Nearly every bird in the room uttered a satisfied note, then they all flew to her feet where she set the dishes.
I was not hungry, and ate little. When she opened the door a few minutes later to go out, I flew to her and lighted on her arm.
My father was taking a nap, and I knew by the wicked look in Green-Top’s eye that he would begin bullying me as soon as she left the room.
“Take me out,” I chirped, “take me out,” for I knew that she often took good steady little birds out into her own part of the house.
She understood me. “But, Dicky-Dick,” she said, “you are so young. I fear you might fly away.”
“I’ll be good. I’ll be good,” I sang in my unsteady young voice, and, relenting, she put out a finger, urged me gently to her shoulder where she usually carried her birds, that being the safest foothold, and walked out into the hall.
My mother saw me going and called out a
warning. “Be careful, Dicky-Dick. You will see strange sights. Don’t lose your head. Keep close to our Mary.”
“I’ll be careful, careful,” I called back, but my heart was going pit-a-pat when the bird-room door closed behind me, and I went out into the strange new world of the hall.