d
along; the cattle far off on the brown fields rubbed their silky sides
softly together, and gazed through the clear atmosphere with a lazy
content, as though they saw the waving of green grass, and heard the
rustle of wind in the thick boughs, so soon to bear their leafy burden.
Stillness everywhere,--the blessed calm that even nature seems to feel
on a sunny Sabbath morn. Stillness scarcely broken by the voices,
mellowed and softened ere they reached her ear, chanting in the village
church, to some sweet and solemn music, words spoken in infinite
tenderness long ago, and which, through all the centuries, come with
healing balm to many a sore and saddened heart: "Come unto me," the
voices sang,--"come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and
I will give you rest."

"Ah, rest," she murmured while she listened,--"rest"; and with the
repetition of the word the fever died out of her eyes, leaving them
filled with such a look, more pitiful than any tears, as would have made
a kind heart ache even to look at them; while her figure, alert and
proud no longer, bent on the window ledge in such lonely and weary
fashion that a strong arm would have involuntarily stretched out to
shield it from any hardness or blow that might threaten, though the
owner thereof were a stranger.

There was something indescribably appealing and pathetic in her whole
look and air. Outside the window stood a slender little bird which had
fluttered there, spent and worn, and did not try to flit away any
further. Too early had it flown from its southern abode; too early
abandoned the warm airs, the flowers and leafage, of a more hospitable
region, to find its way to a northern home; too early ventured into a
rigorous clime; and now, shivering, faint, near to death, drooped its
wings and hung its weary head, waiting for the end of its brief life to
come.

Francesca, looking up with woeful eyes, beheld it, and, opening the
window, softly took it in. "Poor birdie!" she whispered, striving to
warm it in her gentle hand and against her delicate cheek,--"poor little
wanderer!--didst thou think to find thy mate, and build thy tiny nest,
and be a happy mother through the long bright summer-time? Ah, my pet,
what a sad close is this to all these pleasant dreams!"

The frail little creature could not eat even the bits of crumbs which
she put into its mouth, nor taste a drop of water. All her soothing
presses failed to bring warmth and life to the