Poor Celeste! She took the dead and mangled body of her pretty favorite in her lap, and sitting down, wept the bitterest tears she had ever shed in her life. Let no one smile at her childish grief; who has been without them? I remember distinctly the saddest tears that ever I shed were over the remains of a beloved kitten, stoned to death. And through all the troubles of after years, that first deep grief never was forgotten.
While she was still sobbing as if her heart would break, a pair of strong arms were thrown around her, and the eager, handsome face of Louis was bending over her.
"Why, Celeste, what in the world are all those tears for?" he inquired, pushing the disheveled golden hair off her wet cheek.
"Oh, Louis, my bird! my poor bird!" she cried, hiding her face on his shoulder, in a fresh burst of grief.
"What! it's dead, is it?" said Louis, taking it up. "Did the cat get at it?"
"No, no; it wasn't the cat; it was—it was——"
"Who?" said Louis, while his dark eyes flashed. "Did any one dare to kill it? Did Minnette, that young tigress——"
"Oh, Louis! don't, don't! You mustn't call her such dreadful names!" said Celeste, placing her hand over his mouth. "I don't think she meant it; don't be angry with her, please; it's so dreadful!"
"You little angel!" he said, smoothing gently her fair hair; "no, for your sake I'll not. Never mind, don't cry; I'll get you another, twice as pretty as that!"
"No, Louis; I don't want any more! I'd rather have the dear birds free! And now, will you—will you bury poor birdie?" said Celeste, almost choking in her effort to be "good and not cry."