She dropped a little in Emanuel’s estimation. However, he showed her his good singers, but all were above Libbie’s means. “After all, I don’t think I care so much about the singing very loud; it’s but a noise after all, and sometimes noise fidgets folks.” “They must be nesh folks as is put out with the singing o’ birds,” replied Emanuel, rather affronted. “It’s for one who is poorly,” said Libbie, deprecatingly. “Well,” said he, as if considering the matter, “folk that are cranky, often take more to them as shows ’em love, than to them as is clever and gifted. Happen yo’d rather have this’n,” opening a cage-door, and calling to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner, “Here—Jupiter, Jupiter!” The bird smoothed its feathers in an instant, and, uttering a little note of delight, flew to Emanuel, putting his beak to his lips, as if kissing him, and then, perching on his head, it began a gurgling warble of pleasure, not by any means so varied or so clear as the song of the others, but which pleased Libbie more; for she was always one to find out she liked the gooseberries that were accessible, better than the grapes that were beyond her reach. The price too was just right, so she gladly took possession of the cage, and hid it under her cloak, preparatory to carrying it home. Emanuel meanwhile was giving her directions as to its food, with all the minuteness of one loving his subject. “Will it soon get to know any one?” asked she. “Give him two days only, and you and he’ll be as thick as him and me are now. You’ve only to open his door, and call him, and he’ll follow you round the room; but he’ll first kiss you, and then perch on your head. He only wants larning, which I’ve no time to give him, to do many another accomplishment.” “What’s his name? I did not rightly catch it.” “Jupiter,—it’s not common; but the town’s o’errun with Bobbies and Dickies, and as my birds are thought a bit out o’ the way, I like to have better names for ’em, so I just picked a few out o’ my lad’s school books. It’s just as ready, when you’re used to it, to say Jupiter as Dicky.” “I could bring my tongue round to Peter better; would he answer to Peter?” asked Libbie, now on the point of departing. “Happen he might; but I think he’d come readier to the three syllables.” On Valentine’s day, Jupiter’s cage was decked round with ivy leaves, making quite a pretty wreath on the wicker work; and to one of them was pinned a slip of paper, with these words, written in Libbie’s best round hand:— “From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice his name is Peter, and he’ll come if you call him, after a bit.” But little work did Libbie do that afternoon, she was so engaged in watching for the messenger who was to bear her present to her little valentine, and run away as soon as he had delivered up the canary, and explained to whom it was sent.