girl
down here. For if you were a bird you couldn't lie in the grass and look
up into the tree."

"Oh yes, I could."

"What a comical little bird you would look then--lying on your little
round feathery back, with wings spread out to keep you from rolling
over, and little sparkling eyes, one on each side of such a long beak,
staring up into the tree!--Miaw! Miaw! Here comes the cat to eat you
up!"

Agnes sprang to her feet in terror, and rushed to Willie. She had so
fully fancied herself a bird that the very mention of the cat had filled
her with horror. Once more she took her thumb from her mouth to give a
little scream, and did not put it in again.

"O Willie! you frightened me so!" she said--joining, however, in his
laugh.

"Poor birdie!" said Willie. "Did the naughty puss frighten it? Stwoke
its fedders den.--Stwoke it--stwoke it," he continued, smoothing down
her hair.

"But _wouldn't_ it be nice," persisted Agnes, "to be so tall as the
birds can make themselves with their wings? Fancy having your head
up there in the green leaves--so cool! and hearing them all whisper,
whisper, about your ears, and being able to look down on people's heads,
you know, Willie! I do wish I was a bird! I do!"

But with Willie to comfort and play with her, she soon forgot her
soaring ambition. Willie, however, did not forget it. If Agnes wished
to enjoy the privacy of the leaves up in the height of the trees, why
shouldn't she? At least, why shouldn't she if he could help her to it.
Certainly he couldn't change her arms into wings, or cover her with
feathers, or make her bones hollow so that the air might get all through
her, even into her quills; but he could get her up into the tree, and
even something more, perhaps. He would see about it--that is, he would
think about it, for how it was to be done he did not yet see.

Long ago, almost the moment he arrived, he had set his wheel in order,
and got his waking-machine into working trim. And now more than ever he
enjoyed being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night--especially
in the fine weather; for then, in that hushed hour when the night is
just melting into the morn, and the earth looks as if she were losing
her dreams, yet had not begun to recognise her own thoughts, he would
not unfrequently go out into the garden, and wander about for a few
thoughtful minutes.

The same night, when his wheel pulled him, he rose and went out into
the garden. The night was at od