Page:The art of story-telling, with nearly half a hundred stories, y Julia Darrow Cowles .. (IA artofstorytellin00cowl).pdf/261

 been fed from a window, but no one heard his little tap, tap, and away he flew, trying once more to find shelter from the driving storm.

Now, there was a church near by. People had been going in and out all day, making it beautiful with Christmas greens, and preparing the children's Christmas tree. Robin finally perched himself in the ivy at one window, though the North wind threatened to blow him off any moment. There were lights within, and he could hear the happy children gathered round the Christmas tree. After awhile every one went away, and the lights were turned out.

A half hour later the faithful sexton came back through the storm to take one more look at his fires, and make sure that all was safe for the night. Robin, just settling himself for a long, cold night, could see his lantern swinging as he pushed his way through the snowdrifts. When he opened the great church door, the wind and snow blew in—and something else, too—a cold, hungry little robin. But the sexton never knew. He banked his fires a little more and went home, leaving Robin alone.