Beautiful Joe. Saunders Marshall

kept a nail in its drinking water, and gave it a few drops of alcohol in its bath every morning to keep it from taking cold. The moment the bird finished taking its bath, Miss Laura took the dish from the cage, for the alcohol made the water poisonous. Then vermin came on it; and she had to write to Carl to ask him what do. He told her to hang a muslin bag full of sulphur over the swing, so that the bird would dust it down on her feathers. That cured the little thing, and when Carl came home, he found it quite well again. One day, just after he got back, Mrs. Montague drove up to the house with canary cage carefully done up in a shawl. She said that a bad-tempered housemaid, in cleaning the cage that morning, had gotten angry with the bird and struck it, breaking its leg. She was very much annoyed with the girl for her cruelty, and had dismissed her, and now she wanted Carl to take her bird and nurse it, as she knew nothing about canaries.

      Carl had just come in from school. He threw down his books, took the shawl from the cage and looked in. The poor little canary was sitting In a corner. Its eyes were half shut, one leg hung loose, and it was making faint chirps of distress.

      Carl was very much interested in it. He got Mrs. Montague to help him, and together they split matches, tore up strips of muslin, and bandaged the broken leg. He put the little bird back in the cage, and it seemed more comfortable. “I think he will do now,” he said to Mrs. Montague, “but hadn’t you better leave him with me for a few days?”

      She gladly agreed to this and went away, after telling him that the bird’s name was Dick.

      The next morning at the breakfast table, I heard Carl telling his mother that as soon as he woke up he sprang out of bed and went to see how his canary was. During the night, poor, foolish Dick had picked off the splints from his leg, and now it was as bad as ever. “I shall have to perform a surgical operation.” he said.

      I did not know what he meant, so I watched him when, after breakfast, he brought the bird down to his mother’s room. She held it while he took a pair of sharp scissors, and cut its leg right off a little way above the broken place. Then he put some vaseline on the tiny stump, bound it up, and left Dick in his mother’s care. All the morning, as she sat sewing, she watched him to see that he did not pick the bandage away.

      When Carl came home, Dick was so much better that he had managed to fly up on his perch, and was eating seeds quite gayly. “Poor Dick!” said Carl, “A leg and a stump!” Dick imitated him in a few little chirps, “A leg and a stump!”

      “Why, he is saying it too,” exclaimed Carl, and burst out laughing.

      Dick seemed cheerful enough, but it was very pitiful to see him dragging his poor little stump around the cage, and resting it against the perch to keep him from falling. When Mrs. Montague came the next day, she could not bear to look at him. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, “I cannot take that disfigured bird home.”

      I could not help thinking how different she was from Miss Laura, who loved any creature all the more for having some blemish about it.

      “What shall I do?” said Mrs. Montague. “I miss my little bird so much. I shall have to get a new one. Carl, will you sell me one?”

      “I will give you one, Mrs. Montague,” said the boy, eagerly. “I would like to do so.” Mrs. Morris looked pleased to hear Carl say this. She used to fear sometimes, that in his love for making money, he would become selfish.

      Mrs. Montague was very kind to the Morris family, and Carl seemed quite pleased to do her a favor. He took her up to his room, and let her choose the bird she liked best. She took a handsome, yellow one, called Barry. He was a good singer, and a great favorite of Carl’s. The boy put him in the cage, wrapped it up well, for it was a cold, snowy day, and carried it out to Mrs. Montague’s sleigh.

      She gave him a pleasant smile, and drove away, and Carl ran up the steps into the house. “It’s all right, mother,” he said, giving Mrs. Morris a hearty, boyish kiss, as she stood waiting for him. “I don’t mind letting her have it.”

      “But you expected to sell that one, didn’t you?” she asked.

      “Mrs. Smith said maybe she’d take it when she came home from Boston, but I dare say she’d change her mind and get one there.”

      “How much were you going to ask for him?”

      “Well, I wouldn’t sell Barry for less than ten dollars, or rather, I wouldn’t have sold him,” and he ran out to the stable.

      Mrs. Morris sat on the hall chair, patting me as I rubbed against her, in rather an absent minded way. Then she got up and went into her husband’s study, and told him what Carl had done.

      Mr. Morris seemed very pleased to hear about it, but when his wife asked him to do something to make up the loss to the boy, he said: “I had rather not do that. To encourage a child to do a kind action, and then to reward him for it, is not always a sound principle to go upon.”

      But Carl did not go without his reward. That evening, Mrs. Montague’s coachman brought a note to the house addressed to Mr. Carl Morris. He read it aloud to the family.

      MY DEAR CARL: I am charmed with my little bird, and he has whispered to me one of the secrets of your room. You want fifteen dollars very much to buy something for it. I am sure you won’t be offended with an old friend for supplying you the means to get this something.

      ADA MONTAGUE.

      “Just the thing for my stationary tank for the goldfish,” exclaimed Carl. “I’ve wanted it for a long time; it isn’t good to keep them in globes, but how in the world did she find out? I’ve never told any one.”

      Mrs. Morris smiled, and said; “Barry must have told her;” as she took the money from Carl to put away for him.

      Mrs. Montague got to be very fond of her new pet. She took care of him herself, and I have heard her tell Mrs. Morris most wonderful stories about him stories so wonderful that I should say they were not true if I did not how intelligent dumb creatures get to be under kind treatment.

      She only kept him in his cage at night, and when she began looking for him at bedtime to put him there, he always hid himself. She would search a short time, and then sit down, and he always came out of his hiding-place, chirping in a saucy way to make her look at him.

      She said that he seemed to take delight in teasing her. Once when he was in the drawing-room with her, she was called away to speak to some one at the telephone. When she came back, she found that one of the servants had come into the room and left the door open leading to a veranda. The trees outside were full of yellow birds, and she was in despair, thinking that Barry had flown out with them. She looked out, but could not see him. Then, lest he had not left the room, she got a chair and carried it about, standing on it to examine the walls, and see if Barry was hidden among the pictures and bric-a-brac. But no Barry was there. She at last sank down, exhausted, on a sofa. She heard a wicked, little peep, and looking up, saw Barry sitting on one of the rounds of the chair that she had been carrying about to look for him. He had been there all the time. She was so glad to see him, that she never thought of scolding him.

      He was never allowed to fly about the dining room during meals, and the table maid drove him out before she set the table. It always annoyed him, and he perched on the staircase, watching the door through the railings. If it was left open for an instant, he flew in. One evening, before tea, he did this. There was a chocolate cake on the sideboard, and he liked the look of it so much that he began to peck at it. Mrs. Montague happened to come in, and drove him back to the hall.