“Mine is a bird story too,” said an observant-looking boy; “but the kindness was done by birds, instead of by people.  Last week when a bill-poster was pasting up some advertisements on our barn, a sparrow perched on the edge of the bucket, and got his feet and the tips of his wing-feathers all covered with paste.”

“I meant to catch him and try to tame him, but the bill-poster said to wait and see what happened next; and sure enough, two other sparrows came and flew in circles above his head, and chirped to him as if they were talking over what could be done.  At last he managed to loosen his claws from the paste, and to move his wings ever so little.  The birds, one on each side of him, helped him to the trough by the side of the road, and he splashed in the water until the paste was quite washed off.”

“And what did this very curious sight make you think of?” said Mr. Sinclair, suddenly leaning over his desk, and looking at the lad.

The boy colored deeply as he said, “It made me think of my string of birds’ eggs at home, and my collection of birds’ nests.  I promised myself then that I would never, never do anything to injure birds again.  I thought that if they knew enough to be kind to each other I ought to know enough to be kind to them.”

It seemed as if there were no end to the good deeds of which the lads had taken note.

One had seen an old man digging burdock-roots from the corner of a sheep-field; and, when he offered his help, had learned how troublesome the burdock-burrs were to all woolly or hairy animals.

Another had much to say of a lamb-creep that had been arranged so as to give the young lambs a fair share of food.  The older sheep too often pushed the young ones aside when feeding-time came, and their owner had built a little fold, into which only the small lambs could enter, where a portion of the food was always placed.  All the lambs in his flock were plump and thriving, while in his neighbor’s pastures, where the lambs were left to fight for themselves, they were thin, miserable-looking creatures.

Some told of how thoughtful people kept water always where the pet dogs could get it; and others of the care that should be given to canaries and to goldfish; and the happy hour was nearly over when Mr. Norton said, “Now, Dick, you have told us nothing.  Before we break up school for to-day I would like to hear what you have to say.”

Dick shook his head but his teacher knew that he had been listening intently to all that went on, and was very hopeful that at last he had found a way to the heart of his scholar.

“Let me tell for him, please,” interrupted Master Sunshine.  “He’s been doing kind things all the week for poor Billy Butler.  He dug him a garden last Saturday night, and has filled it with plants from his own garden.”

“Ah!” said the teacher, well pleased at the report.  “Dick, I think you have done best of all;” and the boys thumped on the floor with their heavy boots, and banged the covers of the desks, to show their appreciation of the good deed.