118 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FAEM. 



nest of young birds that the cowman's boy had brought 

 them. 



" Do you know, papa, they are only just fledged, and 

 they sing beautifully already ! " 



They supposed them to be young martins. In the 

 morning, the first thing, they brought me the chirping 

 nest in a dormouse's cage. One "poor little thing" 

 had forced its way through the wires during the night, 

 and was dead. 



" Listen, papa ! how they sing ! " 



"My darling, they are hungiy, and calling to their 

 parents, who can't hear them. They are sure to die. 

 What a naughty boy he was to take them." 



"Are they martins, papa ? " 



"No, they are young water-wagtails, I think. Put 

 them out on the lawn there, and see what they 

 will do." 



Just then the school-room breakfast-bell rang, and 

 away they scampered to their meal. Meanwhile, the 

 poor birdlings sat in a heap, crowded together, as one 

 used to read the Babes in the Wood did, chirping sadly, 

 but apparently strong. "Well," thought I, "when the 

 children return, we'll try to feed them." I had not 

 been gone five minutes, when I returned to find one 

 quite suddenly dead and stiff, and two others gasping 

 their little lives out. What a sad sight it was ! and 

 then to think how many human birdlings there are, 

 even this minute gasping their poor short lives out, 

 imder the torture of illness or cruel parental treatment I 

 When th-e children returned, we got some small cater- 

 13illars from the lime tree ; but they would not take 

 them ; and the four surviving innocents sat up against 

 each other, and chirped so sadly, as though they felt 



