Sophy looked vexed at the remark, for Phil had hit on her weakness; the vanity which is always seeking for praise. Clara, who liked all to be peace and good-humour, turned at once the attention of the little party in another direction, by addressing Annie, the only one of the circle who had not yet been questioned. "What bird would you be, dear?" asked she. "I think, an eider-duck," replied Annie. Her answer was received with a burst of laughter. "A duck—to dabble in mud, and gobble up snails and frogs!" cried Phil. "Or be gobbled up itself, with green pease, and admired as a very nice bird!" exclaimed Felix. "Ducks are very pretty—almost as pretty as swans," lisped little Jessie, who did not like her sister to be laughed at. "I do not think that eider-ducks are pretty," said Annie; "I did not choose the bird for its beauty." "You have not given us a reason for your choice yet," observed Clara. "I think the eider-ducks useful," said Annie; "the delightful quilt, so light yet so warm, which has been such a comfort to mamma in her illness, was made from their down. But my chief reason for liking the bird is its unselfishness. You remember, Jessie," added Annie, addressing her sister, "what mamma told us about the eider-ducks that are found in Scotland, Norway, and Iceland?" "Oh yes; I know all about them!" cried Jessie. "The good mother duck pulls off the down from her own breast to line her nest, and make it soft and warm for her baby ducklings; and when people steal away the down, she pulls more and more, till she leaves herself bare,—and then her husband, the drake, gives his nice down to help her." "When mamma told me all this," said Annie, "it reminded me of the beautiful story of the Highland mother who was overtaken by a terrible snowstorm, as she travelled with her babe in her arms. The mother stripped off her shawl, as the duck does her down, and wrapped it close—oh, so close!—round her child, and hid him in a cleft in a rock. The baby, wrapped in his mother's shawl, was found alive where she had left him; but the poor woman—the loving woman—" Annie's voice failed her, and she did not finish the touching tale of the mother who perished in the cold from which she had guarded her child. "Now let us compare the various reasons which have been given for choosing different birds," said Clara, "that we may decide upon which is the best one. The eagle was chosen for size and strength, the little hummingbird for beauty; one liked the swan's life of easy enjoyment, another the swallow's of active amusement. The lark was chosen for cheerfulness, the nightingale for the admiration which he gains, the eider-duck for the unselfishness which she shows. Now which of our little party has given the best reason for a choice?" "Annie! Annie!" cried most of the children—though Sophy murmured something about "an ugly waddling creature that can say nothing but 'quack!'" "Then I think that we agree that Annie has won the rose," said Clara.