The barn was very quiet, only Bridget's sobs mingled with the cooing of the pigeons and the rustling noises in the cages round. One slanting ray from the setting sun lay on the floor, but the corner where Bridget had thrown herself was in dusky shadow. And presently a strange thing happened. "Bridget! Bridget!" said a little husky voice. Bridget raised herself on her elbow, and looked round astonished. She did not know the voice at all; and it sounded muffled, as though coming through a heap of feathers. "Bridget! Bridget!" it said again. This time it plainly came from the rafters over Bridget's head. She looked up, but there was nothing there except the little yellow owl, who was sitting in his cage, with his eyes very round and bright. "How wise you look!" said Bridget aloud; "I wish you could help me." What was her astonishment when the owl at once replied, in the same stifled voice: "What do you want?" Bridget paused. What _did_ she want? Then she remembered that as the owl could talk, it must certainly be a fairy, and could do anything, so she said: "I want to be very graceful." The owl did not answer immediately, and Bridget kept a watchful eye on her arms and legs, almost expecting them to be changed into models of grace at once. Nothing of the sort happened, however; and the owl sat as though in deep thought. At last it said: "I can tell you a way, but it is difficult." "I don't care how difficult it is," cried Bridget, now very much excited, "if you will only tell me what it is I will do it." "Try," said the owl solemnly. "Try what?" asked Bridget anxiously. "Try," repeated the owl, "nothing more; try." Bridget's face fell; she was very much disappointed. Every one had told her that till she was sick of the word. The owl could not be a fairy after all. "Is that all?" she said. "I always do that." "Always?" asked the owl. Bridget was silent a moment as she thought of the past week. "Why, not _quite_ always." "But it must be always," said the owl, "that's the secret of it. If at _first_ you don't succeed, try, try, try again. You've heard that?" "Of course I have," said Bridget sorrowfully; "I've heard it much too often." The owl did not answer, perhaps it was offended. "Can it be possible," thought Bridget, "that I really haven't tried enough?" Just then something cold and moist was thrust into her hand, and she started up bewildered, hardly able for the moment to make out where she was. It was almost dark in the barn now, but presently she made out the form of Toto the poodle, who had come to look for his mistress, and now stood with his eager affectionate eyes fixed on her from under his frizzled black hair. Bridget stretched out her arms to him, and leaning forward, kissed his shaven nose; she felt wonderfully better, and looked up at the owl to thank it for its advice. It sat there blinking as though it had never spoken in its life.