Piccola had not meant to wake her mother, but this surprise was more
than any little girl could bear and yet be quiet; so she danced to the
bed with the shoe in her hand, calling, "Mother, mother! look, look!
see the present Santa Claus brought me!"
Her mother raised her head and looked into the shoe. "Why, Piccola,"
she said, "a little chimney swallow nestling in your shoe? What a good
Santa Claus to bring you a bird!"
"Good Santa Claus, dear Santa Claus!" cried Piccola; and she kissed
her mother and kissed the bird and kissed the shoe, and even threw
kisses up the chimney, she was so happy.
When the birdling was taken out of the shoe, they found that he did
not try to fly, only to hop about the room; and as they looked closer,
they could see that one of his wings was hurt a little. But the mother
bound it up carefully, so that it did not seem to pain him, and he was
so gentle that he took a drink of water from a cup, and even ate
crumbs and seeds out of Piccola's hands. She was a proud little girl
when she took her Christmas present to show the children in the
garden. They had had a great many gifts,--dolls that could say
"mamma," bright picture books, trains of cars, toy pianos; but not one
of their playthings was alive, like Piccola's birdling. They were as
pleased as she, and Rose hunted about the house until she found a
large wicker cage that belonged to a blackbird she once had.
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