As he opened it a little, golden, black-tipped feather fell upon the table.
"Look! here is a plume o' the golden robin," the schoolmaster went on.
"He dropped it in our garden yesterday to lighten ship, I fancied, before he left, the summer's work and play being ended.

Ye should 'a' seen Michael Henry when he looked at the feather.

How it tickled his fancy! I gave him my thought about it.
"'Nay, father,' he answered.

'Have ye forgotten that to-morrow is the birthday o' our little Ruth?
The bird knew it and brought this gift to her.

It is out o' the great gold mines o' the sky which are the richest in the world.' "Then these lines came off his tongue, with no more hesitation about it than the bird has when he sings his song on a bright summer morning and I put them down to go with the feather.