bird, dropping as it were from the sky, circled 

 round his head and perched upon his shoulder. 

 It pecked gently at his cheek and lips, ruffled 

 its breast-feathers, and piped a song of happi- 

 ness. 



% "How now?" said Sylvester. "Is my little 

 bull-finch Anselm returned to me? Surely 

 thy tender body was long since laid beneath 

 the roses, but now, behold, it is given to me to 

 stroke thy glossy black head once more and to 

 take pleasure in thy pretty ways. And now, 

 indeed, I remember the tuneful notes which 

 used to shed a balm upon my spirit. An- 

 selm, canst thou still sing the Song of the Ex- 

 ile?" 



fc "That I can," said Anselm. "How should 

 I forget aught that gave thee pleasure?" and 

 raising his head he let the notes stream from 

 his parted beak. 



*fc "It is the same," said Sylvester, "the very 

 same," and so, with Anselm on his shoulder, 

 and Barbara zigzagging from side to side 

 (but never losing him from view) , and Justin 

 55 % and 



