"The winter was a dreadfully cold one; there was frost for such a long time that nothing seemed alive at all--there was not a worm or a slug or an insect of any kind in the garden. The little boy and his brothers and sisters all went away when it began to get so cold, but before they went, they told Barnes that he must not leave Quiver out in the garden; he must be shut up for the winter in the large poultry house with the cocks and hens. "'For there's nothing for him to eat outside, and you might forget to feed him, you know,' the children said. "So Quiver passed the winter safely, though sadly enough. He had plenty to eat, and no one teased or ill-used him, but he used sometimes almost to _choke_ with his longing for freedom and for the fresh air--above all, the air of the sea. He did not know how long winter lasted; he was still a young bird, but he often felt as if he would die if he were kept a prisoner much longer. But he had to bear it, and he didn't die, and he grew at last so patient that no one would have thought he was the same discontented bird. There was a little yard covered over with netting outside the hen-house, and Quiver could see the sky from there; and the clouds scudding along when it was a windy day reminded him a little of the waves he feared he would never see again; and the stupid, peaceful cocks and hens used to wonder what he found to stare up at for hours together. _They_ thought by far the most interesting thing in life was to poke about on the ground for the corn that was thrown out to them.