Then the plover flew up and piped mournfully as they wheeled around the trunk, and at last fearlessly lit upon it like a gray cloud.

Then the heron flew over and around her, shrieking and protesting, and at last dropped its gaunt legs only a few yards from her.

But, strangest of all, a pretty white bird, larger than a dove--like a pelican, but not a pelican--circled around and around her.

At last it lit upon a rootlet of the tree, quite over her shoulder.

She put out her hand and stroked its beautiful white neck, and it never appeared to move.