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, “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.”