Bright-Hair lived, I felt at first sorry to leave my former mistress, who had been so kind to me. And there was Robin, whom I might never see again, and the beautiful garden where I had spent so many pleasant days. But it could not be helped, and within a week or two I was hanging in a bay window in my new home in the city, and I was very happy there, too, with Black-Eyes and Bright-Hair for my companions. Children do cheer up a house wonderfully, and I learned to listen to their merry voices, and wait anxiously for their appearance in the morning. As the winter wore away and the spring came on, little Florence, who was always a pale, delicate child, seemed to grow paler and thinner every day, until at last she refused to eat anything, and in the summer they took us all to their country home, a few miles from the city, where she improved rapidly, and ran about the grounds as merrily as ever. But when the autumn came and the winds blew cold from the lake, she began to droop again, and I heard them say they must take her South, where it was always warm and sunny. “Then my heart began to beat so fast with wondering if she would take me with her. I half believed she would, she loved me so much—and she did, and we came to the same hotel where I was first a prisoner, and my cage was hung again in the old place, where through the trees of oak and orange I could see glimpses of the river, and the boats as they went up and down.” “Really, now, it is all quite like a story. Have you seen Robin? and how did you get away?” Mr. Paroquet said, hopping up and down, first on one foot and then on the other, as if he were growing tired. Mrs. Red noticed this, and hastened on. “Yes, I have seen Robin; it was up the river, where he is spending the winter with Mrs. Robin, who is as bright, and pretty, and spirited as ever—but I must tell you how I came to be up the river myself. My dear little mistress, Florence, knew that my home was once in this part of the country, and a few days ago, when she gave me my breakfast of seeds and figs, she talked to me in her usual loving way, and said: “‘You know my mamma says I am not getting well here as fast as I ought, and she is going to take me to St. Augustine, down by the sea, and so, poor little Reddie, I love you ever and ever so much, but I’ve been thinking and thinking how dreadful it would be for me to be shut up as you are, and taken away where I never could see my papa, or mamma, or Johnnie any more. Maybe, though, you haven’t a papa, or mamma, or Johnnie. I guess birds never have such things, like us girls, but you may have had some little birds in some nest somewhere, and maybe you can find your way home to that nest, and so, you precious old Reddie, I am going to make you a present of your freedom. I am going to open the door of your cage, and let you go—so!’ “And here she opened the door suddenly, and gave the cage a shake which sent me out upon the piazza.