Nighttime Visitor

By Jessica Swaim

Every time Allison had to do it, her knees knocked together and her voice squeaked. She couldn’t even think straight with all those eyes staring at her. Now her teacher was going to have her get up in front of the whole class again.

“On Monday,” Miss Barnett had announced, “I want each of you to tell us about your pet. If you don’t have a pet, choose any animal you like and tell us something special about it.”

Jeff Bates had a dog named Whiskers that could shake hands and fetch a ball. Jenny Olson would tell about the pony her parents had given her for Christmas. Raymond French lived on a farm with all kinds of animals. Everybody had a pet—everybody except Allison.

When school was out, Allison ran all the way home, the cold wind stinging her cheeks. Rushing into the house, she found her mother stacking logs by the fireplace. “Can I get a pet this weekend?” Allison blurted out.

“Not this weekend, honey,” Mother replied. “Maybe in the spring we can get a puppy.”

“What about some aquarium fish or a hamster?” Allison asked.

“We’ll talk about it when your father gets home.”

Allison went into the kitchen to get a drink of milk. As she passed the sliding glass doors, she saw that the feeder in the backyard was empty. The sparrows always looked for food there when the weather turned cold. Allison took the sack of seed out of the broom closet and went outside.

Beneath the crab apple tree was a stone bench that Allison always stood on to reach the feeder. Both the bench and the feeder had been there when her family had moved into the house. “The birds know to come here for food in the wintertime,” Allison’s mother had explained. “We can’t let them down.”

Back inside, Allison watched the birds flock to the feeder. All they ever do is eat, thought Allison. They’re not very pretty. They’re just ordinary birds.

For the rest of the evening, Allison worried about what she would say in class on Monday. She worried about it between spoonfuls of soup. She worried about it in the bathtub. By bedtime, she was too tired to worry about it anymore.

The first streaks of dawn had not yet appeared when something woke Allison. What’s that noise? she wondered. There it is again. Something’s flapping … like wings.

A sparrow was flying around in her room! Allison sprang out of bed, and the bird flew into the living room. Allison almost laughed out loud.

When the sparrow suddenly flew to the fireplace, Allison guessed how it had found its way inside—down the chimney! Someone must have left the draft open. Quickly Allison closed it so that no more feathered visitors could get in.

She looked at the bird closely. It was just like the ones she had been feeding almost every day but had never really seen at all. The little fellow was perched on the lamp-shade now, cocking his head from side to side, and staring at her with his bright eyes. What is he thinking? Allison wondered.

As dawn came, Allison opened the sliding glass door. The bird flew out and soared away. Where is it going? she asked herself. When does it build its nest? I wonder what color a sparrow’s egg is?

Allison walked through the house, being careful to clean up all the droppings. Then she climbed back into bed.

She slept so soundly that her mother had to shake her awake. Maybe I only dreamed that the bird came last night, Allison thought. Then she saw a tiny pale brown feather with gray around the edges lying on the floor, and she could hardly wait to show the feather to her classmates and tell them what had happened. They all had dogs, cats, or ponies. But nobody had such a nighttime visitor—nobody except Allison.

Illustrated by Dick Brown