feathery thing has nothing in the world except his ‘chirp,’ ‘chirp,’ and when winter comes he must starve.”
“Yes, indeed, you may well say that, replied the mouse. “And with all his fine ‘chirp,’ ‘chirp.’ what has a bird got when winter is come? Starvation and cold, that’s all? But that I suppose is thought very grand.”
Ellie was silent; but when the others turned their backs, she bent over the bird, put aside the feathers which lay over its head, and kissed its closed eyes.
“Perhaps it was you who sang me such pretty songs,” thought she. “How often have you delighted me, my dear, beautiful bird!”
The mole then stopped up the opening again through which the daylight had entered, and escorted the two ladies home. But Ellie could not sleep that night. She got up out of bed, platted a mat of hay, carried it to where the dead bird was, spread it over him, and covered him up on every side with soft cotton, which she had
