inquired Hec.

Magdalen was by this time employed in examining into the state of
Hoodie's garments. It was rather deplorable!

"It's no good, Maudie," she exclaimed at last. "She must be thoroughly
undressed, for she's damp all over. I _must_ take her up to Martin--oh,
dear, what a pity! Just when we had had such a nice morning."

"But it was a vezzy good thing I saw the little bird felling down,
wasn't it?" said Hoodie complacently, as she trotted off with her
cousin's hand. "And Martin won't 'cold _me_, 'cos it was your fault for
letting me go out in the wet; wasn't it, Cousin Magdalen?" she added
with great satisfaction.

Magdalen, to tell the truth, found it rather difficult to keep her
temper with Hoodie just then.

"_Hoodie_," she said sharply. "It is not right to speak like that. You
_know_ you ran away out before I could stop you."

"But if you hadn't opened the door, I couldn't have goned," was Hoodie's
calm reply, with mischievous triumph in her bright eyes.

Martin received the misfortune very philosophically--perhaps she was not
sorry, at the bottom of her heart, that some one else should have some
experience of the trials she had with Hoodie.

"Not that she means always to be naughty, of course, Miss," she
explained to Magdalen. "But she's that heedless and tiresome--oh dear!
Though one could manage that if it wasn't for her queer temper--_queer_
indeed! queer's no word for it."

"Martin, Martin," came in Hoodie's shrill voice from the inner room,
where she was sitting, minus the greater part of her attire, while
Martin "aired" the clean clothes, unexpectedly required, at the nursery
fire. "Martin, you must go down to the kitchen _at oncest_, and get
some bread and milk for my bird. I'm going to keep it _alvays_, Martin,
and you mustn't let Duke and Hec touch it never."

"Well, well, Missie, we'll see," said Martin; "you must get your Mamma's
leave first, you know."

"By the bye, I'd better go and speak to her about it," said Magdalen.
"Shall I tell the other children to come up-stairs, Martin? And my poor
letter," she said, smiling rather dolefully, as she went out of the
nursery, "I'll never get it written before luncheon, for I must
superintend the feeding of the bird, otherwise the children will
certainly kill it with kindness."

Magdalen had a good deal of experience in rearing little birds and
little lambs, and all such small unfortunates. She had always lived in
the country, and having