chamber--wonderfully still. The lamp continued burning, a soft breeze
blew in from the half-opened window, and just stirred the little old
man's Carmelite frock, and lifted the young man's dark locks, but they
neither of them moved.

"That glorious bird has done his singing for this morning," said the old
doves; "he will now sleep--let us set off; all our friends and neighbors
are off already; we have a long journey before us." The parent doves
spread their wings; they and their elder ones were away, but the younger
stayed as if entranced in the nest; he could think of nothing but the
glorious bird that had just been singing: his family wheeled round the
cypress, and then returned for him; they bade him come, for it was late.
The sun was rising above the sea, and all the doves of Carmel were ready
for flight. The younger dove then spread its wings also for this long
journey, bearing with him still the remembrance of that thrilling music
which affected him so greatly.

The turtle-doves went forth on their long journey. The young musician
and the little old monk had started before them on one much longer.

[Illustration]




THE DYING CHILD


BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.