the door,
when he remembered what Aunt Laura had said about climbing up on a chair
to peep in, so he jumped out of bed, and pulling a chair close to the
fireplace, stepped from it to the mantelpiece. It never occurred to him
until afterwards, to think that he was ever so much too big to fit
inside the cupboard, and it really did not matter after all, for somehow
or other he did fit--whether he had grown suddenly quite small, or the
cupboard was quite large when one got near enough to it, I do not know,
but there he was inside, with the pigeon hopping along sedately ahead of
him.

It was apparently a narrow passage, and very long, for they walked on
for some time, turning corners now and then, as though it ran past
certain rooms in the house, and Laurie could see that it was lit by
hundreds of fireflies, making it almost as bright as day.

CHAPTER IV.

Suddenly the passageway came to an end, Laurie does not remember quite
how it happened, but there he was up in the dove-cote, high above the
farmyard, with the pigeons cooing and circling about him.

What a beautiful dove-cote it was, ever so much larger than one would
have supposed: indeed it was like a real house.

It did not seem at all strange for the cooing to sound more and more
like words, and presently Laurie found that the pigeons were inviting
him to enter. Inside how beautiful it all was! Velvet carpets lay on the
floor, with the most exquisite patterns traced on them; in each room the
pattern was different, yet always changing, for they were made by the
tiny feet of the pigeons as they moved about. Soft curtains hung at the
doors. They were wonderful feather curtains; instead of having to push
them to one side, all that one had to do was to move towards them, and
they folded into wings. Exquisite music sounded in the rooms, that was
the wind, and it sang of the countries and people it had seen in its
travels. It sang of the waving corn, the ships at sea, the flames
leaping in the fireplace, it crooned a lullaby it had heard a mother
singing to her baby--now the voice of the wind was soft and low, that
was when it remembered the places it had been in, where there was peace
and happiness; now it was loud and harsh, for it had also been in
terrible storms, and wild places, ah! they were wonderful stories. No
one was idle in the dove-cote, some pigeons were kept busy writing the
news that the wind brought, others flew here and there, for they were
the