CHAPTER III.

You would think that then, surely, I was perfectly happy, with everything so nice and a dear little mistress who loved me. But, oh, that boy! I knew as soon as I saw him that my troubles had begun. He seemed to have a great many names. Most of the time it was "Bob," but Rose called him "Rob." When he was going to bed his mother said, "Good-night, Robbie," and his father said "Robert!" when he was naughty, and that was most of the time. Saturdays he nearly tortured the life out of me. He would catch me, and squeeze me till I was almost choked. He would poke at my eyes, and open my mouth and try to get hold of my tongue. I tried to get away from him. If I could, I would have gone out of the window and left everything, and never have come back. Schools ought not to have Saturdays. Rose was in school all the week, and Saturdays she often went to visit her cousins, so nobody knew how the naughty boy tormented me.

I began to find out that Fred had told only the bright side of things. As the weeks passed away, I got tired of the life I led. It was fun at first to watch the people pass, but at last I got very tired watching them come and go, come and go all day long. Some of them looked cross, and some looked sad, and nobody looked very happy. It wasn't half so nice, after all, as hanging under the apple-tree and having calls from the other birds that flew about. Here no birds came to see me, except one ill-natured old sparrow, and he came to pick a quarrel with me. He would dart at my cage when the window was open, his mouth stretched and his eyes fierce as cat's eyes, I learned how to manage him after a while. I would just get back in the further corner of my cage, keep perfectly still, and look at him. So he got ashamed of himself and left me in peace. That was one of my troubles. I had others.

Some days I nearly starved. Everybody would go off and forget me. Not a drop of fresh water, not a seed in my cup, I thought many a day I should die before night. I would get so weak I couldn't sing, and I sat sad and cross and remembered how Rita and Dody never forgot me once. Rose would have seen to me if her mother had allowed her to, but I was left to the care of servants, and Rose went to school very early and did not know how badly I was treated. There were days, though, when I had everything and more too; sugar and orange and berries and cake. Then I often made myself sick. I would rather have had something steady, even if it was plain.

I was very lonely, too. Nobody seemed to have time to give me a kind word. Once when I had sung one of my best songs and did the high notes beautifully, a young man sitting in the room reading a newspaper, said, "What a horrid screecher that bird is. He ought to have his neck wrung!"

Think of that when I had been doing my best to please him! I didn't sing any more for a good many days. I just stood on my highest perch, and looked into the street to see if I couldn't see Rita and Dody coming to take me home. Day after day I tired myself all out watching, but they never came. It was dusty in that window, too. My eyes and nose were full of it. I thought of the pure air in my other home; how sweet the roses smelled in the porch; and Rita and Dody were there and I was not. Oh! If I had only been content in the dear little place. Now I never should see it again. They were better folks, too, in the little house. They never spoke angry words to each other. But in this house I heard a great many; besides there were no prayers and hymns there.

I had worse enemies, too, than Bob, I found out after awhile. One day, when Angeline took me into the kitchen to clean my cage, she left me standing on the kitchen table while she talked with another girl that put her head over the back fence. I was looking about the room, when to my horror I saw stretched out behind the stove a great long gray cat. I kept as still as a mouse—hardly breathed. It was dreadful! What if she should wake up? I had heard awful stories about cats.

I never took my eyes from her. Sure enough she did wake up just then. She stretched herself and washed her face, and then got up and walked about. I kept still. I didn't dare to scream as long as she had not seen me. All of a sudden she turned her head and saw me. Oh, what frightful big yellow eyes she had! She gave one great bound and sprang up on the table. Then I screamed loud and sharp, and Angeline rushed in, just as that dreadful monster had her paw raised all ready to strike at me.

Angeline took a broom and sent that cat out of the door pretty fast. Then she talked real nice to me, and comforted me, and I thought more of her than I ever did before.

Then they had a dog, too. He was another trouble. He was white as snow, and had little curls all over him, and wore a blue ribbon around his neck. His name was Beauty. He didn't act very beautiful. He tormented me too. He would jump up towards me, and bark furiously whenever he came into the parlor. I did not really think he could catch me, but it made me nervous.

The only happy moments I ever had was when I was alone with dear Rose. She was so gentle, and seemed to love me so much. She would put her face to mine and say low, sweet words. She called me "Tina," after the pretty young lady. Her name was Christina. Sometimes Rose took me to her room. Then she would open my cage door and tell me to fly. She shut all the windows first, or I think I should have run away again to get rid of my tormentors. But I did have good times in her room. I flew all about and it rested me. I sat on her pretty white bed, and on the tops of chairs, and walked all over the bureau and saw myself in the mirror.

I thought at first that I was meeting a stranger. I said to myself, "That's a good-looking little fellow; wonder who he is?" Then I bowed and talked to him, and he, impertinent fellow, just mimicked me for everything I did and said. Then I scolded at him, and he scolded back.

I began to feel cross, and I was just getting ready to fight him when Rose said, "Why, Tina, that's yourself!" And grandma who sat in the room said, "He's as foolish as some touchy boys and girls are; ready to quarrel with their own shadows." Then I can tell you I felt ashamed.

Grandma was another good friend of mine. She always made Bob let me alone when she happened to be in the room with us, and she began to look after me every day, and see if I had some nice little bit to eat. Whenever she ate an orange, she always gave a piece to me. She was a pretty old lady. Her hair was white as snow. She wore black silk dresses and white lace caps, and her face looked as if everything was just as she liked to have it.