Chapter XIII 



DICK 



HE was only a Yellow-bird. And not 

 a paragon of his kind at that; 

 but dull of color and even un- 

 gainly in appearance by reason of a droop 

 in one wing, caused through some hurt 

 before he found our fireside. 



And yet he made himself altogether 

 lovable by seeming to discover directly 

 a beautiful mission amongst us. 



Coming into a home enshadowed by 

 the thought of a vacant chair not far 

 away, around which the solemn silences of 

 autumn were deepening, he behaved at 

 once as though he knew all, and was de- 

 termined to brighten things, if possible, to 

 the best of his brave little heart. 



And the measure of his success in this was 

 wonderful. 



We were half unconscious of it for a while, 



[175] 



