The next day, betimes, before the household had fairly rubbed the cobwebs out of the corners of their eyes, there came a knock at the front door—which was a dry branch that lay down before the hollow of the tree in which they lodged—and being called to come in, who should make their appearance but the two nest-mates, who had just returned from the South where they had been wintering. There was great rejoicing over their return, and now that they were all happily reunited, each one soon chose a mate and began to keep house in the woods for himself.
Spring had now revisited the North. The cold winds had all blown themselves away, the ice had melted, the streams were open and smiled as they looked at the blue sky once more; and the forests, far and wide, in their green mantle, echoed every cheerful sound.
But it is in vain that spring returns, and that the heart of Nature is opened in bounty, if we are not thankful to the Master of Life, who has preserved us through the winter. Nor does that man answer the end for which he was made who does not show a kind and charitable feeling to all who are in want or sickness.
The love and harmony of Gray Eagle and his brothers continued. They never forgot each other. Every week, on the fourth afternoon of the week (for that was the time when they had found their wounded elder brother), they had a meeting in the hollow of the old sycamore tree, when they talked over family matters and advised with each other about their affairs, as brothers should.
![[Original]](#1760363822501775134_5108.jpg.id-2061280289510082355.wrap-0.html.html){kind=link}