More Tales in the Land of Nursery Rhyme

The North Wind howled round the barn, whirling the snowflakes into a little heap inside the half-open door. Even beyond the little heap of snow, right inside the barn among the whisps of hay and straw, and beyond the pile of turnips piled up in one far corner, it was still bitterly cold and draughty. The few birds left had found their way into the old barn for shelter, and were close together on a low bar of wood at the far end, where they sat ruffling their feathers and shivering. From time to time one of them would peer out at the leaden grey sky and the falling snowflakes, and then hide its head under its wing again to deaden the sound of the wind whistling through the crannies. There were five of them. A Robin, who had been blown in with the last gust of wind; a wretched little Sparrow, who twittered helplessly from time to time, and then hid her head ashamed at having been betrayed into such an exhibition of weakness in public; an Owl, who, living habitually in the barn, regarded the others with suspicion as intruders, and possibly thieves; and, lastly, two queer Japanese birds, who had lived all the summer on the ornamental lake in the garden.