“Lucy-Loo and Sammy-Sam,” said Mrs. Martin, with a merry twinkle in her eye, for she was a great joker, “here is a new baby bird come downstairs for the first time.”
The boy was a straight, well set-up young thing, eight years old, I heard afterward. The girl was a year younger, and she had light hair and big, staring eyes—very bright, intelligent eyes.
Our Mary was much older than her young cousins, and she was pretty strict with them about her birds, for they were never allowed to come into her bird-room.
The boy sat down at the table, and to my surprise said as he stared at me, “Not much of a bird, that—haven’t you got anything better looking to show off?”
He was taking his soup quite sulkily.
His little sister was pouting. “I think Cousin Mary is very mean,” she said to her aunt. “She might let us go in her old bird-room. We wouldn’t hurt anything.”
Our Mary said nothing, but Mrs. Martin spoke. “You remember, Lucy, that one day when Mary was out, a certain little girl and a certain little boy took a troop of young friends into the bird-room, and some baby birds died of fright, and some old ones got out, and were restored to their home with difficulty.”
Our Mary raised her head. “I have forgiven them, mother, and some day soon I am going to let them see my birds, but they must promise never to go into the bird-room without me.”
The boy and girl both spoke up eagerly.
“We promise. Will you take us in to-day?”