Tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned
their backs on the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the
soft feathers which covered the head, and kissed the closed
eyelids. "Perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly in the
summer," she said; "and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear,
pretty bird."
The mole now stopped up the hole through which the
daylight shone, and then accompanied the lady home. But during the
night Tiny could not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large,
beautiful carpet of hay; then she carried it to the dead bird, and
spread it over him; with some down from the flowers which she had
found in the field-mouse's room. It was as soft as wool, and she
spread some of it on each side of the bird, so that he might lie
warmly in the
