“O warm spicy land of my birth,” sang the Canary bird; “I will sing of thy dark-green bowers, of the calm bays where the pendent boughs kiss the surface of the water; I will sing of the rejoicing of all my brothers and sisters where the cactus grows in wanton luxuriance.”

“Spare us your elegiac tones,” said the Parrot giggling.  “Rather speak of something at which one may laugh heartily.  Laughing is an infallible sign of the highest degree of mental development.  Can a dog, or a horse laugh?  No, but they can cry.  The gift of laughing was given to man alone.  Ha! ha! ha!” screamed Polly, and added his stereotype witticism.  “Come, let us be men!”

“Poor little Danish grey-bird,” said the Canary; “you have been caught too.  It is, no doubt, cold enough in your woods, but there at least is the breath of liberty; therefore fly away.  In the hurry they have forgotten to shut your cage, and the upper window is open.  Fly, my friend; fly away.  Farewell!”

Instinctively the Clerk obeyed; with a few strokes of his wings he was out of the cage; but at the same moment the door, which was only ajar, and which led to the next room, began to creak, and supple and creeping came the large tomcat into the room, and began to pursue him.  The frightened Canary fluttered about in his cage; the Parrot flapped his wings, and cried, “Come, let us be men!” The Clerk felt a mortal fright, and flew through the window, far away over the houses and streets.  At last he was forced to rest a little.

The neighboring house had a something familiar about it; a window stood open; he flew in; it was his own room.  He perched upon the table.

“Come, let us be men!” said he, involuntarily imitating the chatter of the Parrot, and at the same moment he was again a copying-clerk; but he was sitting in the middle of the table.

“Heaven help me!” cried he.  “How did I get up here—­and so buried in sleep, too?  After all, that was a very unpleasant, disagreeable dream that haunted me!  The whole story is nothing but silly, stupid nonsense!”

VI.  The Best That the Galoshes Gave

The following day, early in the morning, while the Clerk was still in bed, someone knocked at his door.  It was his neighbor, a young Divine, who lived on the same floor.  He walked in.

“Lend me your Galoshes,” said he; “it is so wet in the garden, though the sun is shining most invitingly.  I should like to go out a little.”

He got the Galoshes, and he was soon below in a little duodecimo garden, where between two immense walls a plumtree and an apple-tree were standing.  Even such a little garden as this was considered in the metropolis of Copenhagen as a great luxury.

The young man wandered up and down the narrow paths, as well as the prescribed limits would allow; the clock struck six; without was heard the horn of a post-boy.