But only for a moment or two did Alice look upon this beautiful picture, for a slight movement drew her eyes to a corner of the window-sill, on the outside, and there sat a pigeon close against the window-pane, with its head drawn down and almost hidden among the feathers, and its body shivering with cold.  The pigeon did not seem to be afraid of her, though she saw its little pink eyes looking right into her own.

“O, poor, dear bird!” she said in soft, pitying tones, raising the window gently, so that it might not be frightened away.  Then she stepped back and waited to see if the bird would not come in.  Pigeon raised its brown head in a half scared away; turned it to this side and to that; and after looking first at the, comfortable chamber and then away at the snow-covered earth, quietly hopped upon the sill inside.  Next he flew upon the back of a chair, and then down upon the floor.

“Little darling,” said Alice, softly.  Then she dressed herself quickly, and went down stairs for some crumbs of bread, which she scattered on the floor.  The pigeon picked them up, with scarcely a sign of fear.

As soon as he had eaten up all the crumbs, he flew back towards the window and resting on the sill, swelled his glossy throat and cooed his thanks to his little friend.  After which darted away, the morning sunshine glancing from wings.

A feeling of disappointment crept into the heart of Alice as the bird swept out of sight.  “Poor little darling!” she sighed.  “If he had only known how kind I would have been, and how safe he was here, what nice food and pure water would have been given, he wouldn’t have flown away.”

When Alice told about the visit of pigeon, at breakfast time, a pleasant surprise was felt by all at the table.  And they talked of, doves and wood-pigeons, her father telling her once or two nice stories, with which she was delighted.  After breakfast, her mother took a volume from the library containing Willis’s exquisite poem, “The little Pigeon,” and gave it to Alice to read.  She soon knew it all by heart.

A great many times during the day Alice stood at the open door, or looked from the windows, in hope of seeing the pigeon again.  On a distant house-top, from which the snow had been melted or blown away, or flying through the air, she would get sight of a bird now and then; but she couldn’t tell whether or not it was the white and brown pigeon she had sheltered and fed in the morning.  But just before sundown, as she stood by the parlor window, a cry of joy fell from her lips.  There was the pigeon sitting on a fence close by, and looking, it seemed to her, quite forlorn.