. So day after day he returned to see and talk to her, and when the birds returned from their long pilgrimage they found Nerida deeply in love with the handsome stranger.

"When they found their beloved adopted daughter was so happy, the birds gladly gave their consent to the marriage, and wedding preparations were at once begun. The birds desired Nerida to weave her own wedding-veil, and they told her of a wonderful material they had seen in the East. So away they flew to the land of Araby, promising to return soon with the softest and lightest stuff in the world to weave for the bridal finery.

"The wood nymph and her lover were happy and contented, and were quite willing to await the birds' return. Nerida always met her lover on the banks of the bayou, and there, singing and twining garlands of leaves, they passed many happy hours together.

"One beautiful warm afternoon, as some lovely clouds were floating lazily across the blue sky, she ran down to meet him. Not a breath was stirring, for the day was soft and mild, and the unruffled waters of the bayou reflected long yellow beams, and golden lights quivered far down in their shining depths. Suddenly a school of tiny fish jumped up, showing their bright colors and markings of green, while the water fell from them in glittering showers, but save for this sudden disturbance everything around was perfectly quiet.

"The little maid was too early for the meeting hour, so she sat and amused herself watching all the beautiful things about her. How lovely the marsh was, with its tints softened by a tender haze and its reeds and rushes scarcely moving! There was a dreamy stillness everywhere, and the flowers were never more tempting.

"A big star-eyed passion-flower growing close along the border of the stream was most enticing. It grew so near, Nerida thought that once across the bayou she could pick it without an effort. And surely that was not marsh ground it grew upon, for the grass looked firm and strong beneath it. The great purple flower with its delicate, white-crowned centre smiled across at her bewitchingly. How lovely it would look in her hair when she greeted her lover!

"Another moment and the imprudent little nymph had plunged boldly into the water and crossed the stream. Soon she stood upon the spot, and the splendid flower was already in her hand, when suddenly, without warning, the ground gave way beneath her feet. In an instant she realized her peril, and screamed aloud in fear. Alas! it was too late, for in spite of her frantic effort to release herself she slowly sank into the old marsh witch's outstretched arms.

"Her cries had reached her lover's ears, however, and he hastened to her assistance; but it was useless, for at his first step upon her land 'the old witch quickly changed him into a weeping willow on the banks of the bayou.

"The poor little wood nymph was now entirely in the witch's power, and she felt she was surely doomed to be eaten by the ugly old alligator. But she was so beautiful that when the alligator saw her he decided to marry her instead. Although Nerida was horrified at the decision, the old witch was delighted to have a wood nymph for a daughter-in-law, and she readily agreed to the wishes of her son, and preparations for the wedding were begun. The only thing that gave Nerida any hope was that a wood nymph could not be married without her own free consent. But the witch had little fear of Nerida's refusing long, and was quite sure she would soon consent to become the alligator's bride. So she placed her in a prison built of reeds and rushes and lined with yellow tiger-lily leaves. The door was guarded by two big water snakes, and a lot of ugly frogs with pop-eyes hopped around and peered at her, keeping up a continuous croaking.

"The frogs were watching Nerida to see that she did not attempt to escape, for the witch was determined to keep her in prison until she consented to wed her son the alligator. But the wood nymph hated him and his big white cruel teeth, for she remembered how the little children at the plantation house had amused themselves by imitating a baby's cry or a little dog's bark, and how at either sound the alligators would all stick their heads out of the lagoon with hungry eyes and open mouths, hoping that a baby or a nice fat dog would tumble into the stream for them to eat. So Nerida, knowing how cruel he was, determined never to give her consent to the marriage.

"Now as soon as the wild animals of the wood heard of their little friend's misfortune they all got together and held a council of war, and discussed how best they could rescue her. The raccoon was the only animal that had ever ventured into the marsh and returned unharmed. He was very sly, and somehow the old witch had let him entirely alone; but none of the other animals had dared to enter her grounds. A big wild-cat, crouching low on the limb of a tree, said he believed if he took a large army of cats and stepped very lightly (as cats always do), he would be able to cross the marsh without sinking. They could then tear down the prison house of rushes and reeds with their sharp claws and rescue Nerida without trouble. The wild-cat's plan seemed a good one to the animals, and they consented to the undertaking. So a large army of cats was formed, and one night by the light of the moon they crept stealthily across the marsh. They went very rapidly and safely at first, and it really looked as if they would be successful. But when they had almost reached the middle of the marsh, suddenly the wicked old witch, who had been secretly laughing at them all the time, threw them all, head downwards, into the quagmire, leaving only their big bushy brown tails sticking out as a warning to the other animals. These cat-tails still grow brown and bushy wherever you can find a marsh, and from that day to this all cats are afraid of water.

"Well, after this adventure it certainly seemed hopeless to try to rescue the maiden, but her friends were far from despairing. Some of them started off on a long journey to consult the king of the forest, the roaring lion, while others went down to the gulf to get the Sea Sing to send an army to their assistance.

"Now all this time the poor birds had been flying about almost distracted with grief at the fate of their beloved daughter. They hovered over the marsh in the hopes of seeing her again, and tried to think of plans to help her. They knew that the witch and her son were more afraid of dry earth than anything in the world, for to be without water meant death to them, and they could not be happy without the oozy black slime. Therefore the birds proposed to drink up all the water in the marsh, and thus drain it perfectly dry. Of course that would take a long time, but if they were faithful in their efforts they would win in the end. So they went to work at once, and no matter at what hour one looked at the marsh after that, the faithful, patient little birds could be seen drinking all the water they could hold.

"Now when I saw the birds undertaking such a terribly long task as drinking up all the water in the marsh, I felt Nerida would surely be discouraged in waiting for them to finish the work, and might, in her despair, consent to wed the alligator. Then it was I remembered you lying here on the gallery in front of the big house, in the midst of the warm sunshine and breathing the sweet perfume of the acacias, and I suddenly darted away like lightning to find you. And here I am," added the lizard, "will you help us?"

"But how can I?" asked Zeline, big-eyed and wondering.

"Easily! Ask your father to drain the marsh, and that will drive the old witch away. She cannot live without water, and then we can rescue Nerida and her handsome lover, and we shall all be happy again. You must hurry, though," he continued, "for if you will watch to-night you will see how much in earnest the old witch is that her ugly son's marriage to our little Nerida shall soon take place. She lights her lamps early, and she keeps her frog slaves working all night preparing for the wedding feast."

So that evening Zeline begged her father to drain the marsh, and he, amused at her anxiety, told her she was a most wise little girl, for he had been thinking of doing just that thing for many a day. Then she showed him through the window the mysterious lights, flitting back and forth through a pearly mist lying low over the reeds and rushes; for every night the witch spread this white veil over her possessions, as soon as the sun went down, and lit her lamps that she might work unmolested. Queer little balloon-like shapes arose from the damp ground, mounted higher and higher, and then floated rapidly away. Her father called it "feu follet" or "Will-o'-the-wisp," and said that all sea marshes had it; but Zeline shook her head slowly, for she believed her wise-eyed lizard knew better.

Time went swiftly by. The big ditches and canals were rapidly being cut, and eagerly did Zeline watch the labor. The roses were again blooming in her cheeks, but she loved her lizard friend as she had loved him in those long and tedious days when he first came to see her lying white and weak among her pillows.

At last the marsh was entirely drained, and the broad bayou ran shining through the great acres of rich land. Then the river god, restored to his natural form, killed the two snakes and released his beautiful bride. Happy-hearted and gay, the little green lizard described to Zeline the wedding festivities. All the trees had been lighted with glow worms until the forest looked like an enchanted world. The flowers bloomed their brightest and put on their gayest colors. The bees brought honey for the feast, and an orchestra of mocking-birds sang the wedding march, while all the inhabitants of the woods offered marriage gifts to the bride and groom.

Nerida had never been lovelier than in her bridal robes. A beautiful dress made from the softest thistle-down enveloped her form. She wore magnificent pearls which her lover brought her from the blue depths of the gulf, but on her head she put only a crown of green leaves, for the soft material which the birds had brought from Araby for the wedding veil, she gave in her gratitude to Zeline, who had. done so much for her happiness.

The witch's power was utterly destroyed, and she was compelled, in punishment for the evil she had done and the many lives she had sacrificed, to weave an endless shroud and hang it upon the trees. That shroud is the beautiful gray moss you see hanging in graceful drapery from the live oaks. The alligator was left in the lagoon, but was forbidden ever to enter the salt waters of the gulf again. He was to be hated for his cruelty by all good fishes, and must avoid their haunts forever under pain of death.

Then the faithful, happy birds made their present to Zeline. Each one drew from its breast a single bit of purest white down hidden among its feathers, and planted it in the rich black soil of the old marsh. In a week, under the warm southern sun, there bloomed a wonderfully beautiful flower. It was white the first day, bright red the second; on the third all the leaves fell away leaving a tiny ball, in which lay the gift. The ball was a deep brown, almost black, but it held in its heart the softest, fluffiest, whitest thing on earth, and the name of that wonderfully beautiful stuff was cotton.

This royal gift to little Zeline from the birds was worth more than jewels, because it gave employment to thousands of people, and it brought gold and silver into her country and made the land of sunshine and magnolias very famous. To this day the South loves to know that to the kind heart of a little girl it owes the source of its greatest wealth and riches.