FROM THE WINDOW. O 



turned to the sky, while the stems were visible 

 clown to the ground, and formed a Lilliputian 

 forest in which it were easy to imagine tiny crea- 

 tures spending days as secluded and as happy 

 as I enjoyed in my forest of beech and birch 

 and maple, which came dow^n to the very back 

 steps of the house. 



On the evening when my story begins, early 

 in June, I was sitting, as I said, at my window, 

 listening to the good-night songs of the earlier 

 birds, enjoying the view of woods and moun- 

 tains, and waiting till tea should be over before 

 taking my usual evening walk. I had fallen 

 into a reverie, when I was aroused by the sound 

 of wheels, and in a moment a horse appeared, 

 trotting rapidly up the little hill. In his wake 

 was a face. There was of course a body also, 

 and some sort of a vehicle, but neither of them 

 did I see ; only a pair of eager, questioning 

 eyes, and an intelligent countenance framed in 

 snow-white curls which streamed back upon 

 the wind, — a picture, a vision, I shall never 

 forget. 



I recognized at once my Enthusiast, a dear 

 friend and fellow bird-lover, who I knew was 

 coming to spend some weeks in the village. I 

 rushed to the door to greet her. 



" I 'm delighted to see you ! " she cried, as we 

 clasped hands across the wheels. " I arrived an 



