was working inside the nest to push the young ones
out to the edge, while the other flew about, showing them how easy
it was, if they only dared to try. And when the young ones were
obstinate and afraid, both the parents flew about, showing them all
their most beautiful feats of flight. Beating with their wings,
they flew in swooping curves, or rose right up like larks or hung
motionless in the air with vibrating wings.

But as the young ones still persist in their obstinacy, Hatto the
hermit cannot keep from mixing himself up in the matter. He gives
them a cautious shove with his finger and then it is done. Out they
go, fluttering and uncertain, beating the air like bats, sink, but
rise again, grasp what the art is and make use of it to reach the
nest again as quickly as possible. Proud and rejoicing, the parents
come to them again and old Hatto smiles.

It was he who gave the final touch after all.

He now considered seriously if there could not be any way out of it
for our Lord.

Perhaps, when all was said, God the Father held this earth in His
right hand like a big bird's nest, and perhaps He had come to
cherish love for all those who build and dwell there, for all
earth's defenceless children. Perhaps He felt pity for those whom
He had promised to destroy, just as the hermit felt pity for the
little birds.

Of course the hermit's birds were much better than our Lord's
people, but he could quite understand that God the Father
nevertheless had love for them.

The next day the bird's nest stood empty, and the bitterness of
loneliness filled the heart of the hermit. Slowly his arm sank down
to his side, and it seemed to him as if all nature held its breath
to listen for the thunder of the trumpet of Doom. But just then all
the wagtails came again and lighted on his head and shoulders, for
they were not at all afraid of him. Then a ray of light shot
through old Hatto's confused brain. He had lowered his arm, lowered
it every day to look at the birds.

And standing there with all the six young ones fluttering and
playing about him, he nodded contentedly to some one whom he did
not see. "I let you off," he said, "I let you off. I have not kept
my word, so you need not keep yours."

And it seemed to him as if the mountains ceased to tremble and as
if the river laid itself down in easy calm in its bed.

THE KING'S GRAVE

It was at the time of year when the heather is red. It grew over
the sand-hills i