He had never lighted on her hand before, but he did so now, and stood there looking very proud of himself.
“Sparrow,” said Mrs. Martin earnestly, “how I wish that I could tell you just how I feel when I look at a bird. There is such a warm feeling round my heart—I know that inside your little feathered bodies are troubles very
like our own. You have such anxieties, such struggles, to protect yourselves from enemies. You are so patient, so unresentful, so devoted—even to laying down your lives for your young. You are little martyrs of the air.”
Chummy put his head on one side and said, “T-check, t-chack,” very modestly.
“Mary,” said Mrs. Martin to her daughter, “a covenant between us and this little bird, whose fall to the ground our Heavenly Father deigns to notice. We will love, protect, and try to understand them better—we will even thin their ranks if necessary, but we will never persecute.”
Our Mary turned round. The western sun shone on her pretty young face, and on the bright faces of the children beside her.
“Agreed,” she said sweetly. “The Martins for the sparrows.”
At that moment Anna came up to the veranda with a tray of tea and bread and butter. On her shoulder was Sister Susie, coming out to get a taste of the butter that she is just crazy about, for pigeons and doves love salt things.
“Here is something to seal our sparrow bargain,”
said our Mary, holding out a scrap of bread to Chummy.