“So do I,” said Amelia: “I wish I had one like him. Could not you get me one, child?” enquired she, addressing Peggy. “I don’t know, Miss, but I’ll try—I mean, I’ll ask our Willy to try.” “Do so,” said Amelia; “but I suppose there are few like this: I never saw one so tame. Besides, I thought Robins could not be kept in a cage.” The object of the visit being thus far attained, the young ladies departed. Louisa, however, ran back to tell Peggy’s mother, that though she was now about to return home with her mamma, the little girl should not be forgotten; for that she would come, though perhaps not so often, to teach her. “After Christmas,” added she, “I shall be able to send her to the village school; and in the mean time, you can send her every Sunday with her brother, to learn her Catechism, and then I can teach her; for mamma has promised to take me always with her to the Sunday-school.” When Louisa was gone, Peggy’s mother said: “Child, you must give that little bird to Miss Wyndham, for I am sure she wants it.” “Must I, dear mother,” said Peggy: “why, I did not wish to part with it; yet, if I did, I thought I should like to give it to Miss Louisa.” “She does not wish for it, and Miss Amelia does,” replied the mother: “you know she gave you clothes, and you must not be ungrateful.” “Well, if I must, I must,” said the child, with a sigh; “but may I not wait till Sunday, to ask Miss Louisa what she thinks?” “That you may, with all my heart,” returned her mother; “she is sure to tell you what is best.” Peggy appeared pleased with this short respite. Perhaps, indeed, she hoped, as I did, that her benefactress would advise her not to part with her favourite. It happened, however, quite otherwise. Louisa contrived to visit the cottage once more before her departure, and when little Peggy, with artless simplicity, told her all that was in her mind, the excellent girl refused to deprive her of her _pet_, (as she called me,) but advised my being sent to her friend Amelia. I was much distressed at this decision; yet I could not help admiring the disinterestedness and prudence displayed in Louisa, who well knew that the child would gain more than an equivalent by the sacrifice; and for herself, though I am sure she would have liked to possess me, she was too generous to deprive Amelia of an object she so ardently desired. In pursuance, therefore, of her advice, Willy took me on the following morning to Wyndham Hall. His poor little sister shed some tears on parting with me. “My poor little Bob!” said she, “you may get a finer house and better food, but you will not find a mistress who loves you better than I do.” I felt as much grieved as herself, and had I been able to speak, would have told her that I did not desire any thing better than she had provided me; but as my language was unintelligible to her, I could not afford her even this consolation.