"'I would rather be free in a dungeon cell
Than a captive at large in a flowered dell;
I would rather be free 'neath a load of chains
Than a prisoner roaming the country lanes.
I would rather be free in an ice-bound cave
Than to sit on a throne as another's slave;
For all the great blessings with which man's blest
'Tis freedom, sweet freedom that I love the best.'"
"That's a pretty song," said Jimmieboy. "And I think maybe you are right. I feel that way myself sometimes. Once in a while when I'm told I can't do something, I feel that way. I always want to do that thing more than ever."
"You are just like me, then—though really I didn't think much about freedom and how nice it was, and what a dreadful thing captivity was, until I had a little chat one night with a song-bird. She was cooped up in a cage, and sometimes she nearly broke her wings flattering up against the bars of it trying to get out. As I watched her I wondered how she could sing so happily when she was shut up that way, and I asked her about it. She answered me softly, 'It isn't I that is happy. It is my song that is happy because it is free.' And then she sang this little verse to me:
"Though they shut me close in these brazen bars,
Though they keep me a captive long,
Yet my notes will rise
Till they touch the skies.
No man can imprison my song."
"I've always felt sorry for birds in cages," said Jimmieboy, when the Wizard had spoken. "And I've wondered, too, how they could sing so sweetly when all the day long they were locked up with nothing to do but jump from one perch to another, or swing in that little swing at the top of the cage."
"Well, there's one thing that's nice about their lives," said the Wizard. "They don't have anybody to quarrel with. I think that's very fine."
"That's true," said Jimmieboy. "And then, too, when one bird wants to swing there isn't any other little bird that he has to give up to; but I'd rather be free, and take my chances of getting the swing, wouldn't you?"
"Rather!" ejaculated the Wizard. "But, my dear fellow, we are wasting time. The Merboy will be back in a few minutes, and if you want to see all the wonders of this place we must hurry. Come. Let's go out into the garden."
The queer little fellow leading the way, the two new friends went out of the drawer. As they sauntered along, Thumbhi reached out his hands and plucked two pretty flowers from a bush at the side of the path, and putting one of them in his mouth handed the other to Jimmieboy.
"You must be hungry by this time," he said. "Eat that."