upted the Portuguese duck; "he requires
rest and nursing. My little singing bird, do you wish me to prepare
another bath for you?"

"Oh, no! no! pray let me be dry," implored the little bird.

"The water cure is the only remedy for me when I am not well," said the
Portuguese. "Amusement, too, is very beneficial. The fowls from the
neighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. There are two
Cochin-Chinese among them; they wear feathers on their legs and are well
educated. They have been brought from a great distance, and consequently
I treat them with greater respect than I do the others."

Then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to keep from
being rude. "You are a real songster," he said, "and you do as much with
your little voice as it is possible to do; but more noise and shrillness
is necessary if one wishes others to know who he is."

The two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing
bird. His feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, so that he seemed
to them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl. "He's charming," they said to
each other, and began a conversation with him in whispers, using the
most aristocratic Chinese dialect.

"We are of the same race as yourself," they said. "The ducks, even the
Portuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. You do not
know us yet--very few, even of the fowls, know us or give themselves the
trouble to make our acquaintance, though we were born to occupy a higher
position in society than most of them. But that does not disturb us; we
quietly go our way among them. Their ideas are certainly not ours, for
we look at the bright side of things and only speak of what is good,
although that is sometimes difficult to find where none exists. Except
ourselves and the cock, there is not one in the yard who can be called
talented or polite. It cannot be said even of the ducks, and we warn
you, little bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail
feathers, for she is cunning. Then the curiously marked one, with the
crooked stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker and never lets any one
have the last word, though she is always in the wrong. The fat duck
yonder speaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles; if
we have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is the
only one who has had any education and with whom we can associate, but
she is passionate and talks too much about Portugal."

"I won