Oliver Twist, Catbird 165 



flies or for the worms tliat even in the greenhouse went clown beyond 

 reach of the trowel. 



The cage now stood among the plants in a sunny window of the 

 dining-room, and the conversation at meal times generally started 

 Oliver singing ; yet it was always a low version of the usual Catbird 

 song, for he invariably sang with the bill nearl}' closed. Often in the 

 dark December mornings he was scarcely awake when breakfast began, 

 but in a few minutes we would hear his cheerful little song — the first 

 thing in his day — before he even left his night's perch. Then, as 

 the sun touched him there came a great arranging of feathers and 

 a good shake to put each one in }>lace again, and then breakfast. 



The bath was almost never omitted from the time the bird was 

 about a month old, and often he bathed twice a day if the first were 

 given him early in the morning ; and how he enjoyed it I shuffling up 

 the water with his wings, ducking his head, and spattering in every 

 direction till he was soaked through, then going to the perch and 

 flicking wings and tail and ruffling, the feathers until dry. 



To some extent Oliver showed affection by coming most readily 

 to me, who generally fed him, and by an odd little greeting he usu- 

 ally gave when I offered him my finger, gently pinching it or giving 

 a slight peck, too mild ever to be mistaken for anger. Unfortunately 

 this was broken up b\- the teasing of another member of the family, 

 and the pecks became too severe to be altogether agreeable. 



He was growing more wild and more unwilling to return to his 

 cage, and I intended to let him go when spring came, but long before 

 that time he got sickly and sluggish, eager for the berries and insects 

 that were not to be found, and in spite of everything I tried in their 

 stead, he died late in December. 



But though Oliver Twist lived so short a time he taught me many 

 interesting lessons, one of which, in particular, I shall long remem- 

 ber : never try to keep a fruit- and insect-eating bird through the 

 winter, for no amount of willingness and care can supply him with 

 proper food. Take nature's word for it — she knows quite well what 

 she is about when she sends them all off to the south. 



k 



