And Granny told them how, when she used to be going about among the trees and in the garden, the birds would eat out of her hand, and the little squirrels, who always came to look after the walnuts, were never in the least bit afraid of her.

After all this the children went to bed feeling even more gentle and harmless than the night before.

And when they awoke next morning, expecting another day of charity to the birds, they were quite like little ministering angels, and tricks and adventures were far from them.
But, alas! the snow was gone, the birds were regaling themselves on a breakfast of worms, and the rain was pouring thickly and quietly, with an easy intention of going on for ever, as only Irish rain can pour.
Now what was to be done?
No good works were possible.

Nurse Nancy could think of nothing more diverting than story-books, and so Terry and Turly sat each on a stool beside the fire with a book, while Nancy went as usual to attend to her mistress.
Nurse had said nothing about practising, and, good as she wanted to be, Terry had not courage to return of her own accord to the melancholy piano in the deserted drawing-room.

If Turly were to come there with her again he would either go to war, or hunt wild beasts, or do some other disturbing thing to disagree with the order of the furniture, and she herself, Terry, would be sure to be in the middle of the worst of it.