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THE SONG OF THE ANGELS.
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THE SONG OF THE ANGELS. 221 knowing where to go. The cold winds blew, the sharp frost pinched it, and its comfortable feathers began to drop off one by one. It seemed to be real winter in this part of the wood, for the trees had no leaves on them, and the little bushes were naked too, so that the poor wanderer roamed about night and day, not knowing where to go for warmth or shelter or suit- able food. At last, driven to despair, it laid itself down upon the cold and barren ground to die, when one of the under- keepers, whom his master had sent out to look for the foolish birds that had gone Digitized by Google
