tle of late that I did not know she had
been away from home for days. But she expected to-night, or, at
furthest, to-morrow morning. I left the bird with the servant at
the door, who could hardly believe what he saw. As I passed out
of my front gate on my way there, the boy who returns about that
time from the pasture for his cows joined me as I hurried along,
attracted by the fluttering of the bird in the cage.

"Is it the red-bird? _I_ tried to ketch him once," he said,
with entire forgiveness of me, as having served him right, "but
I caught something else. I'll never forget _that_ whipping. Oh,
but _wouldn't_ I like to have him! Mr. Moss, you wouldn't mind
my trying to ketch one of them little bits o' brown fellows, would
you, that hops around under them pine-trees? They ain't no account
to nobody. Oh my! but _wouldn't_ I like to have him! May I bring
_my_ trap some time, and will you help me to ketch one o' them
little bits o' brown ones? You can beat _me_ ketchin' 'em!"

Several times to-night I have gone across and listened under
Georgiana's window. The servant must have set the cage in her
room, for, as I listened, I am sure I heard the red-bird beating
his head and breast against the wires. Awhile ago I went again,
and did not hear him. I waited a long time. . . . _He may
be quieted_. . . .

Ah, if any one had said to me that I would ever do what I have
done, with what full, deep joy could I have throttled the lie in
his throat! I put the trap under one of the trees where I have
been used to feed him. When it fell he was not greatly frightened.
He clutched the side of it, and looked out at me. My own mind supplied
his words: "Help! I'm caught! Take me out! You promised!" When
I transferred him to the cage, for a moment his confidence lasted
still. He mounted the perch, shook his plumage, and spoke out
bravely and cheerily. Then all at once came on the terror.

The dawn came on this morning with its old splendor. The birds
in my yard, as of old, poured forth their songs. But those loud,
long, clear, melodious, deep-hearted, passionate, best-loved notes!
As the chorus swelled from shadowy shrubs and vines to the sparking
tree-tops I listened for some sound from Georgiana's room, but over
there I saw only the soft, slow flapping of the white curtains like
signals of distress.

Towards ten o'clock, wandering restless, I snatched up a book, which
I had no wish to read, and went to