She called and waited, soon calling again. Then from out a sheltered cave in a cliff nearby they came, circling about her in the clear, crisp air, uttering their discordant cries, which, however, were music to the ears of the girl, who knew that they were notes of joy and welcome to the friend who fed them through the bitter cold months of winter when fish were scarce and hard to catch.
Muriel did not toss the fragments of bread this time, for she knew if she did so they would sink into the soft depths of snow and be lost; and so she brushed a rock clear and placed the feast upon it. Down the birds swooped, unafraid. It was too cold to remain long out of doors, and moreover Muriel wished to have a nice hot dinner awaiting the coming of her grand-dad.
An appetizing odor of coffee and sizzling bacon greeted the old man when, two hours later, he opened the door and entered the kitchen. The girl, flushed of cheek and eager-eyed, turned to greet him. “Any mail, Grand-dad?” Muriel’s heart was pounding fast when she asked the question.
The old man laughed as he thrust his hand into the deep pocket of his leather coat.
“Mrs. Sol said that if I hadn’t cruised to town today she was of nine minds to hire the lighter to fetch yer mail over. She was feared the floor of her store’d heave in with the weight of it,” he said.
The girl’s excited laughter rang out. “Oh, Grand-dad,” she said, “why does your coat bulge so queer like? I cal’late you’ve fetched somethin’ hid under it.”
She pounced upon him and drew forth the bulgy something, which proved to be a large square package. The wrappings were soon removed and there was the most wonderful book, “Treasure Island,” illustrated in the most beautiful blues and greens and gold. How Muriel loved color.
“Gene sent it,” she said, as she lifted the card with its painted wreath of holly and mistletoe.
But Muriel then had no time to look at the book, as letters were being produced from that great pocket. The girl gasped when she saw them and then she clapped her hands.
“Grand-dad,” she exclaimed, unbelievingly, “are they all for me? I reckon Mis’ Sol did think ’twas a powerful lot o’ mail, bein’ as I never had more’n one and a card before at a time.”