There they were, the warm, thick blankets, the comfortable shawl, the new shoes, and, best of all, a pretty winter hat for Bessy. The basket was full of good things to eat, and on the flowers lay a paper, saying,—
“For the little girl who loves her neighbor as herself.”
“Mother, I really think my bird is a fairy bird, and all these splendid things come out from him,” said Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.
It really did seem so; for, as she spoke, the robin flew to the table, hopped to the nosegay, and perching among the roses, began to chirp with all his little might. The sun streamed in on flowers, bird, and happy child, and no one saw a shadow glide away from the window. No one ever knew that Mr. King had seen and heard the little girls the night before, or dreamed that the rich neighbor had learned a lesson from the poor neighbor.
And Tilly’s bird was a fairy bird; for by her love and tenderness to the helpless thing, she brought good gifts to herself, happiness to the unknown giver of them, and a faithful little friend, who did not fly away, but staid with her till the snow was gone, making summer for her in the winter time.
Louisa M. Alcott.
“As the night advanced, the old negro felt the cold pierce his stiffened limbs.” P. [216].