“I did not mean to do harm, dear James,” said Jesse. “I wish I had been with you, I would have been very still then. But what is the name of the bird?”
“Why, it must be the reed-bird,” said James, “for I have seen a print of one, and this was just like it; and I have read of it too. It eats the seeds of the reed, and young snails, and flies.”
“On the stem of a reed, close by the nest, was the hen-bird.”
“How large is it, James?” said Jesse.
“It is quite a small bird; but from its thick coat, and long tail and legs, looks as large as a red-breast. Its bill is very small.”
“Oh dear,” said Jesse, “did you feel that? was it not a drop of rain?”
“Yes, that it was,” said James, “and a large drop, too: I think it will soon pour. Come, we must run home fast, or that dark cloud will catch us.” So they set off, and just reached their papa’s door in time.
A TALE OF THE NORTH.
“Shut the door, Hugh, and bring your stool to the fire-side, and I will tell you a tale. What sort of a one must it be?” said Mrs. Stone.