One day I left Little Billee on the rug in front of the bed and went into my dressing room. While I was gone my mother came in and sat down. He was much frightened. Every time she spoke to him he ran under the bed, stuck his little head out from under the valance and peeped for me to come to him. When I spoke he answered, but was too much afraid to pass mother to come to me. When I came out he ran quickly to me and flew onto the back of a very low chair. I bent down and he flew up on my shoulder, chirping as loud as he could. No little child could have shown more joy in getting back to its mother. I do not suppose he remembers any other mother, and thinks all little birds have just such good mothers as I. I have a magnificent big tiger cat named Taffy, so I thought Little Billee would be a very good name for my wee bird. It seems a very appropriate name too, as he spends a great deal of his time dressing himself and manicuring his nails. When he struts about with his head held high you can plainly see the long coat, high collar, high hat, and umbrella and can easily imagine the original Little Billee is before you. But I fear Taffy and my Little Billee will never go walking arm and arm together. Taffy has already caught Little Billee twice, but I have rescued him from the jaws of death before any harm was done. I am trying my best to get them to live contentedly together. I do not allow Little Billee to go out into the hall for fear he will fly down stairs and be caught by Taffy before anyone can reach him. Before the door into the hall is a small rug and he thinks flying over that a great feat, but when I say, "Little Billee, come right home," he returns instantly. He goes to bed at eight o'clock in a little basket which I put on the top of some hanging shelves so there will be no danger from Taffy in the dark. Taffy sleeps on my bed every night, and very often on the outside when Little Billee is inside, and it seems like the lion and the lamb lying down together. Little Billee will usually be contented in his basket until 7 o'clock in the morning, then I take him into the bed with me where he lies quietly on my arm, neck, or palm until I get up at 9 o'clock. He never makes a peep unless I speak to him, then he chirps away like a happy child. On fine evenings I sat before an open window from 7 o'clock until 8 with Little Billee on my finger listening to the birds. When he became sleepy he tucked his little head under his wing, in a few minutes crawled into the palm of my hand and went sound asleep, ready for his basket. When the hot wave came I went down-stairs at 7 o'clock, shutting him up in his cage.