The birds did not know what to make of it. At first—for several days—they flew at the windows, as they were in the habit of doing when they felt that a little change from worms would be pleasant. It had come to be an understood thing that when they came to the places where the air was hard, they should flap and beat against it with wings and beak. Then their friend would push up the hard air, or open his tree and come out, and would scatter food for them, food which they could not name, but which was easy and pleasant to eat, and did not wriggle. Then they would flutter about him, and perch on head and hand and shoulder, and tell him all the news. He was always interested to hear how the nest was getting on, and how many eggs there were; and later, of the extraordinary beauty and virtue of the nestlings. He listened to all the forest gossip with evident pleasure, and often made noises as if he were trying to reply; though, having no bill, of course he only produced uncouth sounds. He meant so well, though, and was so liberal with his food, that all loved him, and not the youngest titmouse ever thought of making fun of him.

Now he was gone, and the birds did not know what to make of it. They flew and beat against the hard air spaces, but there was no movement within. They consulted the squirrels, and the squirrels went and told Simeon Stylites, who came down from his pillar in distress, and climbed down the hard red hollow tree that stood on top of the house. He was gone some time, and when he reappeared the squirrels and birds screamed and chattered in affright, for he had gone down a gray squirrel, and he came up black as a crow. But he soothed them, and explained that the inside of the tree was covered with black fur which came off on him. Moreover, all was as usual in the place below where their friend lived; only, he was not there. He had found some nuts, but intended to keep them for his trouble; and so he departed.

For a long time the birds called and sang and swooped about the house; but no friendly face appeared, no voice answered their call, no hand scattered the daily dole. The creepers rustled and swung their green tendrils down over the house, but it remained senseless, silent, crouched against the wall of gray rock behind it.

So it stands, and the forest blooms and fades and shrivels round it, year after year. Only, once in every year, when the mayflowers are blossoming warm and rosy under the brown leaves, the owner of the house comes back to it. Comes with weary step and careworn brow,—life being so full, and the rush of it bringing more work and thought and anxiety than the days can hold,—yet with serene countenance, and eves full of quiet peace, ready to break on the instant into light and laughter. In his hand he brings the child, growing every year into new beauty, new grace, and brightness. And there for a happy week they live and play, and wash the pretty dishes, and feed the birds, and milk the brown cow which is always mysteriously there in the pasture, ready to be milked.

"Do you know, Mark?" said the child once, when they had patted the cow, and were turning away with their shining pail full—the child was a big girl now, but she had the same inconsequent way of talking—

"Know what, Snow-white?"

"I really did think perhaps she was a Princess, that first time. Wasn't that funny?" she bubbled over with laughter, just the old way.

"But we can play just as well now, can't we, Mark?"

"Just as well, Snow-white."

"And I am not so horribly big, Mark, am I?"

"Not yet, Snow-white. Not yet, my big little girl."

"But you will love me just the same if I do get horribly big, Mark?"

"Just the same, Snow-white! a little more every year, to allow for growth."

"Because I can't help it, you know, Mark."

"Surely not, my dear. Surely Mark would not have you help it."

"But always I shall be the right size for you, Mark, and always you will be my own dwarf?"

"Always and always, Snow-white!"

"Because I love you!" says the child.

So the two saunter back through the wood, and the ferns unroll beside their path, and the mayflowers peep out at them from under the leaves, and overhead the birds flit and the squirrels frisk, and all is as it has always been in the good green wood.

Only, when the milk is carefully set away, Mark Ellery comes out of the house, and stands under the great buttonwood-tree, silent, with bent head. And seeing him so, the girl comes out after him, and puts her arms around his neck, and leans her head on his breast, and is silent too; for she knows he is saying his prayer, the prayer that is now this long time his life, that she means shall guide and raise her own life, and bring it a little nearer his. "Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me!"

THE END.

Books by Laura E. Richards.

"Mrs. Richards has made for herself a little niche apart in the literary world, from her delicate treatment of New England village life."—Boston Post.

THE CAPTAIN JANUARY SERIES

CAPTAIN JANUARY.

A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose success has been very remarkable. One reads it, is thoroughly charmed by it, tells others, and so its fame has been heralded by its readers, until to-day it is selling by the thousands, constantly enlarging the circle of its delighted admirers.

MELODY. The Story of a Child.

"Had there never been a 'Captain January,' 'Melody' would easily take first place."—Boston Times.

MARIE.

"Seldom has Mrs. Richards drawn a more irresistible picture, or framed one with more artistic literary adjustment."—Boston Herald.

"A perfect literary gem."—Boston Transcript.

NARCISSA, and a companion story, IN VERONA.

"Each is a simple, touching, sweet little story of rustic New England life, full of vivid pictures of interesting character, and refreshing for its unaffected genuineness and human feeling."—Congregationalist.

JIM OF HELLAS; or, IN DURANCE VILE, and a companion story, BETHESDA POOL.

ROSIN THE BEAU. A sequel to "Melody."

SNOW-WHITE; or THE HOUSE IN THE WOOD.

ISLA HERON.

A charming prose idyl of quaint New England life.

NAUTILUS.

A very interesting story, with illustrations.

FIVE MINUTE STORIES.

A charming collection of short stories and clever poems for children.

THREE MARGARETS.

One of the most clever stories for girls that the author has written.

MARGARET MONTFORT.

The second volume in the series of which "Three Margarets" was so successful as the initial volume.

PEGGY.

The third volume in the series of which the preceding ones have been so successful.

RITA.

The fourth volume in the series, being an account of Rita, the Cuban Margaret, and her friends.

LOVE AND ROCKS.

A charming story of one of the pleasant islands that dot the rugged Maine coast. With etching frontispiece by Mercier.

Dana Estes & Company, Publishers, Boston.