vity that grew to be as
tame as canaries. My aunt had one that lived twelve years in a cage.
It would peck her cheek, and pretend to kiss her, and do all sorts of
sweet little tricks. His cage door stood open, and he went in and out
as it suited him, but he never thought of flying away. However, it is
only natural to suppose that hopping about in a narrow space would be
dreadful to a bird accustomed to spreading its wings and soaring up
through the sky whenever and wherever it pleased."

Miss Kathy looked at the clock. She saw it was time for her to go back
into the store, then gathered up her work and went into the front room.
When Polly was left to herself I could see she was thinking very hard.
The rocking-chair kept moving faster, and her forehead was drawn into a
little pucker between her eyes. She sighed too, occasionally, as if
she were sad.

I noticed that Miss Katharine from her post behind the counter looked
in at the child from time to time, and I heard her say half-aloud: "If
the fashionable women of the land had hearts as merciful and
consciences as tender as that dear little Polly's, the slaughter of the
birds would soon come to an end."

The birch chair finally ceased to rock. The deep-drawn wrinkle passed
away from Polly's forehead. She laid down her book and came to my
cage, then she stood for a moment looking at me tenderly. Then she
took the cage down from its hook and carried it to the door leading to
the garden. The air was pleasant, and a sunbeam slanted across the
porch making a yellow gleam on the lattice. How beautiful it looked to
my weary eyes!

"Dearest Dickey Downy, good-bye," she said to me, and her voice had a
little tremor in it. "You had a right to be happy and live out of
doors among the trees, and I kept you a prisoner. Please forgive me
for it, and forgive me for wearing birds' wings on my Sunday hat. I
shall never do such cruel things again. It's coming spring now,
Dickey, so be happy and fly away to the beautiful clouds."

She set the little wire door wide open. A warm zephyr swept by, laden
with the scent of wild flowers and all sweet growing things. My heart
fluttered with joy. I heard the far cry of the hills as I floated out
and upward, higher and higher, on joyous wing. I was free, free!

End of Project Gutenberg's Dickey Downy, by Virginia Sharpe Patterson

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DICKEY DOWNY ***

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