"I'm so glad!" said the girl with a sigh of relief. "I didn't know but he might have, you know. Why, once he actually ate a whole ounce of turnip seeds!" "Hurt him?" asked Roy interestedly. "N-no, I don't believe so, but I was awfully afraid it would. John, the gardener, said he'd have appendicitis. But then, John was mad because he needed the seeds." Methuselah had closed his eyes and now looked as though resolved to die at once and get it over with. But at that moment Snip trotted out from the barn, where he had been hunting for rats, and hailed Roy as a long-lost friend. Perhaps the incident saved the bird's life. At least it caused him to alter his mind about dying at once, for he blinked his eyes open, watched the performance for a moment and then broke out in a hoarse croak with: "Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!" It was such a pathetic apology for a voice that Roy had to laugh even at the risk of wounding Harry's feelings. But Harry, too, found it amusing and joined her laugh with his. Whereupon Methuselah mocked them sarcastically in tones that suggested the indelicacy of laughing at a dying friend. "I think," said Harry, "he'd like you to scratch his head." Roy looked doubtfully at the bird and the bird looked suspiciously at Roy, but when the latter had summoned up sufficient courage to allow of the experiment Methuselah closed his eyes and bent his head in evident appreciation and enjoyment. "I don't believe you're nearly so sick as you're making out," said Roy. "I believe you're an old bluffer." And the bird actually chuckled! Harry doused the bandage with turpentine again and once more tied it around Methuselah's neck. "Now don't you dare scratch it off again," she commanded severely, shaking her finger at him. "Well, I never--" began the bird. But weariness overcame him in the middle of the sentence and he closed his beady eyes again and nodded sleepily. "I don't believe he slept very well last night," confided Harry in a whisper. "Maybe he was cold," Roy suggested. "I've thought of that. I don't usually move them indoors until much later," said Harry thoughtfully, "but the weather is so cold this Fall that I think I'll put them in to-day. Maybe he's been sleeping in a draft. Mamma says that will almost always give you a sore throat." They walked back to the cottage together and on the way Harry was unusually quiet. Finally, when Roy had pleaded a recitation, she unburdened her mind and conscience. "I--I'm sorry about the other day," she said suddenly. Roy, who had turned away, looked around in surprise. "I mean when I didn't speak to you one morning," explained Harry bravely. Her cheeks were furiously red and Roy found himself sharing her embarrassment. "Oh, that's all right," he muttered.