"Send to the dealer's and buy two birds," said her father.
"Perhaps the bird is a pet," suggested her mother gently.
Mildred thought Molly did not want any bird—she wanted that one, though she herself did not understand just why, unless it was that she knew that one could sing.
"Then Molly is unreasonable," said Mildred's father.
Mildred was unreasonable, too. If Molly did not want any other bird she did not want it either. She persuaded her mammy to walk around through the street where the woman with the mocking-bird lived. She knew the house. Just as she passed it the door opened and a woman came down the steps with a bundle. She was dressed in black and looked very poor, but she also looked very kind, and Mildred, who was gazing at the door as she came out, asked her timidly:—"Do you know Mrs. Johnson?"
"Why, I am one Mrs. Johnson," she said. "Whom do you mean?"
"The lady that has the mocking-bird," said Mildred.
"I have a mocking-bird."
"Have you? I mean the lady that has a mocking-bird and won't sell it," said Mildred, sadly.
The woman looked down at her kindly and for a moment did not answer. Then she said:—"What do you know about it?"