The Birds Christmas Carol | Page 6

boisterous boys,
but you seldom see such tenderness, devotion, thought for others and
self-denial in lads of their years. A quarrel or a hot word is almost
unknown in this house. Why? Carol would hear it, and it would distress
her, she is so full of love and goodness. The boys study with all their
might and main.
Why? Partly, at least, because they like to teach Carol, and amuse her
by telling her what they read. When the seamstress comes, she likes to
sew in Miss Carol's room, because there she forgets her own troubles,
which, Heaven knows, are sore enough! And as for me, Donald, I am a
better woman every day for Carol's sake; I have to be her eyes, ears,
feet, hands--her strength, her hope; and she, my own little child, is my
example!" "I was wrong, dear heart," said Mr. Bird more cheerfully;
"we will try not to repine, but to rejoice instead, that we have an 'angel
of the house' like Carol." "And as for her future," Mrs. Bird went on, "I
think we need not be over-anxious. I feel as if she did not belong
altogether to us, and when she has done what God sent her for, He will
take her back to Himself--and it may not be very long!" Here it was
poor Mrs. Bird's turn to break down, and Mr. Bird's turn to comfort her.
III. THE BIRD'S NEST.
Carol herself knew nothing of motherly tears and fatherly anxieties; she
lived on peacefully in the room where she was born. But you never
would have known that room; for Mr. Bird had a great deal of money,
and though he felt sometimes as if he wanted to throw it all in the
ocean, since it could not buy a strong body for his little girl, yet he was
glad to make the place she lived in just as beautiful as it could be made.
The room had been extended by the building of a large addition that
hung out over the garden below, and was so filled with windows that it
might have been a conservatory. The ones on the side were thus still

nearer the little Church of our Saviour than they used to be; those in
front looked out on the beautiful harbor, and those in the back
commanded a view of nothing in particular but a little
alley--nevertheless, they were pleasantest of all to Carol, for the
Ruggles family lived in the alley, and the nine little, middle-sized and
big Ruggles children were the source of inexhaustible interest. The
shutters could all be opened and Carol could take a real sun-bath in this
lovely glass-house, or they could all be closed when the dear head
ached or the dear eyes were tired. The carpet was of soft grey, with
clusters of green bay and holly leaves. The furniture was of white wood,
on which an artist had painted snow scenes and Christmas trees and
groups of merry children ringing bells and singing carols. Donald had
made a pretty, polished shelf and screwed it on to the outside of the
footboard, and the boys always kept this full of blooming plants, which
they changed from time to time; the head-board, too, had a bracket on
either side, where there were pots of maidenhair ferns. Love-birds and
canaries hung in their golden houses in the windows, and they, poor
caged things, could hop as far from their wooden perches as Carol
could venture from her little white bed. On one side of the room was a
bookcase filled with hundreds--yes, I mean it--with hundreds and
hundreds of books; books with gay-colored pictures, books without;
books with black and white outline-sketches, books with none at all;
books with verses, books with stories, books that made children laugh,
and some that made them cry; books with words of one syllable for tiny
boys and girls, and books with words of fearful length to puzzle wise
ones. This was Carol's "Circulating Library." Every Saturday she chose
ten books, jotting their names down in a little diary; into these she
slipped cards that said:
"Please keep this book two weeks and read it. With love, Carol Bird."
Then Mrs. Bird stepped into her carriage, and took the ten books to the
Childrens' Hospital, and brought home ten others that she had left there
the fortnight before. This was a source of great happiness; for some of
the Hospital children that were old enough to print or write, and were
strong enough to do it, wrote Carol cunning little letters about the
books, and she answered them, and they grew to be friends. (It is very
funny, but you do not always have to see people to love them. Just

think about it, and see if