The flush of health was on their
cheeks, and the warm light of affection in their eyes. They were
confiding, affectionate, loving little children, and my heart warmed
towards them, as I saw them waltzing and dancing and skipping about
under the green foliage of the trees. "'Willy,' said the little girl,
as they sat down on the low railing of the grass plats, to breathe for
a moment, and listen to the chirrup and songs of the birds in the
boughs above them, 'Willy, wouldn't you like to be a little bird?'
"'A little bird, Lizzie,' replied her brother. 'Why should I like to
be a little bird?'
"'Oh, to fly around among the branches and the leaves upon the trees,'
said Lizzie, 'and among the blossoms when the morning is warm, and the
sun comes out bright and clear in the sky. Oh! they are so happy,'
"'But the mornings aint always warm, and the sun don't always come up
bright and clear in the sky, Lizzy,' said her brother, 'and the leaves
and blossoms aint always on the trees. The cold storms and the winter
come and kill the blossoms and scatter the leaves, and what would you
do then? I shouldn't like to be a bird, but I _should_ like to be a
big strong man like father.'
"'Please tell me what tune it is?' said the little boy, addressing me.
"I told him, and he turned to his little sister, saving, 'Come,
Lizzie, we must go; mother said we must be home by half-after seven,
and it's most that now;' and he put his arm lovingly around her neck,
and she put hers around his waist, and they walked away towards home,
talking about the leaves and the blossoms on the trees, the merry
little birds, the bright sunshine, and the pleasant time they had had
in the park that morning.
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