It was also about this time that the Blackbird noticed a most unusual gathering together of the swallows, and a good deal of commotion and twittering. They assembled in large flocks, and appeared to be eagerly discussing some weighty affair of State. After such discussions they would suddenly disperse, but only to re-assemble and twitter more eagerly than ever.

What could it all mean? Of course the sage and experienced Rook was referred to.

"These birds," he said, "are about to what is called migrate, it is a very important event to them, and they hold long consultations beforehand. As you may remember, I told you in the spring they do not spend above half the year in England, and now that the leaves are falling, and the winds are getting cold, they know it is high time to be off. They are wonderfully quick flyers, a few days will find them on the distant shores of Africa."

"It must be very sunny, very delightful there," said the Blackbird.

"I daresay it is," replied the Rook, hopping slowly from one fir-branch to another; "but I had far rather remain at home. Dear old place!" he said, looking at the venerable gray mansion, and then at the beautiful lake and wood behind which the sun was setting. "I wouldn't miss the winter and spring here for anything that Africa or any other place in the wide world could give me."

The gray stones and gables were bright with the glory of the setting sun, the ruddy stems of the firs had caught the reflection and stood out in their depth of red from the dark green foliage. Some autumn flowers and a few late roses still gave colour to the garden, and the sound of far-off childish voices echoed from the more distant lime-trees.

Willie came dancing across the lawn, and the perambulator, pushed by Nurse Barlow, followed more slowly. Willie's eyes were sparkling with excitement. He had been out with his father, and had hunted the hedgerows for blackberries to his heart's content. In one hand he held a small basket wherein lay some fresh-gathered mushrooms. In the other he bore in triumph a large hazel branch, loaded with nuts. Just then his mother came out on the lawn, and he ran towards her with eager joy and affection.

"Look, mother! I picked these in the field my very own self. Ain't they beauties?" he said, turning the mushrooms slowly over; "they're for your dinner, and I picked them."

They certainly looked very fresh and tempting, with their glossy white tops and soft pink gills.

"Thank you, my darling," said his mother, stroking the brown hair back from his bright face, "I shall like them very much."

At this moment Willie caught sight of a little black head and a pair of bright eyes between the fir-branches.

"Mother," he whispered, pointing to the branch, "that's our Blackbird. He's fond of blackberries; he was eating some in the hedge the other day—I saw him. I have a few in the corner of the basket here. I'll throw them to him."

A few blackberries were scattered on the grass on the other side of the fir-tree, and Willie moved a little further off, for fear the Blackbird should be shy.

"These nuts are for your dessert, mother," he continued, holding out the hazel branch in triumph.

"It is very good of my little boy to think of mamma," said his mother. "Isn't it, Barlow?" she said, turning to that rather exhausted person, who now came slowly up.

Nurse Barlow had not had a happy afternoon. She had been toiling through the lanes after Willie and his papa. The lanes were muddy, they had gone a long way, and she was very tired. She had made up her mind that the mushrooms were toadstools. It is true that they had come from a meadow in the neighbourhood where excellent mushrooms were wont to grow, but all the same, she was fully persuaded that these particular ones were toadstools, "just such as my poor sister's little boy nearly died of eating."

Then again Master Willie had eaten "pounds of blackberries, let alone those nasty nuts."

It turned out that Nurse Barlow's fears were happily unfounded, for Willie's papa had forbidden the consumption of nuts and limited the quantity of blackberries.

Notwithstanding these assurances, "Nanny" refused to be comforted, and as she tucked Willie in his little bed, she soothingly remarked, "A nice lot of physic I shall have to give you. Then you'll have to stay indoors, and you'll both be very cross and very tiresome; I know what it will be."

That night Willie's dreams were troubled, but they were mingled with a deep bliss notwithstanding. He seemed to be wandering through endless lanes where thousands of ripe and gigantic blackberries grew on all sides,—they actually seemed to bend forward and drop into his basket as he passed. Hazel-nuts were there also, of a marvellous size, and very brown and sweet, browner and sweeter than any he ever remembered to have eaten. He passed from the lanes into a field, where the mushrooms grew so thickly, that it was difficult to avoid treading on them as he walked. What greatly added to the delights of the expedition was the fact that all the time the Blackbird hopped by his side. He, too, seemed to have grown larger, and he was wonderfully tame, and allowed Willie to stroke his glossy head and back. Arrived at the end of the meadow, however, Willie seemed somehow to pass into another lane, and there on the hedgerows instead of blackberries hung curious-looking bottles, and they were all labelled "Mr. Phil Viall, Chemist and Druggist."

Alas! poor Willie, he knew those bottles far too well. Some of them were yellow and others were white, while a few were dreadfully black. "Nanny," grown very tall indeed, marched before him down the lane, pointing sternly to each bottle as she passed.

At this moment Willie awoke, and was very glad to find that after all it was only a dream, that the bright morning sun was streaming through the white dimity curtains, and that he did not feel one bit the worse for yesterday's expedition.

A few days passed away, and the Blackbird found that all that the Rook had told him was strictly true, for before long an evening arrived when a great many swallows began to congregate; then after a good deal of twittering and excitement they took wing, and flew steadily away towards the setting sun. The next morning the Blackbird sadly missed the twitter of his small friends. No little glossy dark heads were to be seen peeping out of the clay-built nests under the eaves, and no white-breasted flyers skimmed the lawn. Yes, the swallows were indeed gone, and the Blackbird sadly realised the fact that the summer and its singers were gone too, left far behind in the months of long ago.

That evening, after watching the flight of the swallows, the Blackbird flew from the fir to his favourite branch on the lime, where we were first introduced to him. He felt rather sad, there was so much that was bright and joyous and sunny to look back upon in the past spring and summer; there was not a little that was dark and cold and dreary to look forward to in the approaching winter. As he was meditating on the past, and thinking of the future, a bright, a familiar note greeted him from a branch close by,—in another moment the Robin had hopped to his side.

"My dear little friend," cried the Blackbird, "I haven't seen you for a long time."

"I've often seen you though," said the Robin; "but what with your two large families, and all the delights and distractions of the summer, you have been a good deal occupied."

"I haven't heard you singing," said the Blackbird.

"Don't you remember what I told you in the spring?" replied the Robin; "my poor little song is quite extinguished when so many others are singing, but now I am beginning to be heard once more."

Again he poured forth a clear, bright carol.

"As I have said before," remarked the Blackbird, "you are a very good little bird, you come to cheer us just when we want cheering."

"But you're not so down-hearted as you used to be," said the Robin.

"That is due then to your bright little lessons," said the Blackbird gratefully, "and the teaching of our dear old friend the Rook there."

In another moment the Rook, who was passing, had joined them on the lime-tree bough, and together the three friends watched the sun setting, and wondered where the swallows had got to by that time.

The evening was chilly, and a damp mist lay over the meadows, a warning to the birds that it was time to be going home.



"Yes," said the Blackbird reflectively, taking up the conversation where he had left off, "I ought to be very grateful to you, Mr. Rook,—and to you, my dear little friend," he said, turning to the Robin. "You, Mr. Rook, have taught me a great deal, and given me a real interest in the creatures and things about me, which I should not have had otherwise. Above all, you have taught me the great lesson of faith and trust. And you, dear little red-breasted friend, have taught me the sweet lesson of content, and not that alone, but you have shown me that each of us in our small way should try to make the world a little better and brighter for those around us. You do it, Mr. Rook; you do it, little Robin; Willie and Alice do it, with their kind thoughtfulness for us, and why should not I try to do it also,—I will, and this very winter too."

All the birds were grave and silent for a few moments, and then, as they took an affectionate leave of each other before parting, the Rook said, "There was a pretty little poem once written about the Robin. I will repeat it to you before we separate:

"Unheard in Summer's flaring ray, Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer, Wooing the stillness of the autumn day: Bid it a moment linger, Nor fly Too soon from Winter's scowling eye.

"The Blackbird's song at eventide, And hers, who gay ascends, Filling the heavens far and wide, Are sweet. But none so blends, As thine With calm decay, and peace divine."

Each day now the sun rose later and went to bed earlier. Willie and Alice still ran about the garden, stamping their little feet among the dry, crisp leaves, and picking up the beech-nuts which strewed the ground.

However, as time went on, they came less out of doors, for cold and wet days followed each other, when all that the Blackbird saw of his little friends were the two small faces pressed against the dining-room window-pane, looking wistfully out as the clouds drove past, and the rain pattered against the glass.

At last a night arrived when it was very cold indeed. Through the bare boughs, and on to the hedgerows and ivy, stole down the pure, soft snow. The Blackbird put his head out of the ivy-bush to see what sort of night it might be, and lo! under the pale light of the moon, all the landscape lay white and dazzling before him.

One little flake dropt upon his head—one cold, soft flake; but as he drew back into the shelter of the ivy, to return once more to rest, it was with very different thoughts and feelings than those gloomy ones which had troubled him the year before. He now knew what the beautiful snow meant. It was the beginning of a hard winter, it was the herald of cold, dark days. But he had also been taught a lesson of faith; he knew of the winter berries which would be provided for him by One who remembered even the despised Sparrows; he knew of a certain bay window where two eager little faces would be watching for him, through all the cold, dark days; and as he closed his eyes, on this the first night of winter, he remembered that little Willie and Alice, and he himself, and all created things, were under the protection of Him Who "casteth forth His ice like morsels," but Who, in His own good time, would again bring about the "time of the singing of birds," when, once more, as of old, "the voice of the turtle" would be "heard in the land."

THE END.



LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL, E.C.

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Transcriber's Notes

Typographical problems have been changed and are listed below.

Hyphenation standardized and are also listed below.

Archaic and variable spelling is preserved, including pic-nic.

Author's punctuation style is preserved.

Illustrations moved close to their relevant pages, and page numbers references removed.

Passages in italics indicated by underscores.

Passages in bold indicated by equal signs.

Transcriber Changes

In addition to standardizing hyphenation, the following changes were made to the original text:

Page 3: Was where-ever hyphenated across two lines (the little cold droppings seemed to pursue him wherever he went)

Page 7: Ivy berries standardized to Ivy-berries (Ivy-berries will be poorish eating day after day.")

Page 15: Added end quote after us. (We do not 'sow, nor do we gather into barns,' but still 'God feeds us.')

Page 15: lime trees standardized to lime-trees (swiftly passed over one or two snow-covered fields, and then by a long avenue of lime-trees.)

Page 32: laurel bushes standardized to laurel-bushes (he flew off to the laurel-bushes by the bay window and sang a song)

Page 36: Removed comma from "Nanny," (he was afraid that "Nanny" might find out what they were doing.)

Page 41: Removed begin quote before "When ("Oh," replied the Rook, "the swallows are most curious and interesting creatures. When October comes they assemble)

Page 52: newly mown standardized to newly-mown (The newly-mown hay was falling on all sides)

Page 54: even-tide standardized to eventide (This was a secret corner to which the birds repaired at eventide)

Page 60: "twofold shout" changed to single quotes (His 'twofold shout' of cuckoo is a welcome sound to every one)

Page 84: spring?" changed to double quote ("Don't you remember what I told you in the spring?")

Page 87: bay-window standardized to bay window (he knew of a certain bay window where two eager little faces would be watching for him)

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THE END