le
wings. She sprang out upon the floor, fancying for a moment, that it
was her chick-a-dee, that was singing so merrily; and she hastened to
the basket, and carefully lifted the wool. She was grievously
disappointed, for the poor bird lay stretched upon its back, and when
she lifted it, she found it was quite cold and dead! Her little bosom
swelled, and large tears gushed from her eyes. It was more than she
could bear, and when Sally came into the room, a few moments
afterwards, she found her sobbing bitterly.

[Illustration: THE ROBIN.]

Frank was in the room below, studying over his Sabbath school lesson,
but when he heard his sister crying, he dropped his book, and hastened
up to her. Sally had told him, that the bird was dead; and he, too,
felt very badly about it, but he could not bear to hear his sister
grieve so.

"Don't cry so, dear sister," he said, "I will earn some money, and buy
you a Canary, like Mary Day's."

"No, no, Frank; I don't want any more birds; and, O, how I do wish I
had never wanted this one," and then she cried again, as though her
little heart was breaking.

It was some time before she was at all pacified, and even then, the
long sighs seemed almost to choke her.

As Sally said, she was, indeed, 'very much afflicted.'

After breakfast, her grandmother, to divert her mind, took her in her
lap, and read to her Bible stories, until the first bell rang for
church. Then Fanny was dressed in a neat lawn, and her long curls were
fastened back, under her simple straw bonnet; and taking hold of
Frank's hand, they walked to church with their grand-parents.

Several times during the sermon, Fanny's lips quivered, and tears
started to her eyes, but she looked at the minister, and tried very
hard, to forget the little dead chick-a-dee.

After church, they staid to Sunday school. When they went home, Fanny
asked if they might not stay at home that afternoon, so as to go down
in the woods, and bury the bird. Her grandmother told her that that
would not be right; and Fanny said very earnestly,

"Why not, grandmother? Wouldn't that be an errand of mercy?" This made
her grandmother smile; but she told her that the poor bird's
sufferings were now over, and that it was to shorten them, that she
had given her consent to Frank's carrying it into the woods, on the
Sabbath.

After dinner, they all went to church again, but Fanny was very warm
and tired; so her grandmother took off her bonnet, and laid