CHAPTER IV.

But, oh me! I didn't know then what other hard thing was coming. For a great many days I missed Rose, and wondered where she was. I thought everybody looked sad, and everything looked quiet, though a good many people were coming and going. One afternoon the folding doors were opened, and they trimmed the doorway with pretty green vines, and the room was filled with white flowers. Dear Rose lay on a little bed of flowers. She was just as white as the lilies that lay all over her pillow. It was really Rose, and she lay very still, and the pink was all gone out of her face. I was going to pour out a glad little song when I saw her, but when I noticed that everybody was crying and I saw Rose did not wake up, I gave two or three sad little chirps. Rose always used to come to me when she heard them, and say, "What's the matter, Tina, dear?" But now she never moved.

Somebody said, "Oh that bird will break my heart."

Then a lady came and carried me away to grandma's room. I did not know what happened next; I only know that I never saw my darling Rose again. But I am sure God took care of her, for she was kind and loving; and, once when she let me hang in her room all night, I saw her kneel down and pray just as they used to do in the little brown house.

I stayed in grandma's room always after that. I think she was lonely without her little Rose, and wanted me for company. She prayed, too, and read a good deal from a big book.

I was very lonely and sometimes, just at dusk, grandma would sing such sad tunes that I thought they would break my heart. One was:

Silently the shades of evening Gather round my lonely door.

I never could sing with her when she hummed that, but when she sang:

I lay my body down to sleep, Peace is the pillow for my head.

or

Around the throne of God in heaven Thousands of children stand.

I always sang them, for it seemed as if little Rose was singing too.

I never saw the dog or cat now, and Bob didn't come into the room very often, and grandma would not let him tease me. I don't know as he would have done it, anyway. He seemed to feel so bad because Rose was gone. He didn't do as much mischief as he used to. I felt sorry for him.

When winter came on and it was time to shut the doors and windows, I enjoyed myself. Grandma let me stay out of my cage all I pleased. I liked flying about the room and sitting up on top of a picture. I sat on grandma's head, too, and picked her lace cap; and when she ate apples, I sat on the arm of her chair. She would take a piece and then give me a bite. I have sat for a long time and watched her put a shiny needle in and out a piece of cloth. It was very funny work. I played with her spools, and her spectacles when she took them off. I think a bird would look very funny with little spectacles on.

Sometimes grandma's tea was sent up to her. Then I took tea with her. I took nibbles right out of the bread on the plate, and dipped my bill in the butter. I always noticed that people ate bread and butter together. I ate a little cake and some peaches, and walked all over the table and she never said "stop," once.

Grandma had some nice plants, and I had fine times with them. Sometimes I stayed all day among them. I enjoyed picking in the earth, and I played that I lived out doors, and that I had great, beautiful grounds, all my own, and that the high plants were my tall trees, and the little ones my rose bushes and lilacs. There was one big geranium that was my very tallest tree. When I felt tired, I played it was night and flew into my big tree and hid among the sweet-scented leaves and went to sleep. It was just beautiful. Sometimes I played that I had a great many brothers and sisters, or that each one of the pots was the house of one of my friends, and I would go out calling and have long talks with them; or they would come to visit me. I couldn't help thinking at times how nice it would be if Fred were there too. I suppose we would have quarreled if he had, for Fred always wanted his own way, and that shows me that I must have wanted my own way too, or there wouldn't have been anything to quarrel about. Grandma says that one can't quarrel alone. I heard her tell Bob so.

Once I did something very bad. Grandma went out and stayed a long time, and I got into great mischief. She had one handsome, fresh-looking plant, with bright green leaves. I never thought of eating any of them, but I happened to take a little nip out of this one. It didn't taste very good, but the leaves were tender and crisp, like lettuce, and I liked to snap out bits of it. It made me think of summer. I didn't mean to take all the leaves off. I worked real fast and it was good fun, but when I saw it stand there all bare, not a leaf left, I began to be frightened. When I heard grandma coming, I hid in the big geranium. I kept very still, and she didn't find me for ever so long.

When she spied the plant with all the leaves gone, I heard her say "O-h!" She called and called me, "Where are you, naughty little fellow?" I heard her say, but I never stirred.

My heart beat so loud I was afraid she would hear it. By that time I was so sorry and ashamed I most hoped she never would find me. She looked on the top of the windows and under the chairs; then she stooped down and looked in among the plants, and before I knew it, her hand was over me and I was caught.

As she put me in the cage and shut the door, she said, "Bad birdie; you must be punished for this. I cannot let you take tea with me to-night, nor let you out again for a good many days."

Oh, how I felt when I saw her supper brought in, I watched Angelina while she drew out the little round table, and put a pretty buff cloth on it, and set it out with china dishes all covered with pink flowers and butterflies, and then brought cunning little biscuit and cold meat, and preserves and cake—frosted cake too. Then she brought the little silver tea-pot smoking hot, and supper was all ready and I couldn't come to it. Oh, dear! If I only hadn't done it!

I've often wondered when I saw Bob doing naughty things why he did them when he knew he'd have to suffer for it in some way, and here I had been acting just like him. I stood right at the corner where I could see best and leaned my head out and watched grandma while she ate. How I did want to get on to that table! When she was through, she gave me a bit of cake, but I don't think I deserved it. I made up my mind never to be naughty again, though.

I could have been quite happy that winter, if we had not missed Rose so much. My heart was so heavy. Sometimes it was hard to sing a merry song. I asked grandma again and again to tell me about her. Once I heard her say, "Since Rosie died." I thought she must be somewhere, for grandma said one night when she sat in her arm chair by the fire, "Dear little Rosie, I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me."

Spring began to come again. I could see from my window that a soft green carpet was spread all over the earth. The trees blossomed out, some in pink, and some in white, and the warm air filled the room from open doors and windows. It was all so pretty and pleasant.

But now my door was never left open a minute, Angeline snapped it shut when she did up my room, as quick as wink. I felt as if it was rather hard to be such a prisoner when I was not used to it, and I began to get gloomy and discouraged again. When I saw other birds hopping about so gay and free, I used to tell grandma if she would only let me out a few minutes, just to sit in that lovely little cherry-tree and taste the blossoms, I would come right back. But she never paid any attention to such talk. She did hang my cage outside her window, though, and the branches of the elm drooped all about it. I had a good many visitors there, and some of them were very pleasant.

Little Mrs. Bluebird slipped over often. She told me how she and Mr. Bluebird worked for weeks making a lovely nest, lined with wool; and she had four little speckled eggs, and had commenced sitting on them when some bad boys tore down the nest and carried it off, eggs and all.

I wondered if it was Bob. She said she was discouraged, and she believed she would like to live in a little house like mine and be taken care of. After I had told her my troubles, she thought that perhaps she was as well off as anybody.

And I, too, found that my lot was not the hardest there was. Robin Redbreast told me that they all had passed through sad times that spring. They came North too early; the whole family froze their feet, and often went hungry to bed because not a crumb nor a bug was to be found on the snow-covered ground. And if it had not been for our grandma, they would certainly have starved. She put crumbs on the piazza roof for them every morning. He thought he would be perfectly happy in my home, with such a grandma. Then, besides, they had been obliged to move their nest three times that spring, and every one that visited me had complaints to make about the sparrows; they are a bad, quarrelsome set. It seems they were invited here from Europe, and now they act as if they owned all this country. I think they must be a very low family. I don't see why they should put on such airs. They are common enough looking birds with their dusty gray coats. Why! A sparrow looks like a mouse by the side of some that used to come to the elm—great, splendid creatures with scarlet vests and black velvet coats, looking as if they belonged to the royal family. They were kind, and polite, and modest, and they didn't come from Europe either. But there! Grandma says it is wrong to say ill-natured things of people.

Every morning at four o'clock all the birds in our neighborhood held a concert. They invited me to join it. They thought my voice would be a great addition, they said. They wanted Mr. Bobolink and me to sing a duet together. Then they put me down for a solo and all would join in the chorus. I wanted to attend very much, but I was ashamed to find that every morning by the time I got outside, the concert was over and my friends had gone different ways to attend to the business of the day. They were hard at work building nests, and they seemed so busy and happy, hopping about among the boughs, or going long journeys and coming back with twigs and bits of thread in their mouths.

Every night they had a sort of party just before bedtime and such a chattering as they kept up! Sometimes they held it in the elm-tree and I put in a little word now and then. But the favorite meeting place was in a grove across the street. Oh! How I longed to be out with them; my life seemed so hum-drum by the side of theirs.