“Bird, I must have you!” cried Rosebud; “and Myrtle must make for you a cage, a painted cage! O you pretty bird! You fine-feathered bird! Ah, you stop! You are not afraid! Come, now!” And she reached forward, hand extended, to grasp it.
But the bird still flew a little farther, and a little farther, now in this direction, now in that, and she was upon the point of giving it up altogether, when it began to sing so charmingly!
“O, now I cannot leave you!” she cried. And so kept on and on, until she felt at last that the power of turning away from it was gone, and that, wherever the bird led, there must she follow.
A long while he flew, and most charmingly he sang the while. But Rosebud grew very weary, and was about to sink down upon the grass in despair of ever again finding her way home, when, looking around her, she found herself quite near the spot where she had entered the Wood in the morning.
“And now, fair bird, won’t you go home with me?” she cried; but the fine-feathered bird had flown.
Rosebud then searched out the mossy gray rock and the flat stone, which she found herself quite able to move.
But it was now long past noon.
“I must wait no longer,” she said, “for Bess and Judy and Myrtle will be wondering what has befallen me.”
Arrived home, she was greeted with joy by Myrtle, and with endless questions from all. To which her only answer was, that she had found berries in plenty, also lovely flowers, and had seen a fine-feathered bird which sang sweetly.