“Jes’ listen to de chile!” cried Winnie.  “Wot you makin’ all dis miration ’bout?  I nebber seed nobody so inquisity as you is.  De cook she dun leff, an’ I’s cookin’ ontwill yer grandmar git somebody.  Ef you don’ belieb me, ax yer mar.  Ennyhow, I’s gwine to ’quaint yer mar with yer conduck, axin’ so many perterment questions.”

“But, who are the birds for?” persisted Nelly.  “I know mamma never eats birds, and grandmamma isn’t sick.”

“I ’clar, Miss Nelly, I’s outdone wid you.  Go outer heah, ’fore I calls yer grandmar.”

Nelly left, still very curious and dissatisfied.

Having wandered about aimlessly for a while, the little girl at last strayed into the empty parlor, and there sat down to consider.  Suddenly she heard a stealthy step upon the stairs.  At the same time a faint odor of broiled birds saluted her nostrils.  Nelly crept softly to the door, just in time to see her grandma ascending the flight of stairs leading to the third story.  “Now,” thought the child, “I will find out what all this means.”

Waiting until the old lady had passed out of sight in the corridor above, she stealthily followed.  All the doors of the rooms in the third story were closed, but through an open transom came the sound of voices.  Listening eagerly, she heard her mamma speaking, and in reply a voice which set her heart beating wildly and made her dizzy with surprise.  In a moment she was vainly striving to open the locked door, screaming loudly, “Papa! oh, papa!” Instantly the door was opened, and she found herself dragged inside the room, her grandma’s hand placed closely over her mouth, while her mother, in a hoarse whisper, said, “Nelly, for pity’s sake hush, no one must know.”  Gazing about her with wildly-distended eyes, the frightened girl beheld, reclining in an easy-chair by the bedside, her dear papa, but, oh, so pale, so changed.  A small table drawn closely to his side so as to project over the arm of the chair held a large pillow covered with oil-cloth, upon this lay one arm, which, with the shoulder, was entirely bare; just under the collar-bone appeared a frightful wound, over which Mrs. Grey was preparing to lay a linen cloth wet with cool water.  Nelly gasped for breath and turned very white, but when her papa held out his well hand towards her with the old sweet smile she so well remembered, she ran to his side and nestled there, still trembling and sobbing, for she had been frightened, first by the rough treatment of her grandma, and yet more by the changed appearance of the dearly-loved father, who, as it seemed to her, must be dying.  As further concealment was useless, Nelly was taken into the confidence of the ladies, who, however, seemed almost in despair lest the child in some thoughtless manner should betray the secret so anxiously guarded.