h problem novels:

"'If on a spring night I went by
And God were standing there,
What is the prayer that I would cry
To Him? This is the prayer:
O Lord of courage grave,
O Master of this night of spring,
Make firm in me a heart too brave
To ask Thee anything!'"

"Rather fine, don't you think? Or is it just a madness of pride? On
second thought, I don't believe that I have arrived at the stage when I
can do without God. H."

He folded the letter, stamped and addressed it and placed it upon the
table in the hall where Ann would find and post it. Then, lighting a
cigar, he sat down beside the open window and began to wonder how the
momentous meeting with Esther could be best arranged. Perhaps if he
walked out to the schoolhouse and waited until lunch time? No, it was
Saturday morning and there was no school. The obvious thing was to call
at the house, but this, the doctor felt, was sure to be unsatisfactory.
Not only was there Jane to think of and Aunt Amy--but there was also the
as-yet-unknown Mrs. Coombe. The visit would almost certainly end in a
formal call upon the family. He might perhaps send Bubble over with an
invitation to go fishing. No, that was too risky. Esther might refuse to
go fishing and that would be a bad omen.

In a sudden spasm of nervousness Callandar threw the half-burned cigar
out of the window and, following it with his eyes, was not sorry to be
distracted by the sight of Ann in her night-dress, crying under the pear
tree. Ann crying was an unusual sight, but Ann in a night-dress was
almost unbelievable. The doctor knew at once that something serious must
have happened and went down to see.

The child looked up at his approach, all the natural impishness of her
small face drowned in sorrow. In her open hand she held the body of a
tiny bird, all that was left of a fledgling which had tried its
wings too soon.

"It toppled off and died," said Ann. "All its brothers and sisters
flewed away."

"Heartless things!" said Callandar, and then seeing that comfort was
imperative he sat down beside the mourner and tried to do the proper
thing. He explained to her that the dead bird was only one of a
nest-full and that the dew was wet and that she was getting green stains
on her nightie. He reminded her that birds' lives, for all their seeming
brightness, are full of danger and trouble. Perhaps the baby bird was
just as well out of it. At l