George, and Winifred, and little Bruce were all filled with delight and amazement at the small visitor.  Wise George flew to shut the window, kind Winny ran for cake, and solemn Bruce took his finger out of his mouth and stared.

Meanwhile Dicky sidled, and fluttered, and chattered, and at last showed he was used to society by setting down on George’s finger, winking at Bruce, and making a good meal of Winny’s cake.

“Do you think he can have flown straight from the Canary Islands?” asked Winny.

But George shook his head; it was too far.

But still they had a feeling that the little visitor was a sort of emigrant, who must be led to settle at Fairleigh Cottage; and Winny ran to ask her mother for the half-crown out of her money-box to buy him a cage.

“Mother’s coming,” she said.  “She thinks Birdie belongs to some one else, because he is so tame.”

“But there are no canaries in the village, except the schoolmaster’s pair,” said wise George; “and this little beauty is not one of them.  I really think this bird must have come to look for a home.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration:  A]

Stands over Apples,
So rosy and round.

[Illustration:  B]

Begins the word Berries,
Which grow near the ground.

[Illustration:  C]

Commences Cherries,
They grow upon trees.

[Illustration:  D]

Date-Palms or Desert,
Spell which word you please.

[Illustration]

The ducks.

    One little black duck,
      One little gray,
    Six little white ducks
      Running out to play. 
One white lady-duck, motherly and trim,
Eight little baby-ducks bound for a swim. 
      One little white duck
    Running from the water,
      One very fat duck—­
    Pretty little daughter;
One very grave duck, swimming off alone,
One little white duck, standing on a stone. 
    One little white duck
      Holding up its wings,
    One little bobbing duck
      Making water-rings;
One little black duck, turning round its head, One big black duck—­see, he’s gone to bed.  One little lady-duck, motherly and trim,
Eight little baby-ducks bound for a swim. 
One lazy black duck, taking quite a nap,
One precious duck, here on mother’s lap.

[Illustration]

In trouble.

In terrible trouble is baby: 
  Full loudly he screams and he cries;
His breakfast is lost, and replace it
  He cannot,—­however he tries.

The cup of warm milk all so tempting,
  Stood safe but a moment ago;
In his haste he leant over to grasp it,
  But instead threw it all down below.

At once he burst forth into weeping,
  And heart-rending shrieks loud and shrill;
He saw not a kind hand was near him
  The empty cup soon to refill.