canary seed, or a tiny glass vessel filled 

 with water that I might slake my thirst. 



What should I do? A bird brought 

 up as I had been, I reflected, could 

 never descend to work for a living, as 

 the sparrows did, and other wild birds 

 which I had met among the trees. 

 Some of them ate insects — fact, I as- 

 sure you — and one red-headed bird, 

 wearing a coat of many gay colors, sim- 

 ply tapped and tapped on a tree with 

 his hard bill whenever he wanted his 

 dinner. 



"Come in," said the bug, innocently, 

 who was making his home between the 

 bark and the tree, "come in." 



Nobody appearing, the bug ventured 

 out to see who his caller might be. 



"Good morning," grinned the wood- 

 pecker, and then politely gobbled the 

 poor bug up. 



But I was not brought up that way. 

 I could not eat bugs, neither could I 

 rummage in the garbage boxes as the 

 sparrows did. Oh, how unwise of me, 

 and how ungrateful to run away from a 

 home where my every need was faith- 

 fully served by a kind mistress. Like 

 the prodigal I would return. Surely I 

 would know the house, the very win- 

 dow from which I had fled. Yes, I 

 would start at once, and off I flew in the 

 direction which I thought I had come. 



But, alas! how alike all the houses in 

 that neighborhood seemed. Vainly 

 did I fly down on many a window-sill 

 and peer in. No mistress' face greeted 

 me, no empty cage swung idly between 

 the curtains. At length, faint from 

 hunger and fatigue, I flew down and 

 perched upon the railing of a porch 

 where two ladies were sitting. 



"You dear little thing," said one of 

 the ladies — I want to say here that I 

 am much smaller than the dark Hartz 

 Mountain bird who sat for her picture 

 — "I never saw a sparrow so tiny, or 

 marked like you beiore." 



"It's a canary, not a sparrow," said 

 the other lad)', "doubtless, somebody's 

 lost pet," and she held out her hand, 

 and chirped and talked to me very 

 much like my lost mistress had done. 



"Poor little wanderer," she at length 

 said, as I looked at her, but made no 

 effort to fly away, "I have an idea )'ou 

 came to us for food," and then she 



went into the house and shortly re- 

 turned with a cage in the bottom of 

 which she scattered seed, placing it 

 upon the ground very close to me. 



"Rape, hemp and canary," I chirped, 

 "the seed I am used to," and down I at 

 once flew, hopped into the cage, and, 

 the next moment, was made prisoner. 



Sorry? 



Well, really I don't know. My pe- 

 riod of freedom had been so brief, and 

 attended with such anxiety and fear, 

 that I hardly knew whether to laugh or 

 cry. The next day, however, I knew 

 that my lines had indeed fallen in pleas- 

 ant places. M\- first mistress had been 

 kind, but oh, how much more tender 

 and thoughtful the new one proved to 

 be! 



"I was a helpless little creature," she 

 said, "and upon her depended my en- 

 tire comfort and happiness." Never 

 for one day did she neglect me. 

 Though my regular bill-of-fare was 

 bird-seed, yet she varied it as she did 

 her own. Cracker, lettuce, apples, 

 grapes, cherries, sugar, and always in 

 the summer, pepper-grass. If you lit- 

 tle folks have a canary never fail, I be- 

 seech you, to give them of the latter 

 all they want to eat. It costs nothing 

 and may be gathered in any vacant lot 

 fresh every day. 



What pleasure so kind a mistress 

 could find in keeping me in a little gilt 

 cage, I could not see, for there were 

 screens in the window, and even if there 

 had not been I don't believe I should 

 have cared to fly away. Something in 

 my appearance one day suggested the 

 thought to her, I am sure, for looking 

 at me earnestly, she said: 



"You are not happy, my birdie, I 

 fear. Neither would I be, cooped up 

 in a cage like that," and so she opened 

 wide the door and out I flew, never to 

 be a prisoner again— till, well, I will 

 not speak of that just here, but keep it 

 for the close. 



What famous times we did have after 

 that, to be sure. Whenever I felt lone- 

 some down I'd fly upon the desk where 

 my mistress sat writing. She would 

 pretend not to see me till I had hopped 

 upon the very sheet over which her 

 pen was gliding. 



"Why birdie!" she would then cry. 



ISO 



