Chapter 9 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."

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