Magdalen opened the door and crossed the room, which was a large one, to the side window, on the writing-table, in front of which, she had left the basket containing the bird. She had placed it carefully, with a little circle of books round it to prevent the bird's fluttering knocking it over. As she came near the table, she gave an exclamation of surprise and vexation. The circle of books was still there undisturbed, but the basket was no longer in the centre—indeed, at the first glance Magdalen could not see it at all.
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed. "Where can the basket be? Hoodie, you surely didn't touch it?"
The moment she had said the words she regretted them—but just at first she had not time to look at Hoodie to see how she had taken them, for another glance at the table showed her the basket peeping up behind the edge where it had slipped down, though fortunately the table was pushed too near the wall for it to have fallen quite on to the floor.
Magdalen darted forward and carefully drew out the basket, in considerable fear and trembling as to the state of the little bird inside. But to her relief it seemed all right. It had had another fright, no doubt, poor thing—it must have thought life a very queer series of falls and bumps and knocks, I should think, judging by its own experience, but still it seemed to have a happy faculty of recovering itself, and though its position in the toppled-over basket could not have been very comfortable, it looked quite bright and chirpy when Magdalen gently lifted the lid to examine it.
"It is hungry, I'm sure," she said; "can't you give me a little bread soaked in milk for it again, Martin. There's some milk on the nursery table, isn't there?"
"To be sure, Miss," said Martin, starting off at once. To her surprise, as she left the room she felt a hand slipped into hers. It was Hoodie's.
"I'll go with you," said the child, and Martin, thinking she only wanted to go with her to see about the bread and milk, made no objection. It was not till they reached the nursery that Martin noticed the expression of the little girl's face. It was stormy in the extreme.
"I won't go back to Maudie's godmother's room," she exclaimed. "I won't have the cage. I won't speak to her—nasty, ugly Maudie's godmother."
"Miss Hoodie!" said Martin, in amazement and distress. "You speaking that naughty way of your cousin who has been so very nice and kind to you."
"I don't care," said Hoodie, fairly on the way to one of her grandest tempers, "I don't care. She's not nice and kind. She doesn't believe what I say. I toldened her I didn't touch the basket, and she said I did."