The pigeon did live. It was drooping for just what the children gave it—a little love. Day by day it grew bigger and stronger. Soon it would hop all over the room, perch on Bab's head, and eat its dinner from her plate. When spring came, and the days grew warm, the window was always left open, only a little bit, lest Bab should fall out, but still enough to let the pigeon hop in and out at its own sweet will.
When summer came, though it was much nicer than winter, the close air of the court made poor Bab feel quite ill in the hot mornings. In the afternoons her brother and sister would take her far away on a long walk to the sweet grassy meadows outside the old city walls. They had found out now where their "little gentry" lived; and the great pleasure of the day was in returning from the meadow, and peeping in at the beautiful garden where the two happy children seemed to spend their whole time in play.
The grass in this garden was often quite white with daisies, and the poor children used to stretch through and try to gather a few, but they were almost always just out of their reach.
One very hot afternoon they were coming home through the square rather tired. There seemed to be something wrong with Bab. She was cross and languid. She cried when Nellie's hand could not reach the daisies.
"Hush, hush, dear; the little master will hear you," whispered Nellie, while Bill stretched in his arm, and succeeded at last in getting one of the coveted flowers. The little master had heard and seen. He came up to them, and asked, shyly,
"Do you want some daisies?"
"If you please, sir," said Bill and Nellie, in a breath.
In a moment the little fellow was down on his knees among the daisies gathering busily.
"I would 'ike to gaver some myse'f," said Bab to Nellie.
The little boy looked up and paused. His companions were at play not far distant. He looked half afraid.