Minnie felt that the nest would be dearer to her, and more like home than ever now. Yet she knew it was not civil to leave her good friends, the squirrels, without a word of good-by; so, lighter-hearted than when she left it, she skipped back to their den on the other side of the tree.

She found the old lady's temper very much improved, perhaps because she had her nest in what she called order again. Minnie tumbled over nut-sh.e.l.ls, tore her dress against th.o.r.n.y sticks, and, when she stretched her hand toward the wall, trying to rise, she felt cold mushrooms growing out of the crumbling wood.

It was dark, too,--no prospect there,--and there was the old musty odor, which she remembered so well, instead of the sweet air and fresh green leaves above yellow-bird's nest; and there was the heap of sleepy young squirrels squeaking in a corner.

"O, dear!" thought Minnie, "how could I ever have wished to live in a place like this?"

Mrs. Squirrel was polite once more, and kindly offered her some luncheon, but did not ask her to stay. And, though surprised, she did not seem grieved when the little lady told her that she had come to say farewell.

Not so squirrel himself, who was proud of Minnie, and fond of her, and felt so badly at parting, that his lips trembled too much to bid her good-by, and he ran off into a hole in the ground to hide his tears.

"Dear squirrel! he has done the best he could for me," she thought; "and now, because he doesn't happen to have a pleasant home, I am about to leave him! I have a great mind to go back!"

Just then a nut-sh.e.l.l dropped on her head, and, looking up, she saw Master Squirrel, who laughed at her surprise. Leaping a little nearer, he began:

"So you've returned, Miss Runaway! My mother said it would be too good luck to lose you in a hurry. She was sure we should see you before the sun went down."

"Then your mother doesn't like me?"

"O, yes! she says you're a cunning little body, and mean no harm; but, like all company, you make a great deal of trouble, and do no one any good, that she can see."

"What does your father say to that?"

"He takes your part; tells her he's ashamed that she is not more hospitable; and then they quarrel well, I tell you!"

"There shall be no more trouble on my account," said Minnie, with dignity. "I am going to live with my friends, the yellow-birds. I have bidden your father and mother good-by, and now good-by, squirrel; you have all been very kind to me."

"No we haven't, Minnie; and I have been rudest of all; and you, so good, to be satisfied with our poor home!"

"Dinner-time! plenty of checkerberry buds and juicy berries in the wood!" sang yellow-bird on a bough above. "Come, Minnie, come!"

"Good-by, squirrel! Yellow-bird, here I am."

"O, Minnie!" was all the answer squirrel could make. She left him wiping his eyes on his hairy paws--left him, and skipped away with her new friend.

CHAPTER XV.

MINNIE AND THE BIRDS.

For a little while Minnie was very happy with the yellow-birds; they were gentle and loving as the days were long, and only disputed to know which should have the pleasure of doing most for their company.

At home it was all sunshine and music, exactly as they had promised; and, when there was too much sun, they flew to the wood, where hundreds of other birds met also, and merrily pa.s.sed the long, bright afternoons.

It was like a party every day. Instead of needing to set a table each time, there was the whole wood, with its flowers, berries, gums, and spicy buds, spread out for them to take their choice. The wine bubbled up freshly from their cellar, and spread into bright wells wreathed with flowers. No need of corkscrews and coolers; yet, the best wine in the world never tasted so good, nor left such clear heads, and such merry, thankful hearts, as this simple water--the only drink the birds asked at this woodland feast.

Minnie made friends among great and small, she was so sprightly, and ready to please, and so willing to be pleased herself. This last is a great secret in winning friends. If people find it hard to amuse us, they very soon grow tired of trying, and leave us to entertain ourselves.

But Minnie had a pleasant word and a merry answer for every one. She did not laugh at the oriole for his foolish pride, nor at the ant for her stinginess and silence, nor at the bee for making such a bustle, nor at the indigo-bird for her diffidence. She knew it was their way, and only took care not to imitate their faults herself.

Meantime she never was tired of admiring their better traits of character. Let the oriole be proud as he would; she knew that hardly any one else could sing such lovely songs as he was always twittering. Let the ant be ever so mean and dumb; who else had such an orderly house, and such a store of food? Let the bee buzz; couldn't he turn the poorest weeds into delicious honey, and set it in waxen jars of his own making, yet so neat, and delicate, and well contrived, that any man or woman might be proud of them? Let the indigo-bird be shy; once hidden among the leaves, wasn't she willing enough to trill forth the clearest, loudest, sweetest little songs?

Ah! in this great wide world there is no creature but has some precious gift for us, if we can only find it. The little bird is weak, but his voice can fill the whole sky with music. You may know some rough boy who seems wicked; but be sure there's a good spot in his heart, and, by treating him kindly, we may make that good spot larger. Isn't it worth while to try?

Though yellow-bird, after giving many lessons, found he could not teach Minnie to fly, he taught her so much that, by resting one hand on his neck, she could easily glide along with him through the air.

In this way they fluttered from bough to bough in the wood, then took longer flights through sunny meadows, and at last ventured up among the clouds, where Minnie had longed to go.

Up, up, they soared,--yellow-bird singing for joy,--till there was nothing around them except the bright blue air, and, close over their heads, rose the pearly morning clouds.

Many a time had the little girl sat on her father's door-step, and longed to be where she now found herself. Many a summer morning she had watched these same clouds gather and wrap themselves together, till they looked like splendid palaces of pearl--pearly domes and spires dazzlingly bright in the sunshine, and porticos with pillars of twisted pearl; and, at little openings, she could look through vast halls, all paved with pearl, and curtained with silvery hangings.

At sunset the roof of her beautiful palace had changed from pearl to silver, and all its spires were gilded; the silvery hangings changed to rose-color; the floor, instead of pearl, was paved with solid gold, and the pillars were made of shining amethyst.

"O," Minnie had thought, "if, instead of this little house, with its dull, iron fence, I could live in such a n.o.ble home as that, how proud and happy I should be!"

Then, as a man pa.s.sed, with his ladder, to light the street-lamps, she wondered if hundreds of ladders tied together couldn't reach as far as the clouds.

"How I would skip up the rounds," she thought, "and, when I had reached the highest, send my ladder tumbling back to earth! The ladder would break, so no one could follow me; and all day long I'd fly from hall to hall, or, through great winding staircases, find my way to the golden cupolas, where I could look down into the poor old dusty earth I had left."

And now, without tying a hundred ladders together, here she was among the clouds. Alas! the pearly halls, that from below had looked so beautiful, were damp and dismal vapors. It was chilly and lonesome up there, while, wonderful to tell! the earth seemed a warmer, sunnier, more cheerful place than she had ever known it. There was the pretty town, with its surrounding hills and woods, with its winding rivers, and green fields, and tranquil lakes. In all the sky there was nothing half so beautiful!

CHAPTER XVI.

THE SQUIRREL'S TEAM.

After the long sky-journey, Minnie was glad to reach her home in the elm once more. She was weary, wet, cold, and disappointed. She longed for the blazing fire in her mother's room, and the warm, pleasant drink her mother could mix for her. She longed to hear Frank's merry voice, and to see baby Allie with her golden curls.

There was no use in longing. Even if yellow-bird should fly with her to the very window, they wouldn't know her. They would only laugh at the curious little creature she had grown, and hang her up in the cage with their canary-birds. So she would make the best of her home that was left, and not distress her kind friends by wearing a gloomy face.

She was trying to smile, when a pleasant chirp told her that the yellow-bird's mate was near. She soon hopped into sight, and, welcoming Minnie in her kind way, told that she had an invitation from no less a person than his majesty, the owl.

The party was made especially for Minnie; so she could not refuse, although it was to be held at midnight. Yellow-bird would go with her.

"And you, too?" Minnie asked.

"Excuse me, dear, this time. I feel obliged to stay at home."

"So do I, then."

"Ah, I will tell you a secret. I have in my nest some of the prettiest little eggs you ever saw. If I should leave them they might be chilled with the night-air; so never mind me, Minnie, but go and have the pleasantest time you can."