'Why, what have you got in your beak?' asked a dingy London Sparrow of another, just as dingy as himself.

'Well, I hardly know,' replied his friend, laying down the article in question, and surveying it critically with his head on one side; 'but it seems to me as though it is a seed—of some sort!'

'So it is,' assented the other, as he hopped nearer and attentively examined the treasure-trove. 'Yes,'—as if the idea had suddenly suggested itself,—'yes, it is a seed. Where did you find it?'

'I did not steal it,' exclaimed the owner of the property, who evidently resented a something in his companion's manner of questioning; 'I honestly picked it up in a garden, where it was lying on the top of the earth, not in it,' he added, with emphasis. 'I expect the wind blew it there, for the gales have been very high these last few days.'

'Yes, yes,' replied the questioner with alacrity; perhaps he feared he had wounded his friend's feelings, and dreaded lest there might ensue a squabble, for sparrows, it must be confessed, are easily affronted over trifles, though, as a rule, they are good-tempered little fellows enough, putting up with scanty fare and homely lodgings very contentedly and cheerfully. 'I wonder what kind of seed it is, do you know?' he still further questioned, being of an inquisitive turn of mind.

'No, I do not,' replied the finder.

'Ah,' he said, with a sigh that ruffled all his feathers, 'if we did but live in the beautiful green hedgerows, instead of dwelling among town chimneys, we should soon know what it was; our country cousins would be able to tell us in a moment if it was good to eat or not. By the bye, shall you eat it?' he pursued, eyeing his friend in the same keen way as he eyed occasional crumbs of bread, his sharp little eye glancing quick and bright whilst waiting for the reply.

'No,' answered the other; 'I shall give it away.'

'Give it away!' he repeated, in utter astonishment at the idea; 'who to?'

'Why, in my travels about this city, I have noticed a small window up among the chimneys in the East End of London—it's a mere garret, I expect.'

'Well?' ejaculated the listener, somewhat impatiently.

'I have also observed,' pursued his companion deliberately, 'that on the ledge of this window there are two or three flower-pots with some tiny pieces of green trying to shoot out of the dry mould.'

'What have those flower-pots and the dry mould to do with this seed?' was the question he sharply put.

'I think,' continued the other Sparrow, not heeding the interruption, 'this must be a flower-seed, since I found it in a garden well known to me for its loveliness,—for, as a rule, I go about with my eyes open,' he added. 'Now at this attic window of which I spoke,' he went on saying, 'I have seen a poor pale-faced girl for ever bending over needlework, although sometimes, but very rarely, I have observed her carefully watering and tending those flower-pots with their feeble attempts at greenery.'

'Have you nearly finished your touching description?' asked the friend, with a sneer.

'Now,' went on the Sparrow, as though he had not heard this remark, 'the soil does not look very inviting, yet I have been thinking that, as there has been rain during the night, the mould may be a little softened perhaps; so if I alight on the window-sill, and drop this seed into one of those pots, a pretty flower might come up in time, and then how glad the poor girl would be!—why, it would actually give her happiness.'

And the reflection merely of this hoped-for pleasure so brightened up the little bird that he looked positively lovely! Not even a bird of paradise could have appeared more glorious, dingy brown though our tiny hero's plumage was; but good deeds and kind words always bring a brightness with them.

'Oh, that is what you intend doing!' remarked the other, who had been pruning his flecked feathers whilst listening to this delightful plan;—perhaps he might have imagined the treasure would come to him, since his friend was not going to keep it himself. 'You are very generous,' he added, with a slight touch of sarcasm.

But the kind little Sparrow did not mind; his heart was too full of noble intentions to notice trivial things. He merely said,—

'So now I'm off! Good-bye for the present. I shall be back in time for roost.'

'Oh, you are going, are you?' was the comment, as his friend picked up the seed again in his beak and flew away.

But, as he darted off, a sunbeam peeped round a corner just to see what the dear little fellow looked like, and this very sunbeam threw such a halo around him, you would have thought his feathers had been burnished gold. Then his voice, too, sounded so cheerily, as, with a merry 'Twit-twit-twee,' he disappeared from view, intent on his errand of kindness.

'I'm sure I should not have troubled myself to carry that burden so far, but should have eaten it for my dinner,' muttered the one sitting on the water-spout. 'Dear me, what's that?' as he caught sight of a shadow round an angle of the roof. 'Oh, gracious!' and he gave such a jump in his terror, as he recognised Pussie taking a walk on the tiles, looking out for her dinner, no doubt.

You may be quite sure Mr. Sparrow did not wait until Pussie came up to him, but flew away to a safe distance.

Meanwhile the other bird was speeding on his errand of kindness. He did not feel the weight of his burden, but went bravely on, only occasionally resting on a water-spout or a parapet, just for a second or two, but never losing sight of his precious seed; though sometimes he was sadly annoyed by other Sparrows coming up, and, with great fuss and chatter, inquiring as to what he was so carefully carrying. But he was very cautious, and always kept an eye upon his treasure (answering their questions curtly), for London Sparrows have the character of being not too honest, with what truth it cannot be said; let us hope the charge is unfounded. Still our hero thought it advisable to be watchful; therefore, after satisfying all curiosity on the subject, as much at least as he deemed needful, he flew off again on his mission—without telling them the ultimate destination of his seed, fearing, perhaps, they might be unable to resist the temptation of picking it out of the mould into which he intended to drop it.

By and by he left the more respectable part of the city, and winged his way as near as he could remember towards the attic window, where he had so often seen the poor work-girl busy at her weary task. But a heavy cloud of smoke darkened the air, and a perfect forest of masts bewildered him, for he had come to that part of London where the ships are to be seen—thousands of vessels from all countries of the world. Still, though he was puzzled for a while, yet he felt sure the house was near this place, as he recollected having seen these docks before. What should he do? He paused for a bit upon a slanting roof just to look around. Oh, the smuts, how they settled upon his feathers! he was obliged to preen himself, he felt so dirty; if his coat was a dingy brown, there was no occasion for its being dirty also! All at once, as he paused during the process of preening, he saw the very window right in front of him,—he recognised it by its cleanliness, such a contrast to the squalor around. Yes, there it was, the polished panes of glass glinting in the gleams of light that came now and then through the murky atmosphere; and there were the three flower-pots. Why, actually they had been washed, they looked so freshly red!—or perhaps painted.

Away he joyfully flew, his task was nearly done; but alas for hopes of birds or people! Just as he was about to alight upon the window-sill, a tiresome bird—a Sparrow—came flying towards him, exclaiming,—

'Hallo! who are you, I should like to know?' and so startled was he when accosted thus abruptly, that in his fright he dropped his dear and precious treasure.

Down, down it fell upon a deal case a man was wheeling on a truck. The man did not notice the tiny grain that fell; perhaps, had he done so, would merely have thought it was a particle of dust; but the poor bird's heart was sorely grieved as he saw it disappear, after all the trouble he had taken to bring it thus far, and he sat upon the window-ledge of the girl's room with ruffled plumage and dim eyes, utterly crushed by this untoward loss. It was too bad!

But after a while he took heart, and looked the disappointment boldly in the face, which is always the better plan than brooding over it.

'It can't be helped,' he said wisely, rousing from his sorrowful reflections, and giving his feathers a shake together. 'I did my best, and could do no more. It is a loss certainly, but no doubt there are other flower-seeds to be found, so I'll go to-morrow morning to that same garden, and see if there are any more to be had. Dear me!' he continued, glancing up with his now bright eyes at the sky; 'why, it is getting late. I must make haste home, or else my friends will be anxious, and fear that I have come to grief.'

So saying, he flew away, not without a note of farewell to the girl, who had been looking at him all the time he sat there so disconsolately, wondering in her own mind why he was perched there so ruffled and sad, little dreaming of his kindly intentions towards her—how should she?—so away he went, and reached his place of abode just as his brothers and friends were going to roost.

You may be quite sure he was received with a perfect volley of questions.

'Where have you been?' asked some who were ignorant of his scheme.

'How did you manage?' questioned others who knew.

'What sort of a place is it?' inquired several.

Poor little bird! he was obliged to confess his failure, which he did with reluctance; yet still he bore his disappointment so cheerfully and bravely, they could not help sympathizing with him, promising to help in the good work next time. Even the Sparrow who had jeered somewhat at him was really sorry, and consoled him so kindly, that he went to sleep with his head tucked under his wing, in a far happier frame of mind than he could have supposed possible, after such a grievous sorrow.

And the seed?

As it was being jostled on the top of the packing-case, it thought to itself:

'There's an end to me, I suppose. I shall be shrivelled up to nothing for want of nourishing earth, and shall do good to no one. What a pity that dear little Sparrow's kind intention was frustrated by that meddlesome and inquisitive bird! I am sure I would have done my duty to the utmost, and realized his wish by growing as fast as possible, and looking cheerful and gay when in flower. Well, well, it is no use being unhappy; I must only wait patiently, hoping that a chance of doing good may occur. Who knows what may happen?'

And at that very moment, the truck the man was wheeling gave a lurch, and in consequence the tiny seed rolled along until it slipped down a crevice in the lid, and found a comfortable resting-place inside amongst some soft hay with which the case was packed.

'This is cosy,' it remarked, nestling in the warmth; 'perhaps after all I am reserved for some good purpose. I had become desponding, but there is always a brightness behind the darkest cloud.'

So it cuddled down contentedly, not knowing or heeding whither it was taken, only resting satisfied with the reflection that whatever happened was for the best. And so the packing-case was put on board one of the great ships in the docks, and in a few days away sailed the ship, packing-case, and little seed, far over the ocean, leaving England many thousand miles behind.

Not having been to Australia, we cannot describe what the little seed next beheld. But when the sun once again shone upon it, it was in a very different country to this dear land of ours.

The case had been emptied of its contents, and the hay and straw with which it had been packed was thrown aside upon the ground, and there lay the seed, so tiny that it was quite unheeded, indeed it is to be doubted whether it was even seen; but the loving God, who has created nothing in vain, had still a use for the small grain. A soft wind came and carried it to some moist earth, into which it sank, thankful for the rest and quiet after the past turmoil.

But its work was not finished.

By and by came up a little slender green shoot, then a leaf or two, and after a while, in due season, some pretty bell-shaped flowers, almost white, with just a tinge of delicate purple, made their appearance, and there they swayed in the breeze—English Wood Anemones in a distant land.

And in this distant land a young English girl had her home; and bright and beautiful it was, with huge trees and gorgeous flowers, unheard of and unseen in the country village from which she had come. But, bright and beautiful as her new home was, she often sighed for the green hedgerows and sweet wayside flowers of dear old England; not that she murmured because God had sent her thither, only the love of her old home and old home memories yet lingered in her heart.

Think, then, what her joy was, when, one day as she wandered alone, gazing on gorgeous blossoms rich in brilliant colours, down at her feet she spied, waving its delicate-tinted elf-bells in the warm, soft breeze, the Wood Anemone.

Could it be possible? That well-known English flower blooming there! How could it have come across the ocean?

Ah, how often had she seen it at home—for England is ever home to those who are far away—seen it in the early spring days clustering thickly in the woods and copse, heralding the cuckoo, and bringing with it a promise of summer days to come.

'Dear, dear little flower!' she cried, kneeling down and kissing, in excess of joy, its delicate petals. 'Welcome a thousand times, for you bring with you memories from the old land. I will not gather your pretty flowers, nor take them away to myself, but will leave you here, so that others, perhaps more home-sick than I, will take heart, and be cheered by your soothing though silent message.'

And the young girl was right.

Others passing by—some poor wanderers, footsore and weary—were cheered by the bonnie wild-flower, which, happy in giving happiness to others, swayed its tiny bells as it danced in utter gladness, whispering to the wild bees who also came to visit it,—

'I thought at one time, when the Sparrow let me fall, that there was no more use for me in the world, that my work was finished; but God had still a mission for me, and I have done what others equally small can do—given happiness, and cheered those who came across my path. It is not much to do,' it continued meekly, 'not great and glorious deeds at which the world stands amazed; but it was all I could do, and was the work He meant for me—we must not despise the day of small things. The acorn is very small, yet look at the oak. A gentle word, a bright smile, is not hard to bestow, but oh, the blessing they can be to hearts pining perhaps for kindness!'

So the Sparrow's good intention was carried out after all.