y had
found him--still and motionless as though dying, and her heart was
filled with tender pity, that its brief life should thus be so soon
ended.

'Poor birdie! I fear it is dying,' she said. 'I will unfasten the cage;
perhaps the fresh air will revive him, and bring back his failing
strength.'

And with kindly hands she opened the prison door, thus giving him
liberty.

The cool, fresh air, stirring his drooping feathers, aroused him from
his lethargy; at first he could not believe that the door was open, that
he was free. It was almost too much happiness for the poor sick bird to
bear; yet it was true--freedom was his, and his first thought was of
Jenny.

He would fly to meet her, as he knew she would soon return, bearing with
her the blue flowers he loved, and then, when she saw _him_ coming
towards her,--free, yes, free!--would not all past sorrow be forgotten
in the ever-present joy? So, with a twitter of gratitude to the girl who
had opened his prison door, he fluttered his wings, just to try their
strength, poised a while in the air, then away he flew with unerring
instinct towards his dear home in the old oak tree.

But of Jenny?

With a sad weight upon her poor little heart, crushing it with the iron
grip of despair, she reached the spot where the flowers grew, plucked a
few blossoms from the stem, then away again, without pausing to rest,
bearing the prized flowerets in her beak. She felt not fatigue; though
her weary pinions sometimes faltered, still she heeded it not, still
struggling on, eager to reach where he lay dying. Her only thought was:

'If he were to die, and I not with him.'

But slower and slower grew her flight; strength at last was failing, for
it had been too severely tried; her breath came quick and fast, in
short, fitful gasps, and her heart beat heavily beneath her quivering
breast.

'Oh, but to see him once more!' she moaned, as she felt her weary wings
failed to do her bidding. She tried to fly yet a little farther, in
vain; her tired pinions fluttered for a while, then down she sank,
slowly, slowly, on to the calm bosom of a rippling stream that was
flowing on over its pebbly sands with soothing melody.

'Jenny, Jenny, my own love, where are you? I have sought you so long, my
darling,' she heard the well-known voice exclaiming.

She raised her dying eyes, and saw her loved mate hovering above her in
the summer air.

'I am here, love,' she faintly murmured.

Then with