"Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "when I was in
trouble you would not help me!" And the Wind blew him straight up to the
top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!

There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and his one
leg. He cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns slowly round when the
wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says.




THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH[16]


A little boy sat at his mother's knees, by the long western window,
looking out into the garden. It was autumn, and the wind was sad; and
the golden elm leaves lay scattered about among the grass, and on the
gravel path. The mother was knitting a little stocking; her fingers
moved the bright needles; but her eyes were fixed on the clear evening
sky.

As the darkness gathered, the wee boy laid his head on her lap and kept
so still that, at last, she leaned forward to look into his dear round
face. He was not asleep, but was watching very earnestly a
blackberry-bush, that waved its one tall, dark-red spray in the wind
outside the fence.

"What are you thinking about, my darling?" she said, smoothing his soft,
honey-coloured hair.