"Just come out in the kitchen," said Susy, "and you shall see me wash my bird."
"Why, I thought birds washed themselves," replied Florence, following her cousin with some surprise.
"They do, but Dandy won't; it's all in the world I have against Dandy; he isn't a cold-water bird."
Grandma Read stood by the kitchen table, clear-starching one of her caps—a piece of work which she always performed with her own hands. She moved one side to make room for Susy's bird-cage, but said she did not approve of washing canaries; she thought it must be a dangerous experiment.
"If he needed a bath, he would take it himself, Susan. Little birds know what is best for them by instinct, thee may depend upon it."
"But my birdie gay ought to be clean," persisted Susy, who was often very positive. "Mrs. Mason says so—the lady that gave him to me. I told her he wouldn't bathe, and she said then I must bathe him."
Susy went to the range, and, dipping some hot water from the boiler, cooled it with fresh water, till she found, by putting in her fingers, that it was of a proper temperature, according to her own judgment. Then she plunged the timid little canary into the bowl, in spite of his fluttering. Such a wee young thing as he was too! He seemed to be afraid of the water, and struggled against it with all his small strength.
"O, Dandy, darling," said Susy, in a cooing voice, as if she were talking to a baby; "be a little man, Dandy; hold up his head, and let Susy wash it all cleany! O, he's Susie's birdie gay!—What makes him roll up his eyes?"
"Take him out quick, Susan," said grandma Read; "he will strangle."
A few seconds more and all would have been over with birdie gay. He curled down very languidly on the floor of the cage, and seemed to wish to be let alone.