o it, and, behold, it was
full of coloured pictures of birds. And such birds! In the garden, and
in the lanes when he went for a walk, Nicholas came across a few birds,
of which the largest were an occasional magpie or wood-pigeon; here were
herons and bustards, kites, toucans, tiger-bitterns, brush turkeys,
ibises, golden pheasants, a whole portrait gallery of undreamed-of
creatures. And as he was admiring the colouring of the mandarin duck and
assigning a life-history to it, the voice of his aunt in shrill
vociferation of his name came from the gooseberry garden without. She
had grown suspicious at his long disappearance, and had leapt to the
conclusion that he had climbed over the wall behind the sheltering screen
of the lilac bushes; she was now engaged in energetic and rather hopeless
search for him among the artichokes and raspberry canes.

"Nicholas, Nicholas!" she screamed, "you are to come out of this at once.
It's no use trying to hide there; I can see you all the time."

It was probably the first time for twenty years that anyone had smiled in
that lumber-room.

Presently the angry repetitions of Nicholas' name gave way to a shriek,
and a cry for somebody to come quickly. Nicholas shut the book, restored
it carefully to its place in a corner, and shook some dust from a
neighbouring pile of newspapers over it. Then he crept from the room,
locked the door, and replaced the key exactly where he had found it. His
aunt was still calling his name when he sauntered into the front garden.

"Who's calling?" he asked.

"Me," came the answer from the other side of the wall; "didn't you hear
me? I've been looking for you in the gooseberry garden, and I've slipped
into the rain-water tank. Luckily there's no water in it, but the sides
are slippery and I can't get out. Fetch the little ladder from under the
cherry tree--"

"I was told I wasn't to go into the gooseberry garden," said Nicholas
promptly.

"I told you not to, and now I tell you that you may," came the voice from
the rain-water tank, rather impatiently.

"Your voice doesn't sound like aunt's," objected Nicholas; "you may be
the Evil One tempting me to be disobedient. Aunt often tells me that the
Evil One tempts me and that I always yield. This time I'm not going to
yield."

"Don't talk nonsense," said the prisoner in the tank; "go and fetch the
ladder."

"Will there be strawberry jam for tea?" asked Nicholas innocently.

"Certainly the