PARABLE FIFTH.
THE LITTLE SEED—KINDNESS.
hy, what have you got in your beak?' asked a dingy London Sparrow of another, just as dingy as himself.
'Well, I hardly know,' replied his friend, laying down the article in question, and surveying it critically with his head on one side; 'but it seems to me as though it is a seed—of some sort!'
'So it is,' assented the other, as he hopped nearer and attentively examined the treasure-trove. 'Yes,'—as if the idea had suddenly suggested itself,—'yes, it is a seed. Where did you find it?'
'I did not steal it,' exclaimed the owner of the property, who evidently resented a something in his companion's manner of questioning; 'I honestly picked it up in a garden, where it was lying on the top of the earth, not in it,' he added, with emphasis. 'I expect the wind blew it there, for the gales have been very high these last few days.'
'Yes, yes,' replied the questioner with alacrity; perhaps he feared he had wounded his friend's feelings, and dreaded lest there might ensue a squabble, for sparrows, it must be confessed, are easily affronted over trifles, though, as a rule, they are good-tempered little fellows enough, putting up with scanty fare and homely lodgings very contentedly and cheerfully. 'I wonder what kind of seed it is, do you know?' he still further questioned, being of an inquisitive turn of mind.
'No, I do not,' replied the finder.
'Ah,' he said, with a sigh that ruffled all his feathers, 'if we did but live in the beautiful green hedgerows, instead of dwelling among town chimneys, we should soon know what it was; our country cousins would be able to tell us in a moment if it was good to eat or not. By the bye, shall you eat it?' he pursued, eyeing his friend in the same keen way as he eyed occasional crumbs of bread, his sharp little eye glancing quick and bright whilst waiting for the reply.