"Well, we are watching you," they chorused, as he spread his wings and flapped them a number of times, "why don't you go?"
"I—I—" stammered Pierre, "oh, there's a cat!" and into the pot he darted and down they all huddled like so many frightened mice.
Presently Bobbie raised his head and peeped out.
"I don't see any cat," said he, "and I don't believe you did, either, Pierre. You were only afraid to fly."
Pierre looked a little sheepish.
"If you fellows think it so easy, try it," was the mocking reply. "There is nobody here to hinder you."
"Well, I will," said Bobbie stoutly, and out he crawled onto the edge of the pot, spread his wings, and with one preparatory flap rose in the air and down he came with a frightened "peep" to the ground.
Bridget at this moment, broom in hand, came out upon the porch to do her daily sweeping.
"It's lucky for ye's, me darlint," said she, tenderly picking up the helpless bird, "that we do be havin' no cats for tinents on these premises, so it is. A purty soft thing ye's now are in your coat of feathers, and not an ugly little baste, at all, at all."
"It's quare," she continued, stroking the bird with her big red fingers, "what idees the innocent crather do be puttin' into me head for sure. Me hand, for insthance, and the wings ov this little bird! Two wonderful things, when wan comes to think of it, and very useful. It's sorra crathers we'd both be without 'em, wudn't we, birdie? There now," placing it in the pot, "take an owld woman's advice and don't ye's be so anxious after leavin' the home nest. Its many a hard arned dollar, so it is, that Bridget O'Flaherty wud give to get back to her own," and with visions before her humid eyes, of Old Ireland and the tumble-down cottage in which she was born, Bridget fell vigorously to sweeping.