me, put out his tiny wings, and tried 

 to fly onto me, opened his bill, but not 

 a sound came out. As I stood in front 

 of ni}- dressing table he flew to the top 

 of his cage (which stood on the floor) 

 to the back of a chair (which was near 

 me), then up to my shoulder, chirping 

 away so merrily that I knew he was 

 saying: "Please take me with you." 

 Of course, after that it is needless to 

 say I took him down-stairs, and he has 

 gone down every night since, where he 

 remains until 8 o'clock, then is put 

 into his basket, and I hear no more 

 from him until morning. 



On pleasant mornings I sit on the 

 piazza and Little Billee sits on my hand 

 or plays in my lap. When I walk on 

 the sidewalk Little Billee goes, too, 

 and nev^er offers to flyaway, and if the 

 wind blows he holds on tight. Some- 

 times he sings and always seems inter- 

 ested in all that is going on about him. 



Twice Little Billee has flown out of 

 my window from fright. Once he was 

 on my shoulder when a very small girl 

 with a very large hat came up to him 

 and away he flew. The next time a 

 large bunch of ferns was brought to 

 me. I thought he would like it and 

 think it was a nice little tree, but I am 

 all the tree he seems to care for. He 

 was so frightened he flew onto a chair, 

 and as I held up a fern out of the win- 

 dow he went. Both times when my 

 maid went to look for him she could 

 not find him until she peeped, then he 

 answered, and she found him sitting in 

 the grass waiting to be picked up, and 

 he was delighted to get back to me. 



Little Billee has never gone to any 

 one except my physician, and that 

 was when I had had him about a week. 

 He went to him, hopped all over his 

 shoulder, picked at his collar and tie 

 and was very friendly. Now he will 

 not go to even him, and I feel sure I 

 am Trilby and his only love. Perhaps 

 the children who read this will think 

 Little Billee is a little angel bird and 

 too good to live, but I will say right 

 here he is too bad to die. Like all 

 bright children sometimes he is very 

 naughty. For instance, when I want 

 to lie quietly on my bed in the day 

 time and Little Billee does not, he will 

 play for some time running up on the 



top of m>' pillow, then down again, 

 hop on my arm, then under the sheet 

 until he finds my hand; back he goes 

 and does the same thing over again. 

 When he gets tired of that he will sit 

 on my chin and be very loving, kiss 

 me in the mouth, and chirp away. 

 When he finds I am not going to open 

 my eyes or speak to him he will peck 

 and bite my eyes, nose, ears, cheeks, 

 and lips, and I assure you they are not 

 love bites either. Then again, when he 

 wants to sit on my shoulder and I pre- 

 fer he should sit on my hand, he will 

 fly up every time I take him down, and 

 bite hard at my hand, and for such a 

 little bird he has a very big bite and a 

 very fierce look. 



He loves to visit my mother in her 

 room, and is very happy walking all 

 over her and on her head, but she has 

 never yet been able to touch him. He 

 seems to have eyes all over his head, 

 for, no matter how careful "she is, he 

 always sees the finger. He thoroughly 

 enjoys my squeezing him in my hand, 

 and kissing him over and over again. 



No doubt long ere this my readers 

 have been wondering what kind of a 

 bird Little Billee is, but that is a ques- 

 tion which has not yet been answered. 

 But I love Little Billee so dearly that 

 it makes little difference to me what 

 his nationality is or whether his ances- 

 tors came over in the Mayflower, 

 fought in the American revolution, or 

 whether, like Topsy, he "just growed." 

 It was amusing to see Little Billee 

 the first time he heard the piano. 

 One morning two friends came to see 

 me, and while one of them played I 

 lay on the sofa with Little Billee cud- 

 dled up in my neck. At first he was 

 very much afraid and did not know 

 what to make of the music. Soon he 

 became charmed (as everyone does 

 who hears exquisite playing) and 

 craned his little neck way out, opened 

 his bill, as if he were drinking in the 

 sound, then reached around, kissed 

 me in the mouth, snuggled down again, 

 for a few minutes, and repeated it as 

 long as she played. 



One morning I saw Little Billee lying 

 on the floor before an open window 

 with his neck stretched out and bill 

 wide opened. I thought he was dying, 



