All of a sudden there was a great rustling in Cherry's cage that swung in the big window on the other side of the room. And then he set up a loud and angry chirping, flying up and down, and opening his mouth as if he wanted to express his mind, but couldn't, and otherwise acting in a very strange and unaccountable manner.
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Pepper, “what's that?”
“It's Cherry,” said Polly, lifting up her head from “Fasquelle,” “and—oh, dear me!” and flinging down the pile of books in her lap on a chair, she rushed across the room and flew up to the cage and began to wildly gesticulate and explain and shower down on him every endearing name she could think of.
“What is the matter?” asked her mother, turning around in her chair in perfect astonishment. “What upon earth, Polly!”
“How could I!” cried Polly, in accents of despair, not heeding her mother's question. “Oh, mamsie, will he die, do you think?”
“I guess not,” said Mrs. Pepper, laying down her work and coming up to the cage, while Phronsie scrambled off from her chair and hurried to the scene. “Why, he does act queer, don't he? P'raps he's been eating too much?”
“Eating!” said Polly, “oh mamsie, he hasn't had anything.” And she pointed with shame and remorse to the seed-cup with only a few dried husks in the very bottom.
“Oh, Polly,” began Mrs. Pepper; but seeing the look on her face, she changed her tone for one more cheerful. “Well, hurry and get him some now; he'll be all right, poor little thing, in a minute. There, there,” she said, nodding persuasively at the cage, “you pretty creature you! so you sha'n't be starved.”
At the word “starved,” Polly winced as though a pin had been pointed at her.
“There isn't any, mamsie, in the house,” she stammered; “he had the last yesterday.”