“You see it was such a _little_ thing,” answered the swallow, “only a toy, and only a few tears. It was not worth while troubling over a little thing like that. It would be different if it were something great.” Winnie was silent, and the swallow flew on again. Now they were in a room, and a little boy was lying on a sofa, and he had no books or toys within reach. “I wish somebody would come--it is so dull,” Winifred heard him say. “I wonder when the others will be coming in.” Just then there came a sound of children’s voices laughing and shouting. They came nearer and nearer, and seemed to pass the door of the room, but nobody came in. The little sick boy called; but in the noise of laughing nobody heard, and the tears came into his eyes. “They have all gone up to play,” he said, “and nobody cares to see if I want anything, and I did so want to have somebody to talk to!” “Oh, swallow!” cried Winnie indignantly, “what horrid children! That poor little boy! How could they?” “It was such a _little_ thing, coming in to speak to him, I don’t suppose anybody ever thought of it,” answered the swallow. “They are not horrid children. They are fond of their little brother; but people cannot always think of little things, you know.” Winifred said no more. She felt subdued and ashamed. How could the swallow know what she had been thinking about that day? The next time the swallow paused it was again in a room. A lady was half lying upon a sofa, and she did not look ill, only unhappy. She had books and flowers and all sorts of nice things round her, but she was not doing anything. “Who is that?” asked Winifred. “Why does she look unhappy?” “She is unhappy,” answered the swallow. “Why, is she ill?” “No, she is unhappy because she has nothing to do.” “What does she generally do?” “She has never done anything yet. She has been waiting all her life for something, and it has never come.” “Why!” said Winifred in a puzzled way, “grown-up people can do such lots of things. My mamma is always busy.” “What does she do?” “Oh, ever so many things. Sees after the servants, takes care of us all, is kind to poor people, and works for the sick. I can’t think of half the things, but she is always doing something or other.” “What little things those are though!” said the swallow almost, as it seemed, contemptuously. “They would never suit that lady. She is waiting and has always been waiting for some great thing to do. She would never be satisfied with ‘little silly things’ like those.” “Why, swallow,” cried Winifred indignantly, “how can you talk so! Why it’s little things that make big ones. If mamma never did all those little things every day, I think everybody would be miserable and everything would go wrong.” “Ah!” said the swallow, turning his head knowingly from side to side. “So you have learnt your lesson at last. Now we will go back.”