CHRISTMAS WITH THE BIRDS. 



It was Christmas week, and Teddy 

 was sick. Teddy was a little brown- 

 eyed, 'fair-haired girl, christened Theo- 

 dora May, and the only reason she ever 

 became Teddy was because she had two 

 brothers who went to the high school 

 part of the time, and who during the 

 other part climbed trees, and made en- 

 gines, and rode their ponies at a furious 

 gait. 



It couldn't be expected that two rollick- 

 ing boys like these could bring their 

 minds to say "Theodora" in a dignified 

 and proper manner, or even "Theo," as 

 Mamma and every one else did. So they 

 called her "Teddy" on the start and the 

 name clung to her ever afterward. 



As for the sickness, Teddy was just 

 getting over the measles, and on Christ- 

 mas week, too! No wonder Teddy was 

 rather doleful, though she tried so hard 

 to be brave. Mamma was just as good 

 as she knew how to be, and read to her 

 stories and brought out all sorts of won- 

 derful things to amuse her. 



The Christmas tree which her brothers, 

 Harry and Fred, had decorated for her 

 with such pains, no longer charmed. 

 Although the boys sometimes teased their 

 little sister when she was well, they were 

 as gentle as could be when she was sick, 

 and had expended a great deal of time 

 upon the arrangement of a tree in the 

 little alcove off her room. But it was 

 now the day before New Year's and the 

 tree began to have a worn out appear- 

 ance such as trees have a way of acquir- 

 ing after several days have passed. The 

 red tin soldier which graced the topmost 

 bough had lopped over in a forlorn man- 

 ner and his musket which stood up over 

 his shoulder in a very soldierly style now 

 pointed out of the front window. 



"I wish I was a bird instead of a little 

 girl," sighed Teddy as a little chickadee 

 hopped along on the roof of the veranda 



under the window. "Then I wouldn't 

 have to go to school, and practice on the 

 piano, and — have measles," she added, as 

 if this were the culmination of all 

 troubles. 



"No," added Mamma, "nor have three 

 large dolls for Christmas, or a box of 

 paints, or a Christmas tree, or perhaps 

 any Christmas dinner unless you flew 

 around and found it for yourself." 



"Why couldn't we have a Christmas 

 dinner for the birds?" said Teddy, 

 brightening at a sudden thought. "We 

 can have it right out here on the roof of 

 the veranda and invite all the birds in the 

 neighborhood," and she clapped her 

 hands as the plan developed in her mind. 



"I think it would be an excellent idea," 

 said Mamma, glad of something to inter- 

 est her during the remaining day or two 

 of her imprisonment. "You could send 

 the invitation out this afternoon, and 

 make your preparations tomorrow, and 

 have the dinner the next day." 



"But it is so long after Christmas," 

 sighed Teddy. "Won't the birds know 

 the difference?" 



"Not at all," said Mamma; "in fact, 

 I think it will be all the better, for if I 

 am not surprised we shall have some 

 more snow tonight and they will find it 

 more difficult to find their own dinner, 

 and will be all the more anxious to ac- 

 cept your invitation." 



"What shall I do first?" said Teddy, 

 who> suddenly became so well one 

 wouldn't know she had ever been sick. 



"Write the invitation," replied Mam- 

 ma, "and it must be done very carefully 

 and written very plainly so they will have 

 no trouble in reading it." 



Of course so' serious a matter as this 

 required a great deal of time. It was 

 writen and rewritten and blotted and 

 copied over so many times that Teddy 

 was quite tired out and glad to be snug- 



207 



