Words fail me to describe my bitter disappointment, my burning shame and chagrin. I saw my folly now. But it was too late--the awful deed was done! Worse than all, in order to obtain this now odious jacket, I had spoiled all my other jackets, and had nothing else to wear! When, on the evening of that most miserable day, I told my troubles to my father and mother, they were merely amused, and said to me:-- "It is entirely your own fault. You insisted upon having the jacket, and now you must put up with it!" Thus was I condemned to the perpetual wearing of my yellow jacket, which entailed upon me no end of petty miseries. Every day, at school, I was jeered at and insulted. Even the babies of three years--sweet, blue-eyed, golden-haired cherubs--pointed at me with their tiny fingers, and lisped, "Canary! Canary!" [Illustration: "I WAS JEERED AT AND INSULTED."] How was I to extricate myself from this extremely unpleasant situation? One upper garment still remained to me--an old, thick, heavy, winter mantle. The idea occurred to me that I might utilize this to conceal my too gorgeous plumage. We were now in the month of June, and the weather was tropical. No matter! In class and playground, I appeared buttoned up in my big cloak, bathed in perspiration, but happy in having hidden my shame. To Mademoiselle Ermance's expression of surprise, I answered that I had a cold. I did not deviate widely from the truth. Two days later, thanks to this over-heating, I had a very real one. The device did not serve me long. My parents found me out, and promptly deprived me of my protecting shell, thus obliging me to attend school again in the costume of a canary. The former annoyances re-commenced. Vacation time was at hand, and Georgette, of whom I was more enamoured than ever, remained still cold and indifferent. One day we were playing the game of brigands and gendarmes. I was one of the gendarmes, who were invariably beaten. _Met-a-Mort_ had nominated himself captain of the brigands, and chose Georgette for his _vivandiere_. Presently, for a few minutes there was a suspension of hostilities. Brigands and gendarmes fraternized, as they quenched their thirst, and expatiated upon the joys of the fray. Suddenly Georgette, with her accustomed vivacity, broke in upon our little group. She bore in her hands a glass ink-bottle. "See!" said her sweet voice. "Whoever will drink this ink shall, by-and-by, be my little husband!" _Met-a-Mort_ and the rest exploded with laughter. When we resumed our game, I discovered that I had lost all interest in it. Georgette's words haunted me. Cries of joy arose from our camp. The enemy's _vivandiere_ had been captured. I was told off to guard the prisoner; you may guess whether I was happy! Georgette tried bribery. "Oh! let me go! let me go! and I will give you ten pens." Much I cared for her pens! "Did you mean what you said just now, mademoiselle?" I timidly inquired. "What?"