“Of course you would,” I said soothingly, “but do you know, it seems to me a strange thing that you, a dog bred in poverty and having to toil painfully in looking for your food, should be harder on another toiler than I am, I a bird that was bred in the lap of luxury.”
Billie looked rather sheepish, and I said, “You have a kind heart, and I wish you would not be so stiff with the sparrow. Won’t you do something to amuse him some time when he comes?”
“Yes, I will,” she said. “I think perhaps I have not been very polite to him. Indeed, I do know how hard it is for birds and beasts to get a living out of this cold world.”
“Hush,” I said; “here he comes,” and sure enough there was Chummy sitting on the window sill, twitching his tail, and saying, “How are you, Dicky-Dick? It’s a bitterly cold day—sharpens one’s appetite like a knife.”
I flew to meet him and said, “Come right over to my cage and help yourself to seeds. Missie filled my dish before she went out.”
Chummy looked pleased, but he said, “I hope your Missie doesn’t mind feeding me as well as you.”
“Oh, no, she doesn’t care,” I said, “even though bird seed is dear now. She has a heart as big as a cabbage and she is sorry for all suffering things. She says she has been hungry once or twice in her own life, and she knows the dreadful feeling of an empty stomach.”
“Well, I’ll eat to her health,” said Chummy, and he stepped right into my cage and poked his dusky beak into a tiny dish of bread and milk.
“What’s the news of the neighborhood?” I asked.
“Squirrie came out for five minutes this morning,” he said, “just to let us know he wasn’t dead. He ate a few nuts and threw the shells down at Black Thomas.”