"Yes'm, I was. He was singin' for somethin' to eat."
"O, I begin to understand," said aunt Madge, laughing heartily. "So you didn't mean to be a naughty girl after all. I am very glad of that, Prudy, for I couldn't tell what to make of you. But you must never touch the cage again. Little girls that want to help, must ask somebody to tell them what to do. There, now, kiss me, dear, and I'll forgive you, and we won't say any more about your being naughty, if you'll only remember next time."
Prudy laughed, and twinkled off the tears. She was what aunt Madge called a "bird-child," and was never unhappy but a little while at a time.
CHAPTER XIII
THE GYPSY SUPPER
After a great, great while, it was afternoon, and the children went up to the Pines, carrying a small market basket half full of nice things.
I don't know which felt most at home in those woods, the birds or the children. It wasn't at all like having a party in a parlor, where there are chairs and rugs in the way; and where you can't run and jump without being afraid of hurting something. No, there wasn't any danger of scratching the varnish off the trees, nor any danger of soiling the soft carpet of the earth.
And if there hadn't been a party, it was enough to make any body happy only to breathe the sweet air, and look away down at the white village, and away off at the blue hills.