The grand business of the fête was no sooner over, than Amelia’s thoughts recurred to me, and she accompanied Louisa, on the following evening, to the cottage. I shall pass over the poor woman’s expressions of gratitude, (which Miss Amelia did not receive with that openness and affability I had so often observed in Louisa on similar occasions,) and continue my narrative.
Amelia asked to see me. “It is a Robin,” said she: “does it sing?”
“Yes, Miss,” said Peggy; “perhaps, if you stay a little while, you will hear him.”
I was not willing to disappoint my little mistress, so I presently after began to sing.
“That is not the song of a Robin,” said Amelia.
“So I have often observed,” returned Louisa; “but it is a very sweet song, and he is a very nice little bird, I think.”
“So do I,” said Amelia: “I wish I had one like him. Could not you get me one, child?” enquired she, addressing Peggy.
“I don’t know, Miss, but I’ll try—I mean, I’ll ask our Willy to try.”
“Do so,” said Amelia; “but I suppose there are few like this: I never saw one so tame. Besides, I thought Robins could not be kept in a cage.”
The object of the visit being thus far attained, the young ladies departed. Louisa, however, ran back to tell Peggy’s mother, that though she was now about to return home with her mamma, the little girl should not be forgotten; for that she would come, though perhaps not so often, to teach her. “After Christmas,” added she, “I shall be able to send her to the village school; and in the mean time, you can send her every Sunday with her brother, to learn her Catechism, and then I can teach her; for mamma has promised to take me always with her to the Sunday-school.”