nd it, but as he was well
sheltered, and soon got warm in the ivy, he fell asleep and forgot all
about it.

[Illustration: THE BLACKBIRD ON A SMALL WHITE HILLOCK.]

The next morning, however, when he woke up and peeped forth from his
green canopy, he was much astonished by the sight which met his eyes.
Everything was white! The green fields were gone, the lawn where he
found his worms, the flower-beds where he caught his insects,--all had
disappeared, and a broad, white, sparkling covering lay over everything.
What was it? what could it mean?

The Blackbird had no one to explain it all to him, so he thought he
would just take a short flight and find out for himself. He stretched
his wings and skimmed away over the white ground, and then he thought he
would rest for a while on a small white hillock.

No sooner, however, had his little dusky brown feet touched the surface
of the snow, than he found he was gradually sinking down, down into a
soft, but very cold white bed. With a shrill cry of alarm he flew up
again, and did not stop until he alighted on the bough of the lime-tree
where we were first introduced to him. What was it? What wonderful and
terrible new thing was this? and where was he to go for his breakfast?

He was sitting in a very melancholy frame of mind, stretching out first
one foot and then the other, when his attention was arrested by a flood
of joyous song poured forth from above, and looking up, he saw a
bright-breasted Robin on the bough immediately over his head.

The little bird in his scarlet and brown plumage looked more richly
coloured and even more beautiful than usual, as, supported by his
slender legs, with his head thrown back and his feathers puffed out, he
poured forth his light-hearted carol to the leafless woods.

"How can you sing on this miserable morning?" said the Blackbird,
gloomily, and indeed half contemptuously.

"Miserable morning!" replied the Robin in a tone of surprise; "why I
don't think it's at all a miserable morning,--just look at the beautiful
snow."

"Oh, that's what you call that white stuff down there, is it?" said the
Blackbird, disdainfully gazing at the white world beneath him.

"Yes, to be sure," said the Robin; "have you never seen snow before?"

"No," replied the Blackbird, "I've not, and I shan't break my heart if I
never see it again. All last night it was dropping on my back till I was
wet through and through; and just now, when I flew down to look