Suddenly the passageway came to an end, Laurie does not remember quite how it happened, but there he was up in the dove-cote, high above the farmyard, with the pigeons cooing and circling about him.

What a beautiful dove-cote it was, ever so much larger than one would have supposed: indeed it was like a real house.

It did not seem at all strange for the cooing to sound more and more like words, and presently Laurie found that the pigeons were inviting him to enter. Inside how beautiful it all was! Velvet carpets lay on the floor, with the most exquisite patterns traced on them; in each room the pattern was different, yet always changing, for they were made by the tiny feet of the pigeons as they moved about. Soft curtains hung at the doors. They were wonderful feather curtains; instead of having to push them to one side, all that one had to do was to move towards them, and they folded into wings. Exquisite music sounded in the rooms, that was the wind, and it sang of the countries and people it had seen in its travels. It sang of the waving corn, the ships at sea, the flames leaping in the fireplace, it crooned a lullaby it had heard a mother singing to her baby—now the voice of the wind was soft and low, that was when it remembered the places it had been in, where there was peace and happiness; now it was loud and harsh, for it had also been in terrible storms, and wild places, ah! they were wonderful stories. No one was idle in the dove-cote, some pigeons were kept busy writing the news that the wind brought, others flew here and there, for they were the messengers, and must carry the news over the farm.

One pigeon had a ring over his ankle: he was very important indeed, quite a personage in the dove-cote.

Some pigeons were kept busy writing the news that the wind brought

“They are going to dance for you,” he said to Laurie, and seven pigeons stepped into the centre of the room. They began with a faint flutter of their wings, turning their heads from side to side, gradually growing swifter in their motion, until their brilliant colors blended and intermingled in a beautiful prismatic effect. It was like a wonderful rainbow dance, only the colors changed as the pigeons moved about, and they opened and closed their wings in such a way, that they seemed to ripple and flow as water does over the stones.

Their cooing gradually sounded more and more like water gurgling, and Laurie listened and listened, until he found his head nodding—he was almost asleep—no, he was not asleep, he opened his eyes wide, there was the pigeon still, with the ring about his ankle, but the dancing pigeons were no longer there; the blue sky shone between trunks of trees, and a real brook sparkled over the stones—somehow or other they were walking through a wood, the same wood on the edge of the fields, that they had driven past on their way to the farm: how quiet it was and how deliciously soft the moss underfoot, while a gentle breeze swayed the trees overhead.

“Now we will stop at the squirrel house,” said the Pigeon.

“Now we will stop at the squirrel house,” said the Pigeon.

“Now we will stop at the squirrel’s house,” said the pigeon, as they stopped at an old tree. “Rap-tap-rap” with his beak on a knot-hole in the trunk, and a fat squirrel opened the door. What a lot of chattering! he was inviting them to enter. “How delightful,” thought Laurie as they stepped inside, “now I shall see what a squirrel’s house is really like.”

And indeed it was very different from what he had supposed an old tree to be like inside; instead, there was a real little staircase, carpeted with green moss, winding up through the hollow trunk, there were landings at the different branches, with tiny doors opening off them, and the branches themselves were all little rooms with knot-holes for windows, across which green leaves were hung for curtains.

The walls were papered with the most beautiful paper in the world; in one room it was all blossoms with the most delicate odor; in another the walls were hung with green leaves; in another room great red and yellow autumn leaves festooned the walls. “You see this is the inside out or rather the outside in of the tree,” explained the squirrel; “this is where the blossoms and leaves are kept when not in use.”

It was all a little confusing at first to Laurie, for the squirrels seemed to be in such haste, but they were so friendly, and chattered so pleasantly to him that somehow or other he understood everything they were saying, though they talked in squirrel language, and so by-and-by he felt more at home, and sat down while they brought him some refreshments.

Such delicious morsels, served in the most tempting manner

Such delicious morsels, served in the most tempting manner! PurÉe of chestnuts, and hickory-nut cake—wonderful cherry cordial, made, the squirrels explained to Laurie, out of melted sap of the wild cherry tree—exquisite walnuts baked in acorn cups. Oh! I can’t tell you half what there was, for Laurie did not know himself, but it was all very delicious, and the squirrels too seemed to think it an important occasion, for there was a great deal of whisking of tails, and the squirrel waiters sat up very stiffly with their little paws held up in front of them, as though they knew how much was expected of them and meant to do their share. Every now and then Laurie would see a pair of bright eyes peeping at him over the stair, then off would scurry a baby squirrel afraid of being caught, “for all the world,” thought Laurie, “the way we do at home when we are forbidden to come down when mother is giving a party, so watch instead from a landing on the stair when nurse’s back is turned.”

The squirrel led the way down the winding stair.

The squirrel led the way down the winding stair.

After the refreshments, there was more bowing and waving of bushy tails and hand shaking or paw shaking, I do not know which—for it was time to be off; Laurie thanked them very much and said he would like to come again, which was very true indeed, and he said in his most “grown up way” that he had had a delightful time, and the squirrels seemed pleased and nodded again, and the same old squirrel, who must have been the door-keeper, for he kept jingling a great bunch of keys in his hands, now led the way down the winding stair again, until they reached what must have been the cellar part of the tree, where the squirrels kept their stores for the winter. It had grown so dark that their guide now took a lantern down from the wall and, fastening a glow worm inside to light the way, showed Laurie great piles of nuts and acorns stacked in the corners. an old owl put out his head After a while they came to a little door and, passing through it—the squirrel leading the way, after him the pigeon, and Laurie bringing up the rear—they found themselves in a long passage, smelling of earth and mould. “It surely must be underground,” thought Laurie, “I wonder if the moles and mice have streets just as we do. Oh, dear! I do hope we don’t meet that dreadful turkey-gobbler.” Before he had time to think much about it, they came to another little door, on the other side of which was a stair that evidently led up into another tree.

Here the squirrel with the lantern bade them good-bye, and disappeared down the corridor. The pigeon led the way up the stair, at the top of which was a rough wooden door. “We must leave a message here,” said he, tapping on the door, and after waiting some time, Laurie thought he heard a gruff voice say, “To-who-to-who?” “Why doesn’t he come and see instead of asking?” thought Laurie, but just then the door opened, and an old owl put out his head.