"The dream had been so real, Jim, that my cry terrified a gentleman who was riding past in the darkness, and heard it. He dismounted, and came into the cottage kitchen, and I saw it was the master.
"'Were you asleep, Ned?' he asked, in his kind way. 'Did you cry out in your sleep?'
"Scarcely knowing I had dreamed, I told him all about taking the nest, and disobeying him, and about the woods being silent, and how I came home and found our home ruined, and father and mother gone, and the birds dead; and when he looked kindly at me, I fell down on my knees and begged him to forgive me, and not take our home away from mother, but to send only me away, because I'd taken the nest, and to let father and mother and the children stay. Then he questioned me till I'd repeated all that Tom Harris had told me when I went to ask for father; and I said how father had never been to the public before that night, and how mother had been to fetch him, though she was ill. Then he put out his kind hand, and lifted me up.
"'I am glad I heard you as I passed,' he said. 'Harris has been deceiving you, Ned. You might have guessed that, because he is so fond of frightening you, and has a grudge against your father. But this amounts to wickedness, and he shall be punished. I guess how it is, my lad. Your father is in the shed in the far meadow with the sick cow. I dare say he couldn't send a message from there, and has all the while expected he would be able to come home in a few more minutes. You may be sure he is as anxious to come as you are to see him, but he never neglects a sick animal. Dry your eyes, my lad, for the cottage is your home still, and it doesn't look at all "ruined," I think. Now build up the fire, and wait for your mother. I'll see about your father.'
"Oh, Jim, can you fancy what it was like then? I put my head into the cradle, and smothered baby with kisses; I made the fire up, and put on the kettle. Then I ran a little way down the dark road, calling out to mother, 'Make haste, mother! make haste!' At last she came, Jim—not white and crying and alone, as she had gone, not silent and sorrowful with father, like in my dream, but talking happily with him. And then how I longed that I could have given back my dead birds to their mother—given them back their home, as ours had been given to us! I don't know what I did for a bit, but when I'd got father and mother to have some tea, I laid my head down upon the cold nest, and while I held so tenderly the little dead birds—killed by these hands of mine, while the master who was kind to the birds had been so kind to me—I asked God to forgive me, and I made a promise to Him that He has let me be able to keep, for I ask Him again every night and every morning. Don't you think it's true, Jim, what mother says, that the more we love the things He loves, the more we love Him? That's all. It's quite ten minutes, isn't it? Are you going to take your nest again?"
"You might have told a cheerfuler tale, Ned. Tell another. There's no hurry about taking that nest again just yet."
[THE FUNNY LITTLE USHER.]
BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
The studios were open, all the artists had united,
And to see the very pretty show were lots of folks invited;
They came quite early in the day, they came till late at night,
And used up all the adjectives in showing their delight.
A water-color artist, rather grander than the rest,
Had a funny little usher in a funny costume dressed,
Who met the people at the door, and marshalled them the way
To where the easels were arranged with pictures for display.
And then he bowed a funny bow that made the people smile,
And through his funny little eyes he gazed at them the while,
As if to say, "My master is, you see, a clever man,
And on this grand reception day I do the best I can."
When the pictures were admired, and the people turned about,
This funny little usher would with grace escort them out,
And stand within the passage at a distance about right,
So as not to be familiar, but exceedingly polite.
There are many of the pictures that I can not now recall;
And the little living tableau I remember best of all
Was the funny little usher from the distant Isle of Skye,
Who did his duty well, and answered to the name of Fly.