triumphant and consoling. "Never you mind," she said; "trouble comes
to all."

Mr. Jeminy went home from the fair with a light heart. He started
early, because he liked to walk; and he carried in his hand a bit of
lace for Mrs. Grumble. As he went down the road, beneath the turning
leaves, and through the shadows cast by the descending sun, he began to
sing, out of the fullness of his heart, the following song:

The Lord of all things,
With liberalitee,
Maketh the small birds,
To sing on every tree.

The Lord of all things,
He maketh also me;
Giveth me no wings,
Giveth me no words.

When Mr. Jeminy had sung as much as he liked, he went on to say: "In
autumn the birds go south by easy stages; to-day their songs are
departed from these woods, where there is none left but the catbird, to
creak upon the bough. Soon snow will cover the earth, in which nothing
is growing. But you, happy song birds, will build your nests far away,
in green and windy trees, and your quarrels will fill distant valleys
with music."

When Mr. Jeminy was nearly home he looked behind him and saw Thomas
Frye and Anna Barly returning from the fair. He drew aside to let them
pass, and with the sun shining in his eyes, he thought to himself,