sn't any good."

"You don't love Cousin Magdalen," said Maudie, "if you did you couldn't
help crying."

"I _do_ love her. I love her as many times as you do, ugl"----

She stopped--Magdalen was looking at her with a look that Hoodie
understood. Hoodie ran to her and threw her arms round her neck.

"I _do_ love you, Cousin Magdalen," she whispered. "Don't you believe
me? I do love you, and I'm trying dedfully to be good, to please you and
God, 'cos of birdie coming back."

"I do believe you, dear," said Magdalen, and Hoodie glanced round with
triumph.

I am coming now to a part of Hoodie's history which I cannot prevent
being rather sad. I wish, for some reasons, I could prevent it. But true
stories must be told true, and even fancy stories must be told in a
fancy true way, or else they do not suit themselves. When I was a
little girl I never cared for the new-fashioned "Red Riding Hood" story;
the one in which she was _not_ eaten up at the end after all, but saved
by a wood-cutter at the last minute. Of course it was very nice to think
of poor Red Riding Hood not being eaten up, if one could have managed to
believe it. But somehow I never could, and even now whenever I think of
the story the old original ending, dreadful as it was, always comes back
to me. So now that I am telling you about--not Red Riding Hood--but my
queer, fanciful, but still I hope lovable, Hoodie, I feel that I must go
straight on and tell you what really happened, even though it makes you
rather sad.

For some time after Miss King left, things went on pretty smoothly, very
smoothly, perhaps I should say. Hoodie did not forget about trying to be
good, especially in her bird's presence. It became a sort of conscience
to her, and as, by a law which is a great help in learning to be
good,--though also a danger the more in learning _wrong_,--by the law of
_habit_, every time one tries to keep under one's ill temper, makes it
easier for the next time, it grew really easier for Hoodie to check her
naughty cross words and looks from the way she kept them down when
beside her little pet. And Martin and every one began to think it had
been a happy thing for Hoodie and those about her that her cousin had
taught her how to tame and care for the pretty greenfinch.

It was so pretty, poor little birdie! It grew so tame that, with the
window shut of course, it spent a great part of its time flying freely
about the ante-room where stood its cage. It woul