42 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



been given him as to a little child, and he has 

 repaid it by his quaint and most amusing ways. 



Regularly, when evening comes, he is let out to 

 play in the cellar whilst his cage is cleaned, and 

 real play it is, a proper game at hide-and-seek. Up 

 to a certain point he sits close to me and watches 

 the proceedings, until, whilst I am placing the 

 clean straw in his cage, he will suddenly vanish. 

 I look for him, but where he has gone it is for me 

 to find out. No easy business, for his colour 

 well, it is no colour at all ; his feathers are a dingy- 

 grey-brown, flecked with white here and there. 

 Presently I spy a pair of eyes shining out from a 

 corner, and, turning the lamp in that direction, 

 I see, drawn up beside the leg of a stool, with one 

 wing thrown sideways and his head looking over 

 it, my bird Patch. Finding himself discovered, 

 with a loud, shrill bark, as loud as a terrier's, he 

 is off again. I move a broom, and see something 

 peering up at me, squatting and looking exactly 

 like a toad : my bird again. He darts away, and 

 I am not able this time to find him for a long while ; 

 but after moving one thing and another I come 

 to a box resting on four bricks. I move this, and 



