"Yes, ma'am; will you please look at her wounds again?"
"They are pretty well healed, dear. I've never felt much concerned about Zee's wounds. She makes believe half of her sufferings for the sake of being petted."
"Does she, though? I'm so glad."
"Yes; that 'prize tail' will soon be waving as proudly as ever. But I suppose you all came to see the canary. Mag, you naughty girl," she added, turning to the magpie, "hide under the bed. They didn't come to see you. Here, Job, you are the one that's wanted."
Little Job, the canary, was standing on the rug. He came forward now to greet his visitors, putting out a foot to feel his way, like a blind man with a cane. Then he began to sing joyously.
"Don't you call that good music?" asked his mistress, knitting as she spoke. "He came from Germany; there's where you get the best singers. Some canaries won't sing before company and some won't sing alone; they are fussy,—I call it pernickitty. Why, I had one with a voice like a flute; but I happened to buy some new wall-paper, and she didn't like the looks of it, and after that she never would sing a note."
"Are you in earnest?" asked Kyzie.
"Yes, it's a fact. But Job never was pernickitty, bless his little heart!"
She brought a tiny bell and let him take it in his claws.
"Now, I'll go out of the room, and you all keep still and see if he'll ring to call me back."