Then Crafticus left with a bound, and getting into the presence of his wife and children, they killed him nearly--with kindness. THE SONG-SPARROW. The song-sparrow sang a long sweet song. Then he stopped and looked around. Butterflies and bees and other insects were on the wing everywhere, floating, darting and dancing in the sunshine; but the bird did not seek to disturb any of them, he had had a good breakfast of berries, and he was happy. He might well be happy, not only for delicious food and glorious sunshine and power to sing a lovely song, but for the fact that his home was near. And in that home were his young ones--his tiny children,--and his little wife. So the song-sparrow raised his rufous head, and opening his mouth, and vibrating his throat, he sang again as if in thankfulness and praise. "Listen, Richard," said his little mate suddenly, and of course in her own tongue, "listen, listen." She called him "Richard," but if he were in a cage people would call him "Dickie." Richard stopped in the middle of his song, and bending down his head, while turning his right eye toward a pretty cottage close by, he listened attentively and with great delight. "Jenny," remarked he to his tiny wife, when the cottage song was done, "Master George is at the open window, the beautiful day has stirred his heart, and he has sung happily and well." "Yes," said Jenny, "this must be Saturday, for his tone is unusually bright and happy." "It is always happy," answered Richard. "True," said Jenny, "but it is happier to-day." "Well, be it so, we won't differ, dear." "That is right, dear husband, we must show a good example to our children;" and the mother-sparrow nestled her little ones lovingly. "There is only one thing that makes me anxious in this glad world," remarked Richard as he looked down from the bush to the comfortable nest in the grass. "What is it husband?" "I am afraid of that snake I saw gliding outside and round the fence yesterday." "Ah, yes," replied the little mother, "it makes my flesh creep to think of it; but I hope it won't venture into the garden." "I trust not," said Richard; "but if I were a man, and if I had a gun, I should make short work of it." "Aren't guns wonderful things, husband? How they blow out fire and smoke, and what a deafening noise they make!" "They are indeed wonderful, Jenny; but aren't they fearful? Do you remember how the poor hare fell, although it was far away from the gun and running like a railway train?" "I do, Richard; it tumbled over just as the fire burst out, and there was such a big blood spot on its side. Oh, guns are dreadful things." "They are, Jenny, and we ought to be thankful that nobody around this garden uses them," said Richard, with a look of relief. "Isn't Master George a fine boy?" remarked Jenny. "He is; he wouldn't hurt a fly--that is, pull off its legs and then its head and torment it, as wicked youngsters do."