BOBBINETTE AND BOBBY—TWO ORPHANS
Those who have been fortunate enough to have read that charming little
story of “Bobby and Bobbinette,” by Mrs. Talbot, will know where I found
these names. Instead of being two New York children, they are two Seneca
Falls robins, but the names fit as if made to order, as they are just as
different as the original Bobby and Bobbinette. Bobbinette rules Bob
with a rod of iron, and he meekly does as he is bid.
One bright morning in May, as I came into the yard, I saw Dona Marina
sitting on the front piazza charming a nice, plump baby robin, who was
perched on a water-pipe not three feet away. She was opening and
shutting her mouth, making that hissing sound, and her large green eyes
were fairly glued to the robin’s black ones. Just as she was ready to
spring, I called out sharply: “Dona Marina, you wicked cat, don’t you
dare catch that baby bird.” She turned around in the most leisurely way,
and came to meet me with the air of the innocent.
If I had not seen her with my own eyes, I never should have suspected
she had the least designs on the bird. The mother bird was calling and
screeching with rage in a tree near by. As soon as Dona Marina’s back
was turned, the frightened bird hopped down, and went around in the back
yard as fast as her baby legs could carry her.
After telling Dona Marina just what I thought of her conduct, I went
after the baby, and finally caught her. But, when I brought her back to
the street, there was no mother bird anywhere to be seen or heard, and
she evidently thought her darling had gone down Dona Marina’s throat.
I then told the little stranger that she was in the hands of the head
nurse of “The Bird Hospital,” and would receive the best of care. I at
once put her into a nice little cot, and covered her, as it is best to
keep wild or strange birds in the dark for at least two days, until they
get used to you and their environments.
My new patient was very hungry, so I had no trouble in getting her to
take the cracker soaked in milk. The third day I put her into a canary
cage (but covered), as I thought I better try and teach her to stay in a
cage some of the time, and not always have her liberty, as the dear
departed Cady did. She behaved unusually well, and I kept her in that
for several days, taking her out many times to stretch and flop her
wings.
I was then fortunate enough to have a large parrot cage loaned me. She
showed great delight when I put her in, as she had plenty of room to go
about, and did not show the slightest desire to get out. I knew she
could if she wished, as the brass wires were very wide apart.
I was detained down-stairs, and it was later than usual when I went up
to put her to bed in her cot. As I went into the room, I saw there was
no baby bird in the cage.
I called out: “Oh, my baby has gone,” and a very mournful peep came back
to me, which plainly said: “I am over here in this dark corner.” She had
evidently tried to find me, but did not know the way down-stairs. That
was the first and last time she ever ran away.
Blondell and Dona Marina had been the only occupants in the hospital for
three years, with the exception of a few stray patients who only lived a
very short time.
At first Dona Marina did not know what to make of the robin. She knew it
was entirely different from Blondell, and watched it hopping all over
the floor with the greatest interest, as Blondell usually stayed in her
cage. For a few days I watched her very carefully when the robin was on
the floor, but she soon understood she was not to touch it, and would
lie on the rug and go to sleep, while the robin played about her.
Two weeks after I rescued the robin from the jaws of death, I saw
another baby robin in the back yard. The floodgates of heaven were
opened wide, and the rain coming down in perfect torrents. I could not
see or hear any father or mother bird, but there was a large white cat
who had his eyes upon her. I spent most of my time for an hour with one
eye on the bird and the other on the cat. At last I succeeded in
frightening the cat away, and, as it grew dark, the bird flew up on to
the grape-vine, then into a small tree. It had not stopped raining one
minute, and I could not bear to think of that dear baby up in a tree all
night alone, with a prospect of the white cat making his breakfast upon
it.
When it became quite dark, I took a chair out under the tree, stood up
on it, reached up and put my hand over the bird. I soon found it had
good lungs, and also found it was a beauty, so did not mind being
covered with mud and getting almost as wet as the bird. I felt sure it
was a male bird, and that the first one was a female, as that was so
much lighter in colouring.
I dried orphan number two, and put him to sleep in a cot, just as I did
orphan number one. The next morning I told her all that I have told to
you, then brought the little stranger and put him inside the cage,
expecting she would be more than pleased to have a relative for a
companion, but, alas, no. I never was more mistaken in my life. She put
up all the feathers in her crest, looking like a wild “Indian,” spread
her wings, and was not only ready to fight, but pitched right in. The
little stranger was more afraid of her than he was of the white cat, and
it did not take him many seconds to get out between the bars, and fly to
me for protection. But, after a few days, they became good friends, and
slept every night in the cage side by side in the swing.
Then came a great discussion, “What shall I name the robins?” but it was
settled for me by having the little book I spoke of sent me.
When Dona Marina saw robin number two, she acted as if she thought there
were getting to be more robins in the hospital than she cared to see,
but when number three arrived, her eyes grew larger than ever, and she
seemed to say: “Will they never cease coming?”
I was unusually busy when a friend came with a box. I said: “I hope you
have not brought anything for me to take care of, as I am almost frantic
now.” She said: “Only a baby robin.” I held up my hands and exclaimed:
“But I already have two.” She said: “I did not know what else to do with
it. It fell out of the nest, and I could not take care of it, and I knew
you would.”
The poor little thing could not even stand up, and all it knew was to
open its big bill and cry for food. Of course I was simply obliged to
keep it.
Few people have the slightest idea of the care and trouble of a wild
baby bird. I did not want it to starve to death, so every few moments I
put cracker and milk down that yawning cavity. The last thing before I
got into bed at twelve o’clock I fed it, and I got up and fed it every
two hours during the night. I was almost in hopes it might die, but,
when morning came, it was as lively as a cricket. I at once named the
third orphan Bèbè, and for two weeks it gave to me the greatest
pleasure, as well as constant care.
Bobbinette and Bobby simply hated the little stranger, and would not
have the slightest thing to do with her. If I put her into their cage,
they would immediately chase her out. She would fall on to the floor, as
she could not fly, and get out of their way as quickly as her weak
little legs could carry her. Every little while during the day, I would
put her into her little white cot for a nap, and she would go to sleep
at once.
Every day she grew stronger, and before many days could run about as
fast as Bobbinette and Bobby, but she could not fly.
At that time Dona Marina gave birth to two beautiful kittens,
consequently she was in the hospital most of the day as well as the
night. At first I was afraid Dona Marina might hurt Bèbè, as Bèbè could
not fly, and was usually on the floor when she was not taking her nap.
All there was to do was to make Dona Marina fully understand she was not
to hurt or even frighten Bèbè.
I put Dona Marina on a chair, then put Bèbè beside her. By the way
Bobbinette and Bobby cocked their pretty heads and puffed out their
breasts, I knew they were thoroughly enjoying hearing me tell Dona
Marina how very naughty they had been to Bèbè, and that she must be very
kind to the little stranger, help take good care of her, and make her
happy. Dona Marina nodded her wise little head, and blinked her
intelligent eyes at me, smelled Bèbè all over, but never offered to bite
her. In cat language she said she would always be kind, and try to take
the place of her lost mother, and she kept her promise. From that day
they were together almost constantly, Dona Marina lying on a chair or on
the floor (when she was not giving her babies their dinner, as it was
too warm weather to stay with them all the time), with Bèbè playing all
about her.
When Bobbinette and Bobby felt very good-natured, they would ask Bèbè to
play with them on the floor, but never would let her go inside their
cage. If Dona Marina was trying to take a nap, they would hop all about
her, chirp as loud as they could, and tell Bèbè to go and pull her tail,
which she often did. Dona Marina would open her eyes, smile at her,
close them, give a good stretch, and go to sleep again.
When Bèbè would hear Dona Marina and me coming up the stairs, she would
run out into the hall to meet us, hop along by Dona Marina’s side into
the dressing-room, hop on to the edge of her dish, and drink milk with
her, and Dona Marina never gave her a cross look.
We feel sure if Bèbè had lived until the cot with the kittens in it was
put on the floor, she would have gotten right in and gone to sleep with
them. But dear Bèbè’s life was far too short for me, but plenty long for
Bobbinette and Bobby.
One afternoon while I was out, Bèbè must have felt badly, and went
down-stairs to look for me. She found her way into my mother’s room and
woke her with her peeping. My mother spoke to her, but she knew it was
not the voice she was accustomed to, and tried to find her way back. She
was dreadfully frightened when she was finally caught, for she also knew
it was not the hand that fondled her. When I returned, I saw at once
there was something wrong with my baby bird, as a very bad odour was
coming from her breath. I did all I could, put her to bed, and she
seemed all right. The next morning she grew worse again, and in a few
moments was nothing but a ball of pretty lifeless feathers. I felt sure
she died of blood poison from the angleworms that were forced down her
throat before she was brought to the hospital. The mother birds always
kill the worms before feeding to their birdlings.
After Bobbinette had been in the hospital a week, as a great honour, I
presented Cady’s blue and white china bath-dish to her. She acknowledged
the compliment by going right in and taking a nice bath. When Bobby
arrived, he did not even wait to be asked to make use of the bath-tub,
but took possession at once. After that, Bobbinette positively refused
to take her bath in it. Every day when I offered it to her, she would
hop on to the edge, then fly away, go into the cage, scold, and try to
make me understand what she meant. If I held the dish up to her, she
would hop on, take a drink, and away she would go.
This went on for two weeks, then all at once it flashed through my
stupid brain that she had no intention of taking a bath in the same dish
Bobby did.
I immediately went down-stairs, and came back with an oval white
vegetable dish, and said: “Bobbinette, how would you like this for your
very own?” She was wild with delight, and could hardly wait until it was
filled; in fact, got in before the water was put in. I assure you she
took a good long bath to make up for the two weeks she had been without.
The next morning, when I put the blue dish down for Bob and the white
one for Bobbinette, that impertinent and presuming fellow had the face
to go over to Bobbinette’s dish and say: “I think I will try the white
one for a change,” and hopped on with a very grand air; but he hopped
off much quicker than he hopped on, for Bobbinette flew at him and took
feathers out of the top of his head. When she sees him, she will never
let him go near her dish, but often she does not see him, and, if I am
not there, he will take part of his bath in hers, then the rest in his
own.
[Illustration: BOBBINETTE BOBBY]
Lately I have made it a point to be there until he finishes, for I
cannot supply a new dish for Bobbinette every few days.
They like to have me play with them by throwing the water at them, just
as Cady did, and, if I sing and keep time by rapping the dish, Bob will
sing with me.
Bob would take a bath twice a day if I would let him, but Bobbinette
sometimes does not take one for two or three days. You see she got into
bad habits the weeks she went without.
It had rained most of the time before Bobbinette and Bobby came to the
hospital to live, and no doubt they had been soaked to the skin many
times. When it was too late, I found I ought not to have let them bathe,
for they both had bad colds. I did not know what the matter was until
they began to cough, sneeze, and make all sorts of disagreeable noises.
They would have driven any one who was nervous about wild, and they
really annoyed me, who am not, and kept me awake many nights. I had
never had birds act as they did, for they were different from a bird
with the asthma. Some of my friends who knew about chickens said they
had the “pip,” others the “gapes,” and told me to do this, that, and the
other thing, but they kept growing worse instead of better. Finally I
wrote to my old standby, George Holden, and asked what to do, as I felt
it was high time to have a good counsel. They had already been eating
his bird food. He wrote to me: “Do not pay any attention to the noise
the robins make, add more carrot to their food, give them plenty of
green food, and let them have all they want to eat; keep them warm, and
they will come out all right.” I followed his advice, and, after many
trying weeks, they entirely recovered. This case was the longest, except
Teddy’s, the hospital ever had.
When Bobby moulted, his feathers came in as fast as they came out, but
Bobbinette must have had a high fever, for, when some of hers came out,
no new ones came in. From her shoulders to the top of her head she did
not have a feather for two months. She would scratch her head and pick
her wings most of the time.
One day I looked her over carefully, and found the under part of her
wings red and inflamed, while on the top of her head was a crust similar
to the milk crust babies have.
I immediately rubbed dry sulphur all over her head and under parts of
her wings, and kept it up for two weeks. By the time it was warm
weather, and their colds seemed cured, I let them have their bath again,
and how much they enjoyed them only they can tell. Then the crust began
to leave Bobbinette’s head, as well as all of her crest feathers, until
only three remained, and for weeks no new ones came in. It was very
amusing, when Bobbinette became very angry and began to scold, to see
those three feathers stand straight up as proud as if there were three
dozen.
Bobby is always dignified and rarely loses his temper or ruffles his
plumage, while Bobbinette very often gets mad, scolds you, strutting
about with breast feathers all puffed out, and the feathers on her head
standing up and her tail going like a little wren. If Bobby is taking a
drink of water, and Bobbinette wants some, she never says, “By your
leave,” or waits a second, but coolly takes him by the feathers of his
head and puts him away, and takes possession of the water. But Bob is
much more destructive than Bobbinette. They eat off of pretty Vantine
china, and drank their water out of thin whiskey glasses until Bob broke
four by taking them up in his bill and dropping them down on his
bath-dish to hear them make a ringing sound. Now I make them use a
little earthen jar, that is good and strong, and only favour them with a
glass to drink their milk out of when they go down to the parlour for
their singing lesson.
One day Bob took a lovely china pin-tray off of my dressing-table and
threw it on the floor, breaking it in many pieces. Another day I found
him out in the hall with my string of gold beads, shaking them as if he
thought they were an angleworm. He had bitten two beads until they were
almost flat. Like many small boys, he thinks matches are about the
nicest things to play with, and I often find them thrown in all
directions.
Dona Marina’s kittens had been given away before they were old enough to
take much notice of Blondell, but her new kittens, Blonde and Brunette,
lived with the birds many weeks. Blonde was white with tortoise-shell
markings, and twice as large as Brunette, who was just like her black
mother.
Blonde was gentle in all of her ways, while Brunette was just the
opposite. Blonde would wake me in the morning by gently tapping my cheek
with her big, soft white paw. Brunette would come with a rush and land
on the top of my head. I did not have the least trouble in teaching
Blonde not to spring at the birds, but I had a great deal with Brunette
before I could make her understand that she was not to slap them with
her tiny black velvet paw.
One day I was really surprised myself when I went into the room to find
Blonde sound asleep in front of Blondell’s cage on the platform,
Brunette asleep in the gravel, and Bobbinette and Bobby on the perches
above them. It proved they had learned their lessons well, and I never
worried about them after that.
I was very anxious to get a picture of them altogether, so had the old
perches brought up that had been put away so long. For a week I posed
them every day. Dona Marina on “Teddy’s piazza,” Blonde in the side with
the food, Brunette in the gravel, Bobbinette and Bobby on the perches,
and Blondell in her usual place. It made a pretty picture, I assure you.
The photographer was very busy, and by the time he could come, it was
impossible to have Dona Marina in the group, as she had weaned her
babies and hated every hair in their dear little bodies. For two weeks
she did nothing but growl and spit every time she saw them, besides
slapping them hard if they came within her reach. Brunette would slap
back, but lovable little Blonde would look at her in a sad, astonished
way.
One day, when Dona Marina came in and could not find her babies, after
looking all over the lower part of the house, she fairly beamed, and we
never heard another growl, but it was many weeks before she went to the
hospital.
One day I tried carrying her up, but she fought so hard I had to let her
go. I tried again, and got her inside and put her on the bed. She
smelled it all over, then simply flew out, and down-stairs she went. The
next time when I got her inside, I closed the door. When she found she
could not get out, she examined every corner, went under everything,
and, when she finally made up her mind there were no kittens hidden
away, she jumped into my lap and began to sing. She wants to be all in
all to me, and is jealous of everything and everybody.
But to go back to the picture, that was a day long to be remembered.
When I asked the photographer to take it, he looked at me as if he
thought I had just escaped from a lunatic hospital, and said: “I can
take a picture of a bird or a cat, but to take one of birds and cats
together, I think it would be quite impossible.” I was determined if
possible to have the picture taken, so said: “But you do not know me, my
cats, or my birds.”
At last he came to please me, not expecting to get any kind of a
picture. I told him to come right after luncheon, as Blonde and Brunette
were sleepy at that time, but instead, it was between four and five
o’clock. Bobbinette and Bob had only been used to our boy coming into
the hospital, so, when two men appeared, it was quite enough to frighten
the wits out of them, but their bringing all of their machines made it
ten times worse. They flew here, there, and everywhere, out into the
hall, back again, lighting upon my head and shoulders. It took a long
time to get them quiet, but the men made as little noise as possible,
and were very patient.
After Bobbinette and Bobby became a little used to them, I looked up
Blonde and Brunette. They were just fresh from their nap, and wanted to
do anything but mind and sit still. Several times I thought it was going
to be even beyond me to get them all quiet at once.
At last it was accomplished. Bang! went the machine, vivid light, dense
smoke, Bobbinette and Bobby flying in every direction and screeching as
only robins can; Blonde and Brunette running all over the floor,
growling, spitting, and hissing, but the deed was done. When we saw the
picture, we all felt repaid for our trouble, and the birds and kittens
for being so frightened. And the photographer, by the way, found after
all that he could take a picture of birds and kittens together.
That was the beginning of quite a little work, which took a great deal
of time, nervous strength, and patience, but with it all we derived a
great deal of pleasure, and the birds seemed to thoroughly enjoy being
naughty.
[Illustration: BLONDE BOBBY BLONDELL
BOBBINETTE
BRUNETTE]
Just at this time a young Italian came to town, fresh from a school of
photography, who had plenty of time to give to us. His kindness and
patience was fully appreciated and never will be forgotten. The birds
liked him, too, as he was always gentle, spoke kindly, and never a cross
word did we hear, no matter how provoking they were. The group with
Bobbinette and Bobby, Dick, Dona Marina, Blondell and me took two whole
evenings to get.
Just as the photographer would think they were all in good position,
Bobbinette would turn her back; then, when she turned around, Bobby
would get down and go out into the back parlour. As no one could manage
them but me, I would have to get up, taking Dick and Blondell in my left
hand, Dona Marina under my left arm, and go after Bobby. Dona Marina did
not care how many birds were on her back if she could lie on my lap, but
Blondell was as slippery as an eel, and, when all the others were ready,
off from Dona Marina’s back she would go, and I would have to get down
again and go after her, holding tight to Dick and Dona Marina.
One day during summer we had a patient the like of which we had never
had before. It was a wee brown puppy, but where she came from we never
found out. Her coming was heralded by Dona Marina’s jumping on to her
back and slapping and biting her. The birds and I rushed to the window
when we heard the noise; the puppy was crying lustily, as she was too
young to fight. The next thing they came tearing into the hospital, and
for a few moments one would have thought the room was filled with wild
animals.
For two days there was constant trouble and commotion in the hospital,
and I felt if I did not find her a good home (which I did), all of my
patients would have nervous prostration.
Another day the robins were very much frightened by an English sparrow
coming to the hospital. If it had been a large hawk, they could not have
acted worse. A man brought him, who had taken him away from a cruel boy
who was just ready to give him to his cat. I looked him all over, and,
when I found he was not injured in any way, I knew it would not be right
to keep him. I would have liked to, as he reminded me so much of Mack.
When I opened the window, he flew out, chirping loudly, and I have not a
doubt he told his friends many tales of his narrow escape, about the
place where he had been, and the things he had seen.
One day a little girl three years old came to visit me. As she stood in
the door looking at the birds, she certainly looked like a fairy direct
from Fairyland, all dressed in white, with the whitest skin, cheeks like
the pinkest roses, blue eyes like wood-violets, and curls like the
brightest of gold. But Bobbinette and Bobby did not appreciate the
picture, for they never were more frightened in their lives, and it was
hours before they became used to her.
Dona Marina always knew when it was five o’clock, and time for
Bobbinette and Bobby to have their supper of cracker and milk, and she
would bring Blonde and Brunette and sit down in front of me, while
Bobbinette and Bobby perched on the edge of the box, and I would give
them each a piece as well as the birds. Then I taught them to sit up on
their haunches like little bears and eat their crackers.
Blonde would often take her piece in one paw and eat it, and Brunette
would take hers in both paws and put it into her mouth, while Dona
Marina would sit up very straight with her little paws bent, and look
first at one kitten, then at the other in a very proud way.
Now Bobbinette and Bobby have reached the dignity of having a little
doll’s table and a chair of their own. They will stand up on their
chairs and eat whatever I give them off of little butter-plates. If a
meal worm is served, it is as good to them as a turkey dinner is to any
of us.
Bobby was much more precocious with his singing than Cady. I worked many
weeks with Cady before he would make a sound, but Bob began at once and
has improved every day since.
One day late in the fall I took him down just to see if he would be
afraid of the piano, but he was not in the least, and began to sing very
softly. I meant to have looked up some new music for him, but he was
ready before I was, so I began with the same old things Cady sung, and
he seemed to like them just as well as Cady did. I have added to his
repertoire that pretty little waltz song, “Love Comes Like a Summer
Dream,” from the old opera, “Little Tycoon,” another waltz song, “I am
Going Far Away, Love,” two parts from “When the Leaves Begin to Fall,”
and a sweet lullaby.
A friend, who is a professional singer, came to hear him sing. I said to
her: “I want you to listen to every note and tell me honestly just what
you think of him.” He sang for a half-hour, only stopping while I
changed the music. When we finished, she said: “I do not know which is
the most marvellous, the pupil or the teacher. He is simply wonderful,
never makes one discord, keeps perfect time, and carries the air as near
as possible, and the little trills he puts in are simply bewitching.”
The lullaby he sings as soft and low as I do. What kind of a singer I am
going to make of Bobbinette, time alone can tell. She will sing with me
a little every morning up-stairs, but only twice have I been able to get
her to sing down-stairs. I bring her down every day after Bob has had
his singing lesson. Although she is such a fighter, she is very timid
and nervous when down-stairs if there is any one there. She usually
comes down on my shoulder, and I can feel every nerve in her body quiver
as I lay my cheek against her.
When Bobbinette appears, Bob knows his lesson is over and that he can do
as he pleases. He will go all over both rooms, perch on anything he sees
fit, sing a little in a very low voice, come and look at Bobbinette and
stand beside her on the perch. I have not given up getting them to sing
a duet together. When Bobbinette sings up-stairs, Bob stops short,
stands on one leg, and listens to her with a look as much as to say:
“What are you trying to sing for? I am the singer.”
As Bobbinette is a good listener, I still have hopes of her. She is so
pretty and still keeps her baby look, and when she listens she cocks her
head on one side and looks so interested, and will puff out her breast
and open her bill as wide as she can. For a treat after their lesson,
they have some sugar wafers. They prefer the champagne ones, as they
have more chocolate in them. They get on my shoulder and take the wafer
out of my mouth. Then they have milk (which they love) in a whiskey
glass. Some days they have two or three Zante currants, of which they
are very fond.
My mother has all of her meals served in the back parlour, and it is a
great treat for Bobbinette and Bobby to have their singing lesson before
luncheon, then they stay down until afterward.
They will not make friends with any one but me, but they will get as
near my mother as they dare, and see what she has to eat, but will not
take anything from her.
I was very much frightened the other day to see a hair sticking out of
Bobbinette’s bill. I was more frightened when I pulled out an eighth of
a yard and could get no more, as it seemed to be wound around the lower
part of her tongue. It was rather a difficult task to hold the bird,
take a magnifying glass, and open the bill and look down. After a
half-hour’s work at the hair, gently pulling it from side to side, it
became loose and came out. The next day Bob came to me holding one leg
up. As I looked at him, I thought he in some way had gotten a rubber
band around his leg. You can imagine my surprise, when I took him in my
hand, to find, instead of a rubber band, his hind claw was wound around
his leg and caught with the nail. How it ever got that way, I have not
the least idea.
As I entered my room the other afternoon, I saw a picture that any
artist might have been proud to paint. Dona Marina was lying stretched
out full length on the foot of my bed, with her new baby kittens, Scozza
and Fava, lying beside her; all were in Dreamland. On the brass rod at
the foot perched Bobbinette and Bobby, the latter singing at the top of
his voice, while Bobbinette listened.
I feel sure if John Burroughs knew my birds, he would change his mind
about birds not thinking and reasoning.
Many people know birds and their habits in a wild state, but really know
nothing of them as pets in the house.
I am told Mr. Burroughs does not advocate domesticating wild birds;
neither do I, if they are old, well, and strong, but, on the contrary,
if they are injured, and are only easy prey for small boys and cats, I
firmly believe in taking them in and making them happy, which I think I
have always succeeded in doing.
I have often taken birds in, expecting to let them go when they were
large enough, but they simply would not, for they knew they would not
know how to take care of themselves or hunt their food. For instance, if
I had not brought Bobbinette and Bobby in, they would have been killed,
and it would be very cruel to turn them out now after the luxurious
lives they have lived for eleven months; besides, they are perfectly
well, and happy as the day is long, and know no other life.
My pets are a great care, but the pleasure I receive from them more than
recompenses me. I only hope you will all be so interested in my little
sketches that you will “cry for more,” and then I shall be able to stop
your crying.
THE END.
Pleasant Street Series
New Edition, 1906
[Illustration: flower]
1 Pleasant Street, Smiling Valley
By Sarah E. Lee
2 Home Songs for Little Darlings
3 Smiles
By Alice Lewis Richards
4 Winks
By Alice Lewis Richards
5 Under the Nursery Lamp
6 The Moon Party
By Ollie Hurd Bragdon
7 Bobby and Bobbinette
By Annie R. Talbot
8 Little Mildred’s Secret
By Grace Squires
9 Tale of Two Terriers, Crib and Fly
By Charles Welch
10 The Bird Hospital
By Caroline Crowninshield Bascom
11 The Wishbone Boat
By Alice C. D. Riley
Transcriber’s Notes
--Retained copyright notice on the original book (this eBook is
public-domain in the country of publication.)
--Moved promotional material to the end of the book.
--Silently corrected a few palpable typos.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Bird Hospital, by Caroline Crowninshield Bascom