“No, no, my little girl, it is nothing so strange after all; you need not open your big eyes, and look as if I were telling you mystic fables. The swallows always start in the night, that is all; and in the morning we wake up and find them gone, but we do not see them go.” “In the night?” echoes Winifred, with a cloud passing over her face. “Then sha’n’t I be able to see them go this year, either?” “I’m afraid not, little one.” “Oh I am _so_ sorry!” said the child with a deep sigh; “so very, very sorry. I did so want to see them go.” “Dr. Howard,” said her mother’s voice in the pause that followed these words, “do you think this little bird had better follow the swallows and the sunshine, and leave the cold and the rain behind? Sometimes I fancy we ought to run after the swallows and catch them up where they have caught the summer. What do you think?” “I think,” answered the kind old man with a look in his eye which the child did not understand, “that this little bird is best in its own warm nest, under its mother’s wing. It does not suit all little birds to fly away.” And then the doctor rose, and Mrs. Digby too; and Winifred was left alone to rock herself in the vacated chair and think about the swallows. She was lying in her little bed that night, cosy and warm, when she became vaguely conscious that her father and mother had come in, and were talking together softly, and as it seemed, sadly. Unless it was a dream (and Winifred did not feel quite sure which it was), papa had his arm round mamma, and seemed to be comforting her. She almost looked as if she had been crying, and her voice shook when she said: “There is nothing that we can do. It is God who gives, and God who takes away, but it is very, very hard to lose her. You must help me, Ronald, sometimes I fear my faith will give way.” “God will give His strength with the trial if He sends it. Perhaps in His mercy He will spare it us.” “Yes, we may still hope and pray; but I must struggle for resignation to His Holy Will. I fear--I fear--” “I know what you fear, my sweet wife. Did Dr. Howard hold out no hope?” “He would not--or could not--say anything definite; but he thought--he thought our darling would not be long after the swallows.” There was a deep sob, and the sound of tender caresses, then came Mr. Digby’s voice. “Our precious little daughter. It is hard to spare her; but think, dearest, to what a happy place she is going.” “I know--I know. I try not to be selfish. It is her gain, her happiness. Oh yes, I know what a happy, happy thing it is for children to be taken in all their innocence. But oh, I shall miss her so sorely.” “I know, I know. But we believe that trials are sent us in love and not in anger; and we must think of our Winifred’s gain and not of our loss.”