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 the outside
of the foot-board, 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 maiden-hair 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, only a few, 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 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
Children's 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 sweet 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 tell me if it
isn't so.)

There was a high wainscoting of wood about the room, and on top of
this, in a narrow gilt framework, ran a row of illuminated pictures,
illustrating fairy tales, all in dull blue and gold and scarlet and
silver. From the door to the closet there was the story of "The Fair One
with Golden Locks;" from closet to bookcase, ran "Puss in Boots;" from
bookcase to fireplace, was "Jack the Giant-killer;" and on the other
side of the room were "Hop o' my Thumb," "The Sleeping Beauty," and
"Cinderella."

Then there was a great closet full of beautiful things to wear, but they