At length, when I had nearly lost all hope, I was aroused by the shutting of the green-house door, and the following instant I heard my beloved mistress calling me, as she was accustomed to do, by imitating the chirping of a bird. I answered, in accents half joyful, hair mournful, for I was nearly starved with cold and hunger, and overjoyed at meeting with her again. She followed the sound of my voice, and I, as soon as I saw her, flew into a little tuft of ivy, close to where she stood, that she might see me; and there I remained quietly, till she took me gently in her hand to convey me home. I was glad enough to see the school-room again, and well contented, after a plentiful feeding, to retire to rest on my accustomed music-book.
On the following morning, my companion, the goldfinch, informed me of what had passed in my absence. My mistress returning without me excited no surprise, as she frequently shut me up in her own room, that I might be at liberty, without interrupting her business in the school-room; but one of the children happening to enquire where I was, my flight was proclaimed.
All the young people evinced great regret, but my mistress told them she had no doubt that I should be much happier out of doors; adding, “You know I never intended keeping him a prisoner, and have, therefore, frequently taken him out, that he might learn to provide for himself.”
“I fear he cannot do that yet,” said Clara.
“Beware, my love,” returned her governess, “lest, under that fond concern for the little favourite, there should lurk a degree of self-love. I must acknowledge, that, for my own gratification, I should have preferred keeping him; but I love the little creature well enough to consider his happiness, and that I think must consist, in a great measure, in freedom. The very make of birds indicates that they ought to be as free as the element in which they range.”
These arguments seemed to satisfy the children. “But,” enquired Anna, “how will you be able to ascertain that he is happy? Do you expect ever to see him again?”
“I intend,” said my mistress, “to go out a little before sun-set; if when I call him he comes to me, I will receive him again under my protection; but if, on the contrary, he shuns me, I shall conclude that he no longer stands in need of it.”
The dear girls were much pleased with this arrangement, and still more so with the result, of which my young readers are already informed. The forlorn state in which my mistress had found me, induced her to believe that I was yet too young to be set at liberty; and I was by no means sorry on that account, for my late ramble had given me no exalted idea of the happiness I should enjoy out of doors. Besides, I was perfectly happy in my present situation, for I had every comfort that could be procured for me; and I have observed that birds are not, like human beings, apt to grow tired, even of good things, after having enjoyed them some time.
No one, however, grew tired of me: I was daily more admired and caressed by my young friends in the school-room, by their dear mamma, and by the visitors who sometimes came to hear my little friends play on the piano-forte. And here I cannot omit one remark, which I think extremely creditable to them, because I have since seen many young persons very deficient in that respect. When requested to play, though their execution was by no means superior, they complied so readily, and acquitted themselves with such modest good-humour, as could not fail to enhance the merit of their performance, and create in the minds of their auditors, that admiration which is never excited by talents alone. I also got my share of praise on these occasions, for I contrived sometimes to settle on the music-book, and at others on Lady Seymour’s arm or shoulder, where I frequently fell asleep, though not till I had heard many expressions of surprise at my familiarity. I cannot say that I felt much vanity arise in my mind, from the admiration lavished on me; for I did not think it at all surprising, that extreme kindness on the part of my friends, should excite a similar degree of confidence in me. I am, indeed, convinced, that were there more such persons as the goldfinch’s Sophia and my protectors, few little birds would be kept, as I have seen many, in small cages, hung up in a corner, and scarcely noticed except when fed. But as it is time to return to my history, after this long digression, it shall be resumed in the succeeding chapter.