Jill liked the fancy, and gladly strewed crumbs on the window ledge for the chippies, who came confidingly to eat almost from her hand.  She threw out grain for the handsome jays, the jaunty robins, and the neighbors’ doves, who came with soft flight to trip about on their pink feet, arching their shining necks as they cooed and pecked.  Carrots and cabbage-leaves also flew out of the window for the marauding gray rabbit, last of all Jack’s half-dozen, who led him a weary life of it because they would not stay in the Bunny-house, but undermined the garden with their burrows, ate the neighbors’ plants, and refused to be caught till all but one ran away, to Jack’s great relief.  This old fellow camped out for the winter, and seemed to get on very well among the cats and the hens, who shared their stores with him, and he might be seen at all hours of the day and night scampering about the place, or kicking up his heels by moonlight, for he was a desperate poacher.

Jill took great delight in her pretty pensioners, who soon learned to love “The Holly Tree Inn,” and to feel that the Bird Room held a caged comrade; for, when it was too cold or wet to open the windows, the doves came and tapped at the pane, the chippies sat on the ledge in plump little bunches as if she were their sunshine, the jays called her in their shrill voices to ring the dinner-bell, and the robins tilted on the spruce boughs where lunch was always to be had.

The first of May came on Sunday, so all the celebrating must be done on Saturday, which happily proved fair, though too chilly for muslin gowns, paper garlands, and picnics on damp grass.  Being a holiday, the boys decided to devote the morning to ball and the afternoon to the flower hunt, while the girls finished the baskets; and in the evening our particular seven were to meet at the Minots to fill them, ready for the closing frolic of hanging on door-handles, ringing bells, and running away.

“Now I must do my Maying, for there will be no more sunshine, and I want to pick my flowers before it is dark.  Come, Mammy, you go too,” said Jill, as the last sunbeams shone in at the western window where her hyacinths stood that no fostering ray might be lost.

It was rather pathetic to see the once merry girl who used to be the life of the wood-parties now carefully lifting herself from the couch, and, leaning on her mother’s strong arm, slowly take the half-dozen steps that made up her little expedition.  But she was happy, and stood smiling out at old Bun skipping down the walk, the gold-edged clouds that drew apart so that a sunbeam might give her a good-night kiss as she gathered her long-cherished daisies, primroses, and hyacinths to fill the pretty basket in her hand.

“Who is it for, my dearie?” asked her mother, standing behind her as a prop, while the thin fingers did their work so willingly that not a flower was left.

“For My Lady, of course.  Who else would I give my posies to, when I love them so well?” answered Jill, who thought no name too fine for their best friend.