One morning my mistress rose much later than usual, on account of a slight indisposition, and I finding the time rather long, amused myself by looking out at the window. There was before the house an extensive lawn, in which were a few trees. I saw a multitude of little birds alternately flying about, and resting on the waving branches, and sporting with that active gaiety which a delightful summer morning inspires. Suddenly there appeared among them a much larger bird, who seemed to terrify them all, for they flew with great precipitation towards the shrubbery. One of them, however, was closely pursued by the large bird, and though he made every effort to escape, was overtaken and caught by him. If this is play, thought I, it is very rough play. But how shall I describe the horror I felt, when I saw the monster begin to devour the inoffensive little bird! I uttered a scream, and flew to hide myself behind my mistress’s pillow, scarcely knowing what I did or where I was; though, had I reflected for a moment, I should have known that I was entirely out of danger. When I recovered myself, I remembered the goldfinch’s narrow escape on a similar occasion, and I felt my ardour for liberty somewhat abated; for I began to consider that there might be other dangers, of which I was entirely ignorant, and this one was sufficiently appalling. When my mistress had been up some time, she took me with her to the school-room. I was fully intent on relating what I had witnessed to my companion, so flew immediately towards her cage. She was not there; but this did not surprise me, for neither she nor I was much confined. I expected to find her about the room, but she was not to be found; and the entrance of Lady Seymour put an end to my doubts and my search at the same time, for little Julia met her with tears in her eyes, and deplored the loss of her bird, which had, she said, flown out at the window. “But why, my love,” said her mamma, “did you let her out when the window was open?” “It was I, dear mamma,” interrupted Anna, “who was so unfortunate; I did not know the window was open.” “You mean careless, not unfortunate,” returned Lady Seymour: “you ought to have been sure it was shut.” “Dear mamma,” said Julia, “poor Anna is very sorry: if I had let out her bird, I should not have needed one reproach; and I did not intend to cry, for fear of vexing her more, but, indeed, I could not help it.” “I am pleased with your affectionate conduct on this trying occasion, my little Julia,” said Lady S. “particularly as it is founded on the noblest of all principles—that of doing as you would be done to. A hundred little birds are not to me so valuable, as one instance of goodness in my children. I will soon procure you another little pet.”