“Do you know what makes you not afraid?”
The swallow turned his head from side to side, and by-and-by answered:
“I think it’s because I always do just as I’m meant to do—stay when I ought to stay, and fly when I ought to fly, build when I ought to build, and do just what I ought. If swallows always do that they need never be afraid.”
“And how do you know what you ought to do?”
“Something inside me tells me.”
“Does it never tell you wrong?”
“No, never.”
Winifred sighed, and shook her head.
“But I never have anything inside me to tell me what I ought to do and what I ought not,” she said.
“Do you not?” said a soft voice quite close to her, and the child started, for it did not seem as if it was the swallow who had spoken, and looking round, Winifred saw a beautiful figure in white standing beside her, and looking with grave, kind eyes into her face. He had great white wings, and Winifred said half aloud, half to herself: