Helen (approaching the window.) Let me see, Willy. What, did you find it here?
Willy. Just under the window here. Frank and I were swinging on the gate; and—there is something hard in it, Helen,—feel.
Helen. Yes, it is very curious; but—
Willy. There comes Netty with the candle; now we can see to untie this knot.
Helen. Willy, dear Willy, you must give it to me, you must indeed, and—I will paint you a bird to-morrow.
Willy. A blue-bird, will you? A real one?
Helen. Yes, yes;—run down little climber; see how dark it grows, and Frank is waiting, see.
Willy. Well. But mind you, it must be a blue bird then. A real one. With the red on his breast, and all.
[Exit.
(She walks to the table, unfastening the envelope.)