flow Agnes Liked being a Birea. {Ql

 

“O Willie! Willie! it was all for me!—Wasn’t
it now?”

“Yes, it was, pet,” said Willie.

“Tt was all to make a bird of me—wasn’t it?”
she went on.

“Yes—as much of a bird as I could. I couldn't
give you wings, you know, and I hadn’t any of my
own to fly up with you to the moon, as the angel
in your dream did. The dream was much nicer—
wasn’t it?”

“T’m not sure about that—really I’m not. I
think it is nicer to have a wind coming you don’t
know from where, and making all the leaves flutter
about, than to have the wings of birdies making
the.wind. And I don’t care about the man in the
moon much. . He’s not so nice as you, Willie. And
yon red ray of the sun through there on the fir- .
tree is as good nearly as the moon.”

“Oh! but you may have the moon, if you wait
a bit. She'll be too late to-night, though.”

“But now I think of it, Willie,” said Agnes, “I
do believe it wasn’t a dream at all.”

“Do you think a real angel carried you really up
to the moon, then?” asked Willie.

“No; but a real Willie carried me really up into
this tree, and the moon shone through the leaves,
and I thought they were birds. You’re my angel,
Willie, only better to me than twenty hundred
angels.”