"Now, my dear," said Mr. Starling, "go in, and put the house in order. I'll warrant those vulgar sparrows have made a nice mess in there. Sweep the floors, dust the furniture, and get the beds made. I'll stay here in the garden, and rest myself."
"Just like that husband of mine!" muttered Mrs. Starling: "I must do all the work, while he has all the fun. But I suppose there's no help for it."
So she flew up to the door of the house; but, to her surprise, she could not get through it: the opening was not large enough.
"Well, Mr. Starling," said she, "I do believe we have made a mistake. This is not our house, after all."
"Why did you say it was, then?" said Mr. Starling, in a huff. "Here I have got a black eye, and a lame claw, and a sprained wing, and have lost two feathers out of my tail, all through your blunder. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Starling!"
"I own that I was hasty," said poor Mrs. Starling; "but I meant well."
"Yes, you thought the sparrows were thieves, and so did I. But it turns out, that we are no better than burglars ourselves; and, what's more, we shall have a whole army of sparrows back upon us before long. We had better take ourselves off." And off they flew.
Dora Burnside.
