A Bird of Passage and Other Stories

"I should like to see him again," said the workman. "He had a kind way about him, and that pipe he gave me is an uncommon good one; still, I am sorry I smashed the little clay pipe. I'd grown used to it. I'd smoked it ever since my little girl died and left me alone in the world. I used to bring my little girl here, and now I come alone; but it isn't the same thing."

"No, it could not be the same thing," said Helen gently; "but you find some little comfort here?"

"Some little comfort," he answered. "One can't expect much."

They went together into the Cloisters, and as they came near the recess where the old man rested, Helen said:

"Why, he has fallen asleep! He must have been very tired. And he has dropped his hat and stick. Thank you, if you will put them down there I will watch by his side-until he wakes up. I don't suppose he will sleep for long."

The workman stooped down to pick up the hat and stick, and glanced at the sleeper. Something in the sleeper's countenance arrested his attention. He turned to the girl and saw that she was watching him.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What is the matter with you?"

He tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and all he could do was to point with trembling hand to the old man.

Helen looked, and a loud cry broke from her lips. The old man was dead.

THE END