room, and she commenced playing a beautiful
overture, when, suddenly, a loud, angry "cluck! cluck!" caused her to
jump up, with a little scream.

Looking round at the cage, she exclaimed in great astonishment, "Why,
what on earth! what is it? Has the bird got the dropsy and swelled out
in that dreadful manner? Impossible! Goodness!" she exclaimed again, as
the chicken gave vent to another cry, "It is not the bird at all!--it is
a chicken. But how did it come there? Why, Peter! what a red face! Do
you know, Peter? Answer me, this moment!"

And now poor little Peter fairly gave way. His lips, which had been
trembling all the time she was speaking, were drawn down at the corners,
nearly under his chin, as he sobbed out, "Why, Minnie, I thought the
bird wanted to run up into the sky, where all the other birds were, so I
just opened the door. I thought he would not go more than fifty miles,
you know, and then come back you know! I am so sorry, Minnie, it is
forty million pities if he _don't_ come back. I put the chicken in the
cage on purpose to please you; but she can't sing any thing but that old
'cluck, cluck!' and she kicked all the bread in my face, and I can't
bear her. Oh, dear! oh, dear me!"

For her life Minnie could not help laughing, and, besides, she could not
help admiring the brave manner (if he _did_ cry about) with which her
little brother told the truth. Peter was the baby of the family, an only
son, and a great pet; but if he _was_ dreadfully mischievous he never
did a mean thing, _and never told a lie_! Think of _that_, boys and
girls, and take example by the little fellow.

Minnie, when she saw how distressed he really was, generously forgave
him, and bade good-by to her bird, though not without some tears, for
she loved the little creature dearly; and to comfort Peter took him in
her lap, and told him an entertaining story.

One day, his mother said, "I am going to New York for a few days; what
shall I bring you, my darling, when I return?"

"Oh, mother! a penknife and a pair of skates for next winter, and a
penknife! and a basketfull of lemons, to make lemonade! and--and--if
you please, a penknife; do, please, mamma!"

His mother laughed at the great desire for a penknife, without which,
all boys feel, I believe, that they are very much abused, and deprived
of their peculiar right.

"I will remember all your wishes, my dear boy," she said, "particularly
the penknife."

"Well, mamma, for fear