[Illustration:  See the present Santa Claus brought me]

Piccola had not meant to wake her mother, but this surprise was more than any little girl could bear and yet be quiet; so she danced to the bed with the shoe in her hand, calling, “Mother, mother! look, look! see the present Santa Claus brought me!”

Her mother raised her head and looked into the shoe.  “Why, Piccola,” she said, “a little chimney swallow nestling in your shoe?  What a good Santa Claus to bring you a bird!”

“Good Santa Claus, dear Santa Claus!” cried Piccola; and she kissed her mother and kissed the bird and kissed the shoe, and even threw kisses up the chimney, she was so happy.

When the birdling was taken out of the shoe, they found that he did not try to fly, only to hop about the room; and as they looked closer, they could see that one of his wings was hurt a little.  But the mother bound it up carefully, so that it did not seem to pain him, and he was so gentle that he took a drink of water from a cup, and even ate crumbs and seeds from Piccola’s hand.  She was a proud little girl when she took her Christmas present to show the children in the garden.  They had had a great many gifts,—­dolls that could say “mamma,” bright picture-books, trains of cars, toy pianos; but not one of their playthings was alive, like Piccola’s birdling.  They were as pleased as she, and Rose hunted about the house till she found a large wicker cage that belonged to a blackbird she once had.  She gave the cage to Piccola, and the swallow seemed to make himself quite at home in it at once, and sat on the perch winking his bright eyes at the children.  Rose had saved a bag of candies for Piccola, and when she went home at last, with the cage and her dear swallow safely inside it, I am sure there was not a happier little girl in the whole country of Italy.

THE CHILD AND THE WORLD.

     I see a nest in a green elm-tree
     With little brown sparrows,—­one, two, three! 
     The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,
     And the nest is soft and warm inside. 
     At morn, the sun, so golden bright,
     Climbs up to fill the world with light;
     It opens the flowers, it wakens me,
     And wakens the birdies,—­one, two, three. 
     And leaning out of my window high,
     I look far up at the blue, blue sky,
     And then far out at the earth so green,
     And think it the loveliest ever seen,—­
     The loveliest world that ever was seen!

     But by and by, when the sun is low,
     And birds and babies sleepy grow,
     I peep again from my window high,
     And look at the earth and clouds and sky. 
     The night dew comes in silent showers,
     To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;
     The moon comes out,—­the slender thing,
     A crescent yet, but soon a ring,—­
     And brings with her