g with it, as long as there are men and women, and boys and girls,
in this puzzling world of ours.

Though, after all, it is better to be a child than a bird or a
flower--whatever mistakes we may make, whatever wrong we may do, all,
alas, adding to the great mass of mistakes and wrong--whatever sorrows
we may have to bear, it is something to feel in us the power of bearing
them, the power of _trying_ to put right even what we may have helped to
put wrong--best of all the power of loving each other, and of helping
each other in a way that the happy, innocent birds and flowers know
nothing about. Is it not better to be _ourselves_, after all?

Magdalen leant out of the window, enjoying the sweet air and sunshine,
but thinking all the time how much more she would have enjoyed this
bright morning but for her sympathy with poor Hoodie's trouble.

Suddenly a thought struck her. _Possibly_ the bird, chilled and hungry
after some hours' freedom, unaccustomed to be out in the dark, or to
find food for itself--_possibly_ he might have returned to his cage in
the night. Magdalen threw on her dressing-gown and hurried into the
ante-room. The window was open, the cage-door stood open too, everything
was ready to welcome the little wanderer--fresh seed in the box, fresh
water in the glass--Hoodie had seen to it all herself before going to
bed--but that was all!

There was no little feathered occupant in the cage--it was empty, and
with a fresh feeling of disappointment, Magdalen stood by the window
again, looking out at the bright morning, and wondering what she could
do to comfort poor Hoodie. Outside, the birds were singing merrily.

"Should I get her another bird?" thought Magdalen, "a canary, perhaps,
accustomed to cage life? No, I think not. It might only lead to fresh
disappointment; besides, I don't think Hoodie is the sort of child to
care for another, _instead_. No, that wouldn't do."

Suddenly a sort of flutter in the leaves round the window-frame--Mr.
Caryll's house was an old one; there were creepers all over the
walls--made Magdalen look up.

"Can there be a nest in the eaves?" she said to herself, for the flutter
was evidently that of a bird; and as she was watching, she saw it fly
out--fly down rather from the projecting window-roof, and--to her
amazement, after seeming for an instant or two to hesitate, it summoned
up courage and flew a little way into the room--too high up for her to
reach however, and not far