We sent another telegram to Dave, and then sat down in the waiting-room to wait for the west train.  The wind drove the snow in billows over the prairie, and the early twilight of the morning was bitterly cold.

Her train came first, and again the long box was gently put aboard.  On the wind-swept platform Annie’s mother and I shook hands without a word, and in another minute the long train was sweeping swiftly across the white prairie.  I watched it idly, thinking of Annie and her sad home-going.  Just then the first pale beams of the morning sun glinted on the last coach, and touched with fine gold the long white smoke plume, which the wind carried far over the field.  There is nothing so cheerful as the sunshine, and as I sat in the little grey waiting-room, watching the narrow golden beam that danced over the closed wicket, I could well believe that a rest remains for Annie, and that she is sure of a welcome at her journey’s end.  And as the sun’s warmth began to thaw the tracery of frost on the window, I began to hope that God’s grace may yet find out Dave, and that he too may “make good” in the years to come.  As for the little woman from Quill Lake, who was still willing to take the one chance, I have never had the slightest doubt.

THE UNGRATEFUL PIGEONS

Philip was a little boy, with a generous growth of freckles, and a loving heart.  Most people saw only the freckles, but his mother never lost sight of his affectionate nature.  So when, one warm spring day, he sat moodily around the house, she was ready to listen to his grievance.

“I want something for a pet,” said Philip.  “I have no dog or cat or anything!”

“What would you like the very best of all?” his mother asked, with the air of a fairy godmother.

“I want pigeons!  They are so pretty and white and soft, and they lay eggs and hatch young ones.”

All his gloom had vanished!

“How much a pair?” asked his mother.

“Twenty-five cents out at Crane’s.  They have millions of them; I can walk out—­it’s only five miles.”

“Where will we put them when you bring them home?” she asked.

Philip thought they could share his room, but this suggestion was promptly rejected!

Then Philip’s father was hurriedly interviewed by Philip’s mother, and he agreed to nail a box on the end of the stable, far beyond the reach of prowling cats, and Philip, armed with twenty-five cents, set forth gaily on his five-mile walk.  It was Saturday morning, and a beautiful day of glittering April sunshine.  The sun was nearly down when Philip returned, tired but happy.  It seemed there had been some trouble in catching them.  The quoted price of twenty-five cents a pair was for raw, uncaught pigeons, but Philip had succeeded at last and brought back two beauties, one with blue markings, and the other one almost white.