inctively
to the well-known refuge of "the barn," an old out-building which the
children had turned into a playground of their own; it was otherwise
disused, excepting that now and then some trusses of hay or straw were
put there, and it was a most splendid place to keep pets in.

A numerous and motley family lived here in cages and hutches of all
kinds, generally made out of old packing-cases. There was a large
colony of white rats, two dormice named Paul and Silas, a jackdaw,
rabbits, and a little yellow owl, not to mention the pigeons who
fluttered in and out through the open door at will. They came whirling
round Bridget now as she entered and settled on her shoulders and head,
and pecked boldly at her shoes expecting to be fed. All the different
little creatures in cages roused themselves too, and gave signs that
they knew her in their various ways--by small scratching noises, by
ruffling of feathers, and tiny squeaks. The jackdaw, who was free, at
once came down from the rafters, and, standing before her in slim
elegance, raised his blue-grey crest and said "Jark," the only word he
knew. They all gave their little welcome.

But Bridget could not take any notice of them to-day, her heart was too
full, though she felt with a dim sense of comfort that these were people
to whom her awkwardness made no difference. Otherwise the world was all
against her--Miss Tasker, the dancing-mistress, and now, to crown all,
mother! She threw herself down on some trusses of straw at the end of
the barn, and the tears which had made her eyes smart so all day flowed
freely. It was so unjust! That was what hurt her so. If she had been
naughty she would be sorry, that would be different. But she could not
feel that she was in fault at all. It was just because she was plain
and awkward that they were all unkind to her, so she whispered to
herself, and cried on.

The barn was very quiet, only Bridget's sobs mingled with the cooing of
the pigeons and the rustling noises in the cages round. One slanting
ray from the setting sun lay on the floor, but the corner where Bridget
had thrown herself was in dusky shadow.

And presently a strange thing happened.

"Bridget! Bridget!" said a little husky voice.

Bridget raised herself on her elbow, and looked round astonished. She
did not know the voice at all; and it sounded muffled, as though coming
through a heap of feathers.

"Bridget! Bridget!" it said again.

This time