FROM THE WINDOW. 5 



turned to the sky, while the stems were visible 

 down 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 down 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 



