"Very well, dear, perhaps it will be better, and thank you for what you've told us to-day," said Cousin Magdalen, beginning to fold up her work. "I must try now to get my letter written before luncheon. I hope it's not going to rain all the afternoon." One or two of the children ran to the window, as she spoke, to examine the state of the clouds. Suddenly, as they stood there, something, a small dark thing, was seen to fall or flutter to the ground, a short way off. "What was that?" said Hoodie, whose quick eyes always saw things before any one else. "What?" said Duke deliberately. "Didn't you see something fall, stupid boy?" said Hoodie politely. "Yes, I saw somefin, but perhaps it was only a leaf." "But perhaps it wasn't only a leaf," said Hoodie impatiently. "There now, look there, don't you see it's moving? Over there by the little fat tree with the spiky leaves--oh, oh, oh! It's a bird--a poor little innicent bird--that's felled out of a netst," screamed Hoodie, in tremendous excitement, which always upset her English. "Oh, Cousin Magdalen, quick, quick! open the door, do, do, and let Hoodie go and fetcht the poor little bird." She danced about with impatience, her eyes streaming--for in curious contrast with Hoodie's scant affection for her fellow human beings was her immense tenderness and devotion towards dumb animals of every kind. She "would not hurt a fly" would have very poorly described her feelings. She had been known to nurse a maimed bluebottle for a week, getting up in the night to give it fresh crumbs of sugar--she had cried for two days and a half after accidentally seeing the last struggles of a chicken which the cook had killed for dinner, and had she clearly understood that the mutton-chops she was so fond of were really the ribs of "a poor sweet little sheep," I am quite sure mutton-chops would in future have been cooked in vain for Hoodie. Cousin Magdalen had not hitherto seen much of this side of the little girl's character, and she looked at her with some surprise, not sure if there was a mixture of temper in all these dancings-about and callings-out. But she came quickly across the room all the same, to the window, or glass door rather, where all the children were now assembled-- "What is it?" she said. "Hoodie, dear, why do you get into such a fuss?" "'Cos I want to go out and pick up the little bird, poor little innicent thing, that's felled out of the tree. Oh, Maudie's godmother, do open the door--quick, quick, and let me out," said Hoodie, still dancing about. "The bird will be lying there thinking that nobody cares."