IT

CHAPTER VIII

OWLS' NESTS

"Against the pale blue heavens
The tower stands hard and cold,
As the heart that in its sadness
Looks back on days of old"

T might perhaps be thought that in a long and painful illness like hers, a child of Lucy's age could learn nothing. But this was very far from being the case. A very wise man (Archbishop Trench) has said, when speaking of the instruction of children, that education is not so much the filling of a child's mind, as a cistern is filled with water which is brought in buckets from other sources, but opening up its own fountains; not so much providing the head from without with facts and information, as drawing from within those powers of feeling and observation which enable him to receive and profit by the facts which either books or his own eyes may reveal to him.

Lucy was learning more on her bed of suffering than she would have learnt by years of school-life. I do not mean book-learning, as it was some time before her head was strong enough to enable her to read; but she was learning patience, consideration for others, and submission to God's will.

She had always been so petted and made much of by every one, and happiness had seemed to come so naturally to her, that her aunt could not help fearing that the first storm of adversity would crush that bright spirit; but Mrs Baker did not yet understand that the slender reed only bends when the strong oak is broken, and that a bright disposition helps a sufferer wonderfully to bear pain.

Alfred was very miserable at the loss of his little companion. Many a secret expedition had he and Lucy made in search of minnows and stickle-backs in the streams, or nests in the woods. Now every pleasure had a thorn in it to Alfred's heart, as Lucy could not share it with him. Standing disconsolately in the deep porch late one evening, thinking how everything had changed since Lucy's accident, he suddenly heard the hooting of an owl in the

yew-tree near him. He shouted in reply, and taking his cap off his head, he flung it at the astonished bird, which forthwith spread its wings and flew to the safe shelter of the church tower.

"There must be an awful lot of owls in the tower," thought Alfred. "I have a good mind to go to-morrow afternoon and have a try for their nests. How Lucy would like to have a soft, white baby-owl for a pet!" This thought had the effect of brightening Alfred up wonderfully; he was, as his mother often said, a terrible boy for mischief; the more danger there was in any exploit on which he had set his mind, the more eager he always was to be engaged in it.

He did not dare to tell his brothers of his plan lest they should put a stop to his fun, so he watched his opportunity the next afternoon during milking time, and went into the churchyard. No one was about at the time, and the side of the tower on which his attempt was to be made was screened from view by a high wall which divided the churchyard from the lane. Alfred was a bold climber, and with the assistance of the thick trunk of ivy growing

against the corner, he soon found himself on a projecting ledge of stone-work half way up the tower.

So far his course had been easy enough, the ivy had grown there for many years, and was thick and strong, and for a boy of strong nerve and quick eye, there was no difficulty in getting up by it. Now, however, as he paused to take breath on the narrow ledge, he began to see that the hardest bit of climbing was still to come. The ivy no longer grew with thick matted trunks against the stone-work, but branched out into bushy boughs, too weak in themselves to be trusted as helps for climbing.

Alfred considered for a moment, and then came to the conclusion that there was no use in attempting the ascent any further on that side, so he determined to walk along the ledge to the next corner, and see if the ivy would help him on the other side.

It was fortunate for Mrs Baker that she did not see him as he began his dangerous exploit. The wind blew in his face, and made it extremely difficult for him to keep his balance, but Alfred was not to be daunted by diffi

culties; he went steadily on, and reached the east side of the tower in safety.

He was now looking down on the roof of the church, and from where he now stood he could see, what he had never noticed before, that there was a narrow winding staircase leading up from the roof of the nave to the place where it had evidently been intended that the clock should have been.

There was no clock there, however, and the stone steps were so worn, and covered with slippery moss, that it was hardly safe to attempt to mount them.

Alfred was not frightened, however; on the contrary, he looked upon his discovery with. delight, and lost no time in mounting to the belfry window.

Then, notwithstanding dust and cobwebs, he succeeded in getting in. It was so dark at first that he could make out nothing except that he stood on a very shaky floor of old and rotten planks. By degrees his eyes became a little more accustomed to the darkness, and he raised his arms above his head and shouted aloud.

Never had his own voice sounded so alarm