When I go out to dinner I have my own little table cloth and plate put by my new mother’s. I usually take a little of everything; chicken and cranberry jelly is very good. Sometimes I do not behave very well, for I go tiptoeing across the table to my grandmother’s plate, hop on the edge, and see if she has anything I like. When dinner was ready to be served I went over on the sideboard, made holes in all the butter balls, then took some mashed potato and boiled onion and put them to cool in a big hole I had made in an apple. Few people know that birds are ever sick at their stomachs. I had been in the habit of eating a little shaved hickorynut that was put in a half shell and kept in a dish on the back parlor table. When I came down stairs I usually took a taste, and it seemed to agree with me. For a change I ate a little chestnut, and soon began to feel bad, so went off by myself and tried to go to sleep. When my new mother saw me she said she knew I was not well, for I never acted that way in the daytime. She put me in my cage, and sat down beside me. I would close my eyes and open my bill, and she thought I was dying until I opened my bill very wide and out came the chestnut in a lump a half inch long and a quarter wide. My mother’s writing desk is a favorite place of mine. I get into drawers, pigeon holes and ink; pictures and all sorts of small things I throw on the floor. Once I stole ever so many dimes and pennies. I can lift a silver dollar and often carry a coffee-spoon all about the room, so you see I have a very strong bill. If anything is lost all say “Dewey must have taken it.” One day my new mother looked until she was tired for her thimble. When she asked me for it, I pretended I did not hear, but as she was going into the dining-room I dropped it down on her head from the top of the portiere. I often perch on a basket on top of the book case in the writing room. When I saw a new white veil beside me I went to work and made ten of the prettiest eyelet holes you can imagine, right in front; some were round and some star-shaped. As I grew older I said, “I will not sleep in my cage.” For a few nights I insisted upon sleeping on the brass rod at the head of the bed, then changed to the top of the curtain. I have a piece of soft flannel over some cotton put on the ledge and on the wall, so I will not take cold. If it is very cold I get behind the frill of the curtain, so no one can see me. If warm I turn around so my tail hangs over the outside. When my new mother comes in I open my eyes, make a bow, and, if not too sleepy, come down and sit on her hand. I never chirp or peep, and when I hide and hear “Dewey, Dewey,” I do not answer but fly down on my new mother’s head, shoulder or hand. Taffy gets so angry at me. I know he often feels like killing me. I wake up early mornings, and take my exercise by flying back and forth from a picture on one side of the room to the head of the bed.