THE STORY OF NAN 



ing the water first over her head and then gradually 

 soaking every feather. Sometimes she would indulge 

 in two baths a day. However she persisted in her 

 odd capers on the dictionary, until I procured her a 

 big bowl of sand. Here she wallowed in delicious con- 

 tent. Now was her life one continual joy! 



Never did Nan care to leave my room, although 

 the door was always open. Into the dressing-room 

 she flew often and even the bathroom beyond, but there 

 her ambition ended. Although the French dictionary 

 continued to be her favorite, all books had a strange 

 fascination for her, as she generally managed to de- 

 tach a string somewhere about them with which to 

 play. She loved the telephone too, first because it had 

 a loose end on which she used to hang like a chick- 

 adee, and secondly because she saw another bird in its 

 shining base. One picture on the wall reflected her- 

 self so plainly that she would spend hours fluttering 

 down before it or hunting down behind it for the bird 

 she knew was there. When doing my hair before the 

 triple mirror, she was often on my shoulder, and her 



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