312 
OUR HOME BIRDS. 
There were just six of them — snow-white pigeons 
they looked like — on the end of the veranda-railing, 
some with spread wings, and some with folded ones. 
Malcolm and his sisters tiptoed up to them very 
softly — how white they were, and pretty ! — but 
presently they laughed out. 
“ Well,” said their governess, laughing too, “ are 
they not snow-birds?” 
They certainly were, as they were made of snow ; 
and they looked so very natural too. The children 
were quite as much pleased as if they had been real, 
and they asked eagerly, “ How did you ever think of 
it, Miss Harson?” 
“ This is what made me think of it,” she replied as 
they followed her into the house ; and she read them 
this pretty little poem : 
“THE FLOCK OF DOVES. 
“ The world was like a wilderness 
Of soft and downy snow ; 
The trees were plumed with feathery flakes, 
And the ground was white below. 
“ Came the little mother out to the gate 
To watch for her children three : 
Her hood was red as a poppy-flower, 
And rosy and young was she. 
“ She took the snow in her cunning hands, 
As waiting she stood alone, 
