The poor little bird was wasting its strength in vain attempts to get out of its prison, while its mother looked down in alarm, and tried her best to cheer and aid her child.
At last the old bird flew away. "Can it be," I thought, "that she is going to desert her little one?" No indeed! She had only hit upon a new plan.
Back she soon came with a stout straw in her beak. Perching on an iron bar which crossed the area about a foot below the level of the street, she passed one end of the straw to the little captive below.
The nestling took the offered straw in its beak and clung to it, while the mother, holding fast to the other end, flew up to the street. Thus, with some aid from its own wings, the little bird was able to gain a foothold on the iron bar.
From this point, one more pull by the old bird helped it to reach the pavement, where it fluttered away with its delighted mother.
UNCLE CHARLES.
HOME, SWEET HOME.
OW real jolly it seems to be back in our own parlor again!" said Willie Morton, making a flying leap over an ottoman as he spoke.