him until breakfast-time, and fast losing all hope of ever
seeing him again. About eleven o'clock I was returning from the kitchen
garden, with my hands full of fruit and flowers, when, to my intense
delight, poor little Richard came slowly out from under a laurel, and
stood in the path before me, as veritable a type of a birdish prodigal
son as could well be imagined.

His feathers were ruffled, his wings drooping, his whole aspect
irresistibly reminded one of the Jackdaw of Rheims; and the way he
sidled up to me, with half-closed eyes and drooping head, was one of the
most pathetic things I ever experienced. He so plainly said, "I'm very
sorry--hope you'll forgive me; won't do it again"; and certainly his
mute appeal was not in vain, for down went my fruit and flowers, and
with loving words I took up my lost darling, and cooed over him all
sorts of affectionate rubbish until we reached home and he was restored
to his cage. There his one desire was water. Poor fellow! he was nearly
famished. I think another hour would have seen his end. There is no
water in the garden, except in the stone vase in front of the
dining-room window, and he would not have known how to find that, so he
must have been twenty-eight hours without drinking anything beyond a
possible drop of dew now and then. I had to feed him with great care--a
little food, and very often, until he recovered a measure of strength.
He was very drooping all day, and I quite feared he might not live after
all, he was so nearly starved to death. After some days, however,
"Richard was himself again," and as bright and amusing as ever. I have
not related the amusing characteristics of his "daily tub." His love of
water was a perfect passion, and water he would have. At first he was
treated to a large glass dish on the matting in the dining-room, but he
sent up such a perfect fountain of spray over curtains, couch, and
chairs, that the housemaid voted "that bird" a nuisance, and a better
plan was devised. In the conservatory is a pool of water, with rock-work
and ferns at the back, and there is a central tube where a fountain can
be turned on. I made a small island of green moss a little above the
water, and, placing Richard upon it, I turned the fountain on to play a
delicate shower of spray over him. He was perfectly enchanted, and
fluttered, turned about, and frisked, like a bird possessed. As he
became accustomed to it, I began to throw handfuls of water over him,