THE CROW-CHILD 151

put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s
low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she
sat knitting, with her back to him.

He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with

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tears, and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s
ears in vain. She never once looked up from those eleam-
ing knitting-needles, nor even gave him his good-night
kiss.

It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora,
sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her
candle, and lay down beside her brother.

The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but
she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered,
“Cor, Cor!” He even touched her hand over and over
again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him,
and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night,
little bird.”

Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying:

“Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you
were a crow in earnest, and then I ’d have some peace.”

After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within

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him as he wondered what this “peace” was that his sister
wished for so often, and why he must go away before it
could come to her.

Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard
a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight
a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then
dart suddenly through the open window.

Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight
at the strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear,
she turned to see if he had fallen asleep.