Little Timothy Acre was a lonely boy.

He was an only child.

His Mama was ill.

She was pale, and fragile.

His Fathet run a car company.

They were really quite successful.

So his Father decided that they move to the countryside.

In hope to cure his wife.

Little Timothy didn't want to go.

He loved watching the boys polishing the cars.

He loved his Mama reading quietly to him.

He loved it when Cook let him help.

Especially when he was aloud to lick the spoon.

He liked to watch the maids clean and help Cook.

He liked the housekeeper, Mrs. McCarthy and her funny ways.

He played with his marbles and matchbox cars.

He loved his matchbox cars.

But his father insisted, so Timothy had to go.

He said goodbye to the boys.

He said goodbye to the library.

He said goodbye to the maids.

He said goodbye to his home.

He was pleased that Cook and Mrs. McCarthy were aloud to come with them.

He packed his little trunk with all his clothes.

He found a little bag, to put his marbles in.

He put his matchbox cars in Cook's bag.

But kept his favourite one in his pocket.

His Father packed a few books.

Mama slept most of the journey.

Cook was thinking about their supper.

Mrs. McCarthy was sewing.

Little Timothy Acre was tired.

They were all sad and sleepy.

But when they was the cottage.

There were very pleased indeed.

Timothy found his room.

Cook found hers.

Mama and Father shared theirs.

And Mrs. McCarthy had hers downstairs.

The kitchen had an Arger, it kept the whole house warm.

And there was an office for Father to work in.

There was a quaint little sunlounge.

Where Mama could read and rest.

Where Mrs. McCarthy can sew.

And Cook to plan the menu.

There was a little market nearby.

There was also a village.

And in that village was a school.

But Timothy wasn't old enough yet.

He found all his marbles, some had fallen out of the bag.

And arranged all his matchbox cars.

So he could see them from his desk.

The he sat and dipped his pen in his ink.

And looked out of the window.

He drew the bird he was there.

And listened to its whistle.

A few months later, everyone was happy.

Until Mama excused herself, and went to bed.

Father was worried, he knew she was ill.

But she never gave away her pain, only faithfully took her pills.

It was that morning, of the next day, when Mama was found asleep.

She never woke and tears were shed.

That day little Timothy Acre wore black.

So did Father and Cook.

And Mrs. McCarthy too.

Sad hynms were sung and all were in mourning.

Three months later, Father felt a pain.

It was in his chest, and it never went away.

A doctor was called, but to no avail.

Yet again little Timothy Acre wore black.

So did Cook and Mrs. McCarthy.

Little Timothy Acre was a lonely boy.

He faithfully did his chores.

He helped Cook whenever he could.

And Mrs. McCarthy was pleased.

But Cook was worried about Timothy.

So she and Mrs. McCarthy spoke, and agreed it would be good.

If little Timothy Acre took a walk, every morning.

So Timothy took his paper and paints, and whent for his morning walk.

He stopped at the two graves and placed a small rock on each of the piles of stones.

He sat buy his tree and watched the deer feed on the grass.

He painted all of what he saw.

He heard a whistle and looked to see.

There was the bird he drew before.

The bird chirped, and so Timothy tried too.

Every day little Timothy Acre went for his morning walk.

And every day he'd paint the deer and try to chirp like the bird.

Each day his bird came, and helped him to whistle.

Then one day he managed to encourage his bird to take a seed from his hand.

The bird chirped happily, and Timothy chirped softly in reply.

Little Timothy Acre was a lonely boy, until he found out his special gift.

For three years he learnt to speak in a language not his own.

Until he when to school.

Be he always spoke to the birds on his way there.

It was many years later, when he had a wife of his own.

That he first told of his secret story, to his young son.

And so one day.

Little Timmy Acre went on a walk and called for the birds.

When a bird came down to see him, he held out his small hand.

The bird chirped happily as it took the seed.

And little Timmy Acre chirped back softly...

The End.