While Beatrice ran in the house Freddie pointed up to the elm where I was now sitting beside Chummy. “We caught that wild canary up in the tree. We had him in a cage, but he flew away.”
Our own children stared up at us, and exclaimed
together in tones of dismay, “You caught our Dicky-Dick.”
“Yes, in that cage,” and he pointed to the old thing.
Sammy-Sam’s face was furious and, throwing down his bag, he began to pull at his smart little overcoat. He was a great fighter, and had whipped all the boys his size in the neighborhood.
Lucy-Loo twitched his sleeve, “He never caught Dicky-Dick. He’s a liar.”
This soothed Sammy-Sam, and he picked up his bag.
“I think we’ll go home, and not wait for the funeral,” he said, “but I tell you, you just let our birds alone. If any boy hurts birds on this street, I’ll fight him. Now there!” and he strutted away, like a little peacock with Lucy-Loo trotting after him and casting backward glances over her shoulder.
Freddie looked puzzled. He had been misunderstood. However, his face brightened when his sister came out with some little lace and muslin rags in her hand, a small black book and a wreath of artificial flowers.
She seemed to be the manager, and said to