TUFTY AND THE SPARROWS.
Florence Austin came early to the Society the next Wednesday afternoon,
and found Miss Ruth on the piazza,
"I am glad to see you, Florence," she said. "I was just wishing for a
helper. Mollie and Susie have gone on an errand, and I am alone in the
house, and here is a whole family in trouble that I can't relieve."
"What is the matter?" said the little girl.
"A baby bird has fallen out of the nest, and I am too lame to-day to
venture down the steps; and papa and mamma are in great distress, and
the babies in the nest half-starved, and can't have their dinner
because the old birds dare not leave poor chippy a moment lest some
stray cat should get him. See the little thing down there in the grass
just under the woodbine!"
Florence descended the piazza-steps at two jumps, and was back with the
young bird in her hand.
"Now where shall I put him, Miss Ruth?"
Ruth Elliot pointed out the nest. It was in the thickest growth of the
woodbine, just over their heads; and when Florence had climbed in a
chair, she had her first look at a nest of young birds. The little city
girl was delighted.
"How cunning!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how awfully cunning! four in
all--three of them with their mouths wide open. No wonder this little
fellow got pushed out. Here, you droll little specimen, crowd in
somewhere! He isn't hurt at all, for he seems as lively as any of them."
As Florence jumped down from the chair, Susie and Mollie and the Jones
girls came up the walk.
"What are you two doing?" Mollie called out.
"Florence has just restored a lost baby to his distressed family," her
aunt answered. "Come into the house, girls, and let papa and mamma
Chippy get over their fright and look after the babies. Florence, I am
greatly obliged to you. I should have felt very sorry if harm had come
to the little one, for I have watched that nest ever since the old birds
began to build."
The little girl replied politely that she was glad she had been of use.
"I know what chippies' nests are made of," said Mollie: "fine roots and
fibers, and lined beautifully with soft fine hair,"
"Did you watch the birds while they were making it, Mollie?"
"No; but one night after tea, when Auntie and Susie and I were playing
at choosing birds,--telling which bird we liked best and why, you
know,--papa came along and said: 'I choose the chirping sparrow for my
bird'; and when we laughed at him and called for his reasons (because
chippies are such insignificant things, you know, and no singers), he
told us he liked them because they were tame and friendly, and because
they built such neat, pretty nests; and he pulled an old nest he had
saved in pieces, and showed us how it was put together."
"Yes," said Susie; "and the other reason he gave for liking them best
was, that they got up early and rang the rising-bell for all the other
birds. That was such a funny reason for papa to give, for we all know he
dearly loves his morning nap."
"Really, now, do the chippies get up first in the morning?" said
Florence.
"With the first peep of day," Miss Ruth answered. "This morning I heard
their cheerful twitter before a ray of light had penetrated to my room;
and a welcome sound it was, for it told me the long night was over. One
dear little fellow sang two or three strains before he succeeded in
waking any body; then a robin joined in, in a sleepy kind of way; then
two or three wrens, and then a cat-bird; and, last of all, my little
weather-bird, which, from the topmost branches of the elm-tree, warbled
out to me that it was a pleasant day. Oh, what a sweet concert they all
gave me before the sun rose!"
"I never heard of a weather-bird, Aunt Ruth."
"Your Uncle Charlie gave him that name, Susie, when we were children.
His true name is Warbling Verio; but we used to fancy the little fellow
announced what kind of day it would be. If clear he called out:
'Pleasant day!' three times over, with a pause between each sentence and
a long-drawn-out Yes at the close; or, if it rained, he said 'Rainy day'
or 'Windy day,' describing the weather, whatever it might be, always
with an emphatic _Yes_.
"One day he talked to me, but it was not about the weather. Things had
gone wrong with me all the morning. I had spoken disrespectfully to my
grandmother, and had been so cross and impatient with baby Walter that
mother had taken him from me, though she could ill spare the time to
tend him. Then I ran through the garden to a little patch of woods
behind the house, and sat on an old log, in a very bad humor.
"Presently, high above my head in the branches of the walnut-tree, the
weather-bird began his monotonous strain. I paid no attention to him at
first, I was so taken up with my own disagreeable thoughts, till it came
to me all at once that he was not telling me it was a pleasant day,
though the sun was shining gloriously and a lovely breeze rustled the
green leaves. What was it the little bird was saying over and over
again, as plain as plain could be? 'NAUGHTY GIRL! NAUGHTY GIRL! NAUGHTY
GIRL! Y-E-S.'
"I rubbed my eyes and pinched my arm, to make sure I was awake; for I
thought I must have dreamed it. But no, there it was again, sweet, sad,
reproachful: 'NAUGHTY GIRL! NAUGHTY GIRL! NAUGHTY GIRL! Y-E-S,'
"I jumped up in a rage, and called it a horrid thing; and when it
wouldn't stop, but kept on reproaching me with my evil behavior, I could
bear it no longer, but put my fingers in my ears and ran back to the
house and up to my own room, where I cried with anger and shame. But
solitude and reflection soon brought me to a better state of mind; and,
long before the day was over, I had confessed my fault and was forgiven.
But though I wanted very much to see a new water-wheel Charlie set up
that afternoon in the brook, I dared not go through the wood to get to
it, lest that small bird should still be calling, 'Naughty girl! Y-e-s.'
"Charlie grumbled the next morning when I wakened him out of a sound
sleep by shouting gayly from my little bed in the next room that his
weather-bird was calling, 'Pleasant day!' 'Why, what _should_ he call,'
he wanted to know, 'with the sun shining in at both windows?'
"I never told my brother how the bird had given voice to my accusing
conscience, nor has the lesson ever been repeated; for from that day to
this the Warbling Verio has made no more personal remarks to me."
"There's a bird down in Maine" said Ann Eliza Jones, "they call the
Yankee bird, 'cause he keeps saying, 'All day
whittling--whittling--whittling.'"
"Yes; and the quails there always tell the farmers when they must hurry
and get in their hay," said her sister. "When it's going to rain they
sing out: 'More wet! more wet!' and 'No more wet!' when it clears off."
"Aunt Ruth," said Mollie, "please tell us about the funny little bantam
rooster who used to call to his wife every morning: 'Do--come
out--n-o-w!'"
"Very well; but we are getting so much interested in this bird-talk that
we are making rather slow progress with our work. Suppose we all see how
much we can accomplish in the next ten minutes."
Upon this Mollie caught up the block lying in her lap, Florence
re-threaded her needle, Nellie Dimock hunted up her thimble, which had
rolled under the table, and industry was the order of the day.
And while they worked, Miss Ruth told the story of
THE WIDOW BANTAM.
"She belonged to our next-door neighbor, and we called her the Widow
because her mate--a fine plucky little bantam rooster--was one day slain
while doing battle with the great red chanticleer who ruled the
hen-yard.
"I took pity on the little hen in her loneliness, and singled her out
from the flock for special attention. She very soon knew my voice, would
come at my call, and used to slip through a gap in the fence and pay me
a visit every day. If the kitchen door were open she walked in without
ceremony; if closed, she flew to the window, tapped on the glass with
her bill, flapped her wings, and gave us clearly to understand that she
wished to be admitted. Once inside, she set up a shrill cackling till I
attended to her wants, and scolded me at the top of her voice if I kept
her long waiting. When she had eaten more cracked corn and Indian meal
than you would think so small a body could contain, she walked about in
a slow, contented way, and was ready for all the petting we chose to
give her.
"She was a pretty creature, with a speckled coat and a comb the color of
red coral: very small, but lively and vigorous, and exhibiting in all
her movements both grace and stateliness. She would nestle in my lap,
take a ride on my shoulder, and walk the length of my arm to peck at a
bit of cake in my hand, regarding me all the while with a queer
sidelong glance, and croaking out her satisfaction and content. When she
was ready to go she walked to the kitchen door, and asked in a very
shrill voice to be let out. She continued these visits till late in the
fall, when she was shut up with the rest of our neighbor's flock for the
winter.
"One bitter cold day in January we heard a faint cackle outside, and,
opening the kitchen door, found our poor widow in a sorry plight. One
foot was frozen, her feathers were all rough and dirty, her wings
drooping, her bright comb changed to a dull red. How she escaped from
the hen-house, surmounted the high fence, and hobbled or flew to our
door, we did not know; but there she was, half-dead with hunger and
cold.
"We did what we could for her. I bathed and bandaged the swollen foot,
and made a warm bed for her in a box in the shed, from which she did not
offer to stir for many days. I fed her with bits of bread soaked in warm
milk, and Charlie said, nursed and tended her as if she had been a sick
baby. She was very gentle and patient, poor thing! and allowed me to
handle her as I pleased, always welcomed my coming with a cheerful
little cackle, and, as she got stronger, trotted after me about the shed
and kitchen like a pet kitten.
"In the spring, when she was quite well again, I restored her to her
rightful owner. Perhaps she had grown weary of her solitary life, for
she seemed delighted to rejoin her old companions; but every day she
made us a visit, and at night came regularly to roost in the shed.
"One morning we heard two voices instead of one outside our window, and
behold! Mrs. Bantam had taken another mate--a fine handsome fellow, so
graceful in form and brilliant in plumage that we at once pronounced him
a fit companion to our favorite hen. They were evidently on the best of
terms, croaking and cackling to each other, and exchanging sage opinions
about us as we watched them from the open door. I am sure she must have
told him all about her long illness the previous winter, and pointed me
out as her nurse, for he nodded and croaked and cast sidelong looks of
friendly regard in my direction.
"But when Mrs. Bantam came into the kitchen for her luncheon she could
not induce Captain Bantam to follow. In vain she coaxed and cackled,
running in and out a dozen times to convince him there was nothing to
fear. He would not believe her nor budge one inch over the door-sill.
She lost patience at last, and rated him soundly; but as neither coaxing
nor scolding availed, and she was eating her meal with a poor relish
inside, while he waited unhappily without, we settled the difficulty by
putting the dish on the door-step, where they ate together in perfect
content.
"But a more serious trouble came at bed-time, for Mrs. Bantam expected
to roost as usual in the shed, while the Captain preferred the old
apple-tree where the rest of the flock spent their nights. The funny
little couple held an animated discussion about it which lasted far into
the twilight--and neither would yield. The Captain was very polite and
conciliatory. He evidently had no mind to quarrel: but neither would he
give up the point. He occasionally suspended the argument by a stroll
into the garden, where, by vigorous scratching, he would produce a
choice morsel, to which he called her attention by an insinuating 'Have
a worm, dear?' She never failed to accept the offering, gulping it down
with great satisfaction, but was too old a bird to be caught by so
shallow a trick, for she would immediately return to her place by the
shed window, and resume her discourse. When she had talked herself
sleepy she ended the contest for that night by flying through the window
and settling herself comfortably in the old place, while the Captain
took his solitary way across the garden and over the fence to the
apple-tree.
Every night for a week this scene occurred under the shed window; then,
by mutual consent, they seemed to agree to go their several ways without
further dispute. About sunset the Captain might be seen politely
escorting his mate to her chosen lodging-house, and, after seeing her
safely disposed of for the night, quietly betaking himself to his roost
in the apple-tree.
"He was at her window early every morning crowing lustily. Charlie and I
were sure he said: 'Do--come--out--now! Do--come--out--n-o-w!' and were
vexed with the little hen for keeping him waiting so long. But his
patience never failed; and, when at last she flew down and joined him, a
prouder, happier bantam rooster never strutted about the place. All day
long he kept close at her side, providing her with the choicest tidbits
the garden afforded, and watching her with unselfish delight while she
swallowed each dainty morsel. In the middle of the day they rested under
the currant-bushes, crooning sleepily to each other or taking a quiet
nap.
"One day we missed them both, and for three weeks saw them only at
intervals, Mrs. Bantam always coming alone, eating a hurried meal, and
stealing away as quickly as possible; while the Captain wandered about
rather dejectedly, we thought, in the society of the other hens.
"But one bright morning we heard Mrs. Bantam clucking and calling with
all her old vigor; and there she was at the kitchen-door, the prettiest
and proudest of little mothers, with three tiny chicks not much larger
than the baby chippies you saw in the nest, Florence, but wonderfully
active and vigorous for their size. We named them Bob and Dick and
Jenny, and, as they grew older, were never tired of watching their
comical doings. Their mother, too, afforded us great amusement, while we
found much in her conduct to admire and praise. She was a fussy,
consequential little body, but unselfishly devoted, and ready to brave
any danger that threatened her brood. Charlie and and I learned more
than one useful lesson from the bantam hen and her young family.
"One of these lessons we put into verse, which, if I can remember, I
will repeat to you. We called it
CHICKEN DICK THE BRAGGER.
'Scratch! scratch!
In the garden-patch,
Goes good Mother Henny;
Cluck! cluck!
Good luck! Good luck!
Come, Bob and Dick and Jenny!
A worm! a worm!
See him squirm!
Who comes first to catch it!
Quick! quick!
Chicken Dick,
You are the chick to snatch it!
"Peep! peep!
While you creep,
My long legs have won it!
Cuck-a-doo!
I've beat you!
Don't you wish you'd done it?"
Dick! Dick!
That foolish trick
Of bragging lost your dinner;
For while to crow
You let it go,
Bob snatched it up--the sinner!
Bob! Bob!
'T was wrong to rob
Your silly little brother,
And in the bush
To fight and push,
And peck at one another.
But Bobby beat,
And ate the treat.--
Dear children, though you're winners,
Be modest all;
For pride must fall,
And braggers lose their dinners.'
"And now I will tell you an adventure of young Dick's, in which a habit
he had of crowing on all occasions proved very useful to him. He grew to
be a fine handsome fellow, and was sold to a family who lived on the
meadow-bank.
"There was a big freshet the next autumn, the water covering the meadows
on both sides of the river, and creeping into cellars and yards and
houses. It came unexpectedly, early one morning, into the enclosure
where Dick, with his half-dozen hens, was confined, and all flew for
refuge to the roof of the neighboring pig-pen. But the incoming flood
soon washed away the supports of the frail building, and it floated
slowly out into the current to join company with the wrecks of
wood-piles and rail fences, the spoils from gardens and orchards, in the
shape of big yellow pumpkins and rosy apples, bobbing about in the
foaming muddy stream, and all the other queer odds and ends a freshet
gathers in its course.
"From his commanding position, Dick surveyed the scene, and thought it a
fitting occasion to raise his voice. He stretched himself to the full
height of his few inches, flapped his wings, and crowed--not once or
twice, but continually. Over the waste of waters came his shrill
'Cock-a-doodle-doo!' All the cocks along the shore answered his call;
all the turkeys gobbled, and the geese cackled. His vessel struck the
heavy timber of a broken bridge, and lurched and dipped, threatening
every moment to go to pieces. The waves splashed and drenched them, and
the swift current carried them faster and faster down to the sea. It was
all Dick and his little company could do to keep their footing, and
still the plucky little fellow stood and crowed.
"A neighbor who was out in his boat gathering drift-wood, recognizing
Dick's peculiar voice, went to the rescue, and, taking this strange
craft in tow, brought the little company, with their gallant leader,
drenched and draggled but still crowing lustily, safe to land.
"And that is all I can tell you about Dick, for it is five o'clock, and
time to put up our work."
"I like every kind of bird," said Florence Austin at the next meeting of
the Society, "except the English sparrows. They are a perfect nuisance!"
"Why, what harm do they do?" Nellie asked.
"Harm!" said Florence; "you don't know any thing about it here in the
country. We had to cut down a beautiful wisteria-vine that climbed over
one side of our house because the sparrows would build their nests in
it, and made such a dreadful noise in the morning that nobody on that
side of the house could sleep. And they drive away all the other birds.
We used to have robins hopping over our lawn, and dear little
yellow-birds used to build their nests in the pear-trees; but since the
sparrows have got so thick, they have stopped coming. My father says the
English sparrow is the most impudent bird that ever was hatched. He
actually saw one snatch away a worm a robin had just dug up. I believe I
hate sparrows!"
"I don't," said Nellie. "I have fed them all winter. They came to the
dining-room window every morning, and waited for their breakfast; and a
funny little woodpecker, blind of one eye, came with them sometimes."
"They do lots of good in our gardens," said Mollie, "digging up grubs
and beetles. Papa told us so."
"There's nobody in this world so bad," said Susie, sagely, "but that you
can find something good to say about them." At which kindly speech Aunt
Ruth smiled approval.
"I think," she said, "this will be a good time to tell you a story
about an English sparrow and a canary-bird I will call it
TUFTY AND THE SPARROW.
"One morning in April a young canary-bird whose name was Tufty escaped
through an open window carelessly left open while he was out of his
cage, and suddenly found himself, for the first time in his life, in the
open air. He alighted first on an apple-tree in the yard, and then made
a grand flight half-way to the top of the elm-tree.
"The sun was bright and the air so still that the light snow which had
fallen in the night yet clung to the branches and twigs of the tree, and
Tufty examined it with interest, thinking it pretty but rather cold as
he poked it about with his bill, and tucked first one little foot, and
then the other, under him to keep it warm. Presently he heard an odd
little noise below him, and, looking down, saw on the trunk of the tree
a bird about his own size, with wings and back of a steel-gray color, a
white breast with a dash of dull red on it, and a long bill, with which
he was making the noise Tufty had heard by tapping on the tree.
"'Good-morning!' said Tufty, who was of a friendly and social
disposition, and was beginning to feel the need of company.
"'Morning!' said the woodpecker, very crisp and shorthand not so much as
looking up to see who had spoken to him.
"If you had heard this talk you would have said Tufty called out: 'Peep!
peep!' and the woodpecker--but that's because you don't understand
bird-language.
"'What are you doing down there?' said Tufty, continuing the
conversation.
"'Getting my breakfast,' said the woodpecker.
"'Why, I had mine a long time ago!' said Tufty.
"He didn't in the least understand how that knocking on the tree was to
bring Mr. Longbill's morning meal; but he was afraid to ask any more
questions, the other had been so short with him.
"Just then he heard a hoarse voice overhead saying, 'Come along! come
along!' and, looking up, saw a monstrous black creature sailing above
the tops of the trees. It was only a crow on his way to the swamp, and
he was trying to hurry up his mate, that always would lag behind in that
corn-field where there wasn't so much as a grain left; but Tufty, which
by this time you must have discovered was a very ignorant bird, thought
the black monster was calling _him_, and piped back feebly: 'I can't! I
can't!' and was all of a tremble till Mr. Crow was quite out of sight.
"He sat quiet, looking a little pensive, for the fact was, he was
beginning to feel lonely, when there flew past him a flock of brown
birds chirping and chattering away at a brisk rate. 'Now for it!'
thought Tufty, 'here's plenty of good company;' and he spread his wings
and flew after them as fast as he could. But he could not keep up with
them, but, panting and weary, alighted on the roof of a house to rest.
And here he saw such a pretty sight; for on a sunny roof just below him
were two snow-white pigeons. One was walking about in a very
consequential way, his tail-feathers spread in the shape of a fan, and
turning his graceful neck from side to side in quite a bewitching
fashion. Just as Tufty alighted, the pretty dove began to call: 'Come,
dear, come! Do, dear, do!' in such a sweet, soft, plaintive voice, as if
his heart would certainly break if his dear _didn't_ come, that Tufty,
who in his silly little pate never once doubted that it was he the
lovely white bird was pining for, felt sorry to disappoint him, and
piped back: 'Oh, if you please, I should like to ever so much! but you
see I must catch up with those brown birds over there;' and, finding his
wind had come back to him, he flew away. The pigeon, which had not even
seen him, and had much more important business to attend to than to
coax an insignificant little yellow-bird, went on displaying all his
beauties, and crooning softly, 'Do, dear! do! do! do!'
"Tufty had no trouble in finding the brown birds, for long before he
came to the roof of the barn where they had alighted he heard their loud
voices in angry dispute; and they made such an uproar, and seemed so
fractious and ill-tempered, that Tufty felt afraid to join them, but
lingered on a tree near by.
"Presently one of them flew over to him. She was a young thing--quite
fresh and trim-looking for a sparrow.
"'Good-morning!' she said, hopping close to him and looking him all over
with her bright little eyes,
"'Good-morning!' said Tufty, as brisk as you please.
"'Now, I wonder where you come from and what you call yourself,' said
the sparrow. 'I never saw a yellow-bird like you before. How pretty the
feathers grow on your head!' and she gave a friendly nip to Tufty's
top-knot.
"Tufty thought she was getting rather familiar on so short an
acquaintance, but he answered her politely, told her his name, and that
he came from the house where he had always lived, and was out to take an
airing.
"'I want to know!' said the sparrow. 'Well, my name is Brownie. Captain
Bobtail's Brownie, they call me, because Brownie is such a common name
in our family. It's pleasant out-of-doors, isn't it? Oh, never mind the
fuss over there!'--for Tufty's attention was constantly diverted to the
scene of the quarrel--'they are always at it, scolding and fighting.
Come, let's you and I have a good time!'
"'What is the fuss about?' said Tufty.
"'A nest,' said Brownie, contemptuously. 'Ridiculous, isn't it? Snow on
the ground, and not time to build this two weeks; but you see, _he_
wants to keep the little house on top of the pole lest some other bird
should claim it, and _she_ wants to build in the crotch of the
evergreen, and the neighbors are all there taking sides. She has the
right of it--the tree is much the prettier place; but dear me! she might
just as well give up first as last, for he's sure to have his
way--husbands are such tyrants!' said Captain Bobtail's Brownie, with a
coquettish turn of her head; 'but come, now, what shall we do?'
"'I'm too cold to do any thing,' said Tufty, dolefully.
"The sun was hidden by a cloud and a cold wind was blowing, and the
house-bird, accustomed to a stove-heated room, was shivering.
"'Take a good fly,' said Brownie; 'that will warm you,'
"'But I'm hungry,' piped Tufty.
"'All right!' said Brownie. 'I know a place where there's a free lunch
set out every day for all the birds that will come--bread-crumbs, seeds,
and lovely cracked corn. Come along! you'll feel better after dinner,'
"So they flew, and they flew, and Brownie was as kind as possible, and
stopped for a rest whenever Tufty was tired, and chatted so agreeably
and pleasantly, that before they reached their journey's end Tufty had
quite fallen in love with her. Then, too, the sun was shining again,
and the brisk exercise of flying had set the little bird's blood in
motion, so that he was warm again, but oh, so hungry!
"They came at last to a brown cottage with a broad piazza, and it was on
the roof of this piazza that a feast for the birds was every day spread.
But as they flew round the house Tufty became very much excited.
"'Stop, Brownie!' he cried; 'let me look at this place! Surely I've been
here before. That red curtain, that flower-stand in the window,
that--Oh! oh! there's my own little house! Why, Captain Bobtail's
Brownie, you've brought me home!'
"Now, all this time Tufty's mistress had been in great trouble. As soon
as she discovered her loss she ran out-of-doors, holding up the empty
cage and calling loudly on her little bird to return. But he was high up
in the elm-tree watching the woodpecker, and, if he heard her call, paid
no attention to it. Very soon he flew after the sparrows, and she lost
sight of him. Not a mouthful of breakfast could the poor child eat.
"'I shall never see my poor little Tufty again, mamma!' she said. 'I saw
him flying straight for the swamp, and he never can find his way back!'
and she cried as if her heart would break.
"In the middle of the forenoon her brother Jack called to her from the
foot of the stairs:--
"'What will you give me, Kittie,' he said, 'if I will tell you where
Tufty is?'
"'O Jack! do you know? Have you seen him? Where? where?' cried the
little girl, coming downstairs in a great hurry.
"'Be quiet!' said Jack. 'Now, don't get excited; your bird is all right,
though I'm sorry to say he's in rather low company,' And he led her to
the dining-room window that looked into the garden, and there, sure
enough, was Tufty on a lilac-bush. Brownie was there too. She was
hopping about and talking in a most earnest and excited manner. It was
easy to see that she was using all her powers of persuasion to coax
Tufty not to go back to his old home, but to help her build a little
house out-of-doors, where they could set up housekeeping together.
"Kittie knew just what to do. She ran for the cage and for a sprig of
dried pepper-grass (of all the good things she gave her bird to eat, he
liked pepper-grass best), and, standing in the open door-way, called:
'Tufty! Tufty!' He gave a start, a little flutter of his wings, and
then, with one glad cry of recognition, and without so much as a parting
look at poor Brownie, flew straight for the door, and alighted on the
top of his cage.
"'How strangely things come about, mamma?' Kittie said that evening as
they talked over this little incident. 'Jack has laughed at me all
winter for feeding the sparrows, and called them hateful, quarrelsome
things, and said I should get nicely paid next summer when they drove
away all the pretty song-birds that come about the house. And now, don't
you see, mamma, one of the sparrows I have fed all winter--I knew her
right away by a funny little dent in her breast--has done me such good
service? Why, I am paid a hundred thousand times over for all I have
ever done for the sparrows.'"
"And what became of poor Brownie?" Nellie asked. "I almost hoped Tufty
would stay out with her, she was such a good little sparrow."
"She lingered about the garden for a while, making a plaintive little
noise; but when the family of Brownies came to dinner she ate her
allowance, and flew away with them, apparently in good spirits. But
Tufty moped for a day or two, and, as long as he lived, showed great
excitement at the sight of a flock of sparrows; and it is my private
opinion that, if a second opportunity had been given him, Kittie Grant's
Tufty would have gone off for good and all with Captain Bobtail's
Brownie."
Susie Elliot walked part of the way home with Florence Austin, and the
two little girls, who were fast becoming intimate friends, talked over
the events of the afternoon.
"How much your auntie knows about animals and birds!" said Florence;
"she seems almost as fond of them as if they were people."
"Yes," Susie answered; "she was always fond of pets, papa says; and,
ever since she has been ill, she has spent a great deal of time watching
them and studying their ways. I think it makes her forget the pain,"
"Is it the pain that keeps her awake at night, Susie? You know she said
this afternoon she was glad to hear the chippy-birds, because then she
knew the long night was over; and she looked so white, and couldn't get
down those three little easy steps to pick up the baby-bird. But she
walks about the garden sometimes with a crutch, doesn't she?"
"Oh, yes! and she's better than when she first came here to live, only
she never can be well, you know. Today is one of her poor days; but she
used to be so ill that she was hardly ever free from pain. You never
would have known it, though, she was always so cheerful and doing
something to give us good times."
"Can't she ever be made well, Susie? There's doctors in town, you know,
who cure _every thing_," said the little girl.
Susie shook her head.
"Papa says she has an incurable disease;" and then seriously--"I think
if Jesus were here he would put his hands on auntie and make her well."