The Staying Guest. Wells Carolyn

bates the Dutch, that child,” he said to himself. “Now I’ll wager me dinner that she’s hidin’ under a cabbage-leaf, or in some burrd’s nest.”

      But if so, Ladybird made no sign, and old Matthew tramped up and down the orchard, peering anxiously about while the shadows deepened.

      At last, as he stood beneath an old gnarled apple-tree, he heard what seemed to be a far-away crooning sort of song.

      “Bird, bird,

      Ladybird;

      They called and called,

      But she never stirred.”