"But I can send it to you."
"I don't want any; I give it to you."
Mildred was not sure that she ought to accept the bird this way. "Do you think mamma would mind it?" she asked earnestly.
"Not if she ever had a crippled child," said the woman.
"She had. But I'm well now," said Mildred.
She took the cage and bore it down the street, talking to her mammy of the joy Molly would have when she took the bird to her. The poor woman suddenly turned and went back into the house and up the stairs, and a second later was leaning out of the window scanning one by one every window in sight.
Mildred and her mammy soon found the rickety house where Molly lived, and as Mildred climbed the stairs to Molly's room, though she walked as softly as she could, her heart was beating so she was afraid Molly might hear it. Curious faces peeped at her as she went up, for the visit to Molly of the day before was known, but Mildred did not mind them. She thought only of Molly and her joy. She reached the door and opened it softly and peeped in. Molly was leaning back on her pillow very white and languid; but she was looking for her, and she smiled eagerly as she caught her eye. Mildred walked in and held up the cage. Molly gave a little scream of delight and reached out her hands.
"Oh, Mildred, is it—?" She turned and looked out of the window at the place where it used to hang. Yes, it was the same.
Mildred had a warm sensation about the heart, which was perfect joy.
"Where shall I put it?" she asked. "He looks droopy, but Mrs. Johnson says he used to sing all the time. He is not hungry, because he has feed in the cage. I don't know what is the matter with him."