WHAT THE DOVE LOST.
Uncle Tom was walking slowly down the street, one sunny day, when he saw a boy put his hand into a paper bag, take out a lemon, and throw it at a plump gray pigeon that was trying to pick up some crumbs which had been thrown out.
Poor little pigeon! He had been fluttering, off and on, over the crumbs,—now scared away by a fast trotting-horse, now flying to a door-post to get rid of some rapid walker,—and had only just alighted to pick up his breakfast, when he was struck right in the back by the bullet-like lemon.
Uncle Tom ran as quickly as he could, and took the panting little thing up in his hand very gently. Just then the horse-car came along; and uncle jumped into it, saying to himself, "I'll take this pigeon out to little Emily. How she will dance and skip when she sees it!"
The car went on and on, ever so far away from Boston, and by and by was half-way across a bridge. The pigeon had lain nestled under Uncle Tom's coat; and the warmth seemed to make it feel better. First it put one round bright eye out, then the other, and took a peep at the people sitting near it.
Then, I think, its back must have ceased aching; for it grew lively, and stirred around. Uncle Tom felt it moving, and was afraid that it would presently try to get away: so he held it as close as he could without hurting it.
But just as he thought how safe he had it, and how tame it would be when it had lived with its little mistress a while, it popped its head out again.
It popped so far out this time, that there was nothing to take hold of but its tail-feathers. Uncle Tom clutched those firmly; but, to his great astonishment, the pigeon gave another spring, and pulled itself away, leaving all its beautiful tail-feathers behind it.