illage, had come up behind me. He lived next door to
us, and often climbed over the wall that divided our garden to bring
me flowers for my little bed. He was a tall, dark, not very young man;
and the best hand at making fire-balloons, mending toys, and making a
broken wax doll as good as new with a hot knitting needle, that you
can imagine. I had heard grown-up people call him grave and silent,
but he always laughed and talked to me.

"What are you doing, little woman?" he said.

"I have got a nest of poor little birds," I answered; "I am so sorry
for them here in the cold; but they will be all right when I have got
them indoors. I shall make them a beautiful nest of cotton wool, and
feed them. Won't it be nice?"

I spoke confidently; for I had really so worked up my fancy that I
felt quite a contemptuous pity for all the wretched little birds who
were hatched every year without me to rear them. At the same time, I
had a general idea that grown-up people always _did_ throw cold water
on splendid plans like mine; so I was more indignant than surprised
when my friend the curate tried to show me that it was quite
impossible to do as I wished. The end of all his arguments was that I
must leave the nest in its place. But I had a great turn for
disputing, and was not at all inclined to give up my point. "You told
me on Sunday," I said, pertly, "that we were never too little to do
kind things; let me do this."

"If I could be sure," he said, looking at me, "that you only wish to
do a kind thing."

I got more angry and rude.

"Perhaps you think I want to kill them," I said.

He did not answer, but taking both my hands in his, said, gravely,
"Tell me, my child, which do you wish most--to be kind to these poor
little birds? or to have the honour and glory of having them, and
bringing them up?"

"To be kind to them," said I, getting very red. "I don't want any
honour and glory," and I felt ready to cry.

"Well, well," he said, smiling; "then I know you will believe me when
I tell you that the kindest thing you can do for these little birds is
to leave them where they are. And if you like, you can come and sit
here every day till they are able to fly, and keep watch over the
nest, that no naughty boy may come near it--the curate, for instance!"
and he pulled a funny face. "That will be very kind."

"But they will never know, and I want them to like me," said I.

"I thought you only wanted to be kind," he answered. An