forget your generous sympathy. Possibly I may
find consolation, but should I ever raise another brood, it could never
equal the beauty of my lost darlings. Alas! we feathered creatures have
great trials: we toil diligently for our families, build nests at great
cost of time and effort, often to see them swept away by the winds; or,
our nests lasting, and unattacked by enemies, many a young bird is
thrown to the earth by the violence of storms, and comes to an untimely
end through starvation. Sympathy, therefore, we appreciate; it helps us
to bear our sorrows with becoming fortitude. Never shall I forget your
gallantry, my friend; the thought of it will cheer many a solitary hour
when all the world is asleep. I bid you farewell.' So saying, the owl
flapped her wings and was gone.

"Arthur hopped away from the chestnut-tree to the place where he had
lost himself. It was early morning, but he was wearied, and slept in
spite of all his anxiety. When he awoke he was no longer a frog, but a
very hungry boy. The noonday sun was shining, and at his side hopped a
little brown bird. It twittered gladly, as if congratulating him, but
not one word could he understand. Before this adventure he would have
probably frightened it away, but now he reached out his hand softly and
stroked its feathers, then seeking berries, he placed them where the
little creature could feast upon them. It peered at him with its bright
little eyes, and even perched upon his shoulder. Never again did Arthur
idly destroy any living creature of the woods--not the humblest weed or
flower, bright-winged insect or speckled egg. Nor did he loiter again
when sent upon errands. The elves thereafter left him in peace."

"Good-bye, dear Phil; I am off now. This is my last story."

"Where am I? Has the music stopped? Was it my wind harp--my poor little
wind harp?"

"Why, Phil, your wind harp is broken. Did you not know that it fell from
your window last night?" said Lisa, coming into the dining-room.

"No. I wonder if I shall ever see the wind fairy again?"

"Dreaming again, Phil?" said Lisa.

"You always think I dream, Lisa, whenever I speak of fairies."

"Do I, dear? Well, you must get ready now for Graham; he is coming to
take you out on the lake. Miss Schuyler will not be home to dinner, and
we three are to have ours on Eagle Island."

Phil went up-stairs and gathered together the broken pieces of his wind
harp. He folded each piece up carefully in paper