drops this time, he was quite out of breath, where was he?

He looked about him, he was no longer in the barnyard—of course he knew where he was now, but—how frightened he had been; he rubbed his eyes, it was morning, the sun shone and there was Aunt Laura clapping her hands in the doorway to waken him. “Wake up, wake up, Laurie,” she said—“why dear me,” she added in a puzzled way, looking up at the mantelpiece, “how did I happen to forget to shut the cupboard door last night?”

Perhaps she forgot to shut it, or the pigeon forgot, I do not know; anyway that is the end of the Pigeon Story, children;—and maybe to-morrow, when the stockings are all darned, and the toys put neatly away, I shall tell you the Field Mouse Tale, or the Duck Tale or the Windmill Tale, for there are four altogether—would you like to hear them?

Printed in Bavaria.