At night she, returned home by the light of a beautiful moon, and went to bed very happy. In the morning she went into the garden to hear Black-pate sing; but no Black-pate was there! At first she felt a little sad; but she remembered how happy the little birds were, that she had seen the day before; and she soon sent her sad feelings away A few days after this, a gentleman, a friend of her father, came to dine with them. As he was very fond of children, he talked a great deal with Lucy; and she told him the story of her bird. Black-pate.
He listened very kindly to her and when she had finished, he said, "And so, my little girl, then your fine cage is quite empty and useless now?"
"Yes, sir," said Lucy. "Well," said he, "I have some young birds that were born in a cage; and they will not be unhappy to live in one, if they are taken good care of; for they have never known any other home. Now if your mother is willing, and you would like it, I will send you one to-morrow morning, to put into your empty cage. And I dare say you will never forget to feed him, and give him fresh water to drink and wash in every morning."
Mrs. Tracy was quite willing; and Lucy promised she would not forget.—The next morning the gentleman sent the bird; for he always remembered his promises.
This bird was not so handsome as Black-pate; his color was not as brilliant, nor his neck so long and graceful; but he sung very sweetly; and Lucy soon found that she loved him quite as well as she had ever loved Black-pate Though only six years old, she never once forgot to give him fresh seeds and water, and to clean his cage every morning. She was so small that she could not take down the cage from the sunny window, where it hung, nor put it back, after she had cleaned it; but her father was so much pleased with her attention to her little favorite, that he was always ready to help her.
For nearly two years, Lucy thought that her bird grew handsomer and sang more sweetly every day. She used to go to school in the morning, and when she came home, would often bring flowers to dress his cage with, or chickweed, and the long seed vessels of the plantain, which little birds love very much; and he always repaid her with a song.
But the third spring, he began to droop and look sick; he left off singing, and almost left off eating. He would sit on his roost for a long time, hanging his head, as if he had not strength to hold it up.