ROBIN REDBREAST. 89

the street. I followed as fast as I could,
keeping my eye uponghim all the time. It
was curious that he did not fly across
squares, or over the houses, but kept along
above the streets, slowly, and with a back-
ward glance once in a while. At length,
he turned down a narrow court, and flew
into the open window of a small frame-
house. Here I followed him, knocking
timidly at the door, which was opened at
once by a boy about nine years old. I
found myself in a small “parlour, very
plainly, but neatly furnished. In an arm-
chair by the window sat a middle-aged
woman, who I saw at once was blind. A
tall, dark-eyed, rather handsome girl was
sitting near her, sewing. But I did not
look at either of these more than a moment,
for on the other side of the room was an
object to charm, and yet sadden, my eyes.
This was a slight girl, about my Own age,
reclining on a couch, looking very ill and
pale, but with a small, red spot on each
cheek, which told me that she was almost
8