But two persons lived in this little home,—a pale, delicate woman, who was stitching her life away by constant sewing (for she made cheap clothing for a firm in the big city),—and a little girl about six years old. This little girl had bright blue eyes, and brown, curling hair; her name was Fannie, and she lived here alone with her dear mamma. Fannie’s papa had been in the spirit world for three years, and her mamma was obliged to do the sewing in order to earn bread and shelter for herself and little one. Little Fannie used to help her dear mamma by threading needles, sewing tags on the work,—tags are tickets with the number of the garment written on them,—and picking up the litter on the floor. Fannie Davis was a very happy little girl; she had but few toys, and these were old, nearly worn-out playthings, which had seen better days; but she loved to play in the little garden, and watch the flowers, pulling out old weeds and picking the flower-seeds as they ripened. She would listen to the birds for hours, and talk to them in her childish way. They were her companions, for she had no playmates, and it was a happy summer for this little girl when the robins built their nest in the old tree. But, alas, a terrible storm of wind and rain came one night, and brought disaster to the birdies’ home. The nest became detached from its fastenings and fell, catching upon a lower branch of the tree. The old birds were not harmed, but two of their young ones were killed, and another was lying on the ground with a broken wing. In this condition little Fannie found them in the morning, when the storm had disappeared and the sun was shining bright. Poor little thing, how she cried as she buried the two tiny birds in the garden, and placed a handful of her choicest flowers upon their grave. The little wounded bird she carried into the house, her mother tied up its broken wing with a cotton string, and fed it with bread-crumbs. Fannie made a little, soft nest for the bird from some pieces of old linen, and kept it until it was strong and well, when she let it go again out into the bright world to find its parents, its two brother birdies, and its nest repaired and straightened in the old tree. But something really wonderful—so it appeared to the little girl—happened. While the poor little bird had remained a wounded prisoner under Fannie’s care, it had become very tame and would eat its food from her hand, and now that it had grown strong and well, the little girl felt sad at losing her friend; for she felt that she could no longer keep him and pet and feed him as she once did.