said. "To think that I should have brought you all the way from home for this." And poor Mamma was so sorry for me that she actually cried too! We made a little coffin out of some cardboard, and wrapped him in cotton-wool, and buried him in the old garden of the inn. That was the end of our canary nursling. I have a good deal more to tell you about Coo-coo, but for the present I will leave off with this piece of advice. "Never put bird-cages on the window-sill." COO-COO'S SECOND HUSBAND. [Pg 61] [Pg 61] I TOLD you the sad end of poor Frise-tête, but the history of Coo-Coo is by no means finished yet. She had not escaped without any injury, though at first we thought she was not hurt. But as soon as she recovered a little from her dreadful fright we saw to our great sorrow that one of her wings hung down in a most sad and helpless manner. I turned away shuddering.[Pg 62] I TOLD [Pg 62] "Is it quite broked, Mamma?" asked my little brother Charley. He looked at it with the greatest interest and curiosity. "Horrid little boy, I said to myself! And it does seem sometimes as if boys had very little feeling, though I don't really think so of poor Charley. "Oh, Mamma," I said, still shutting my eyes, "if she is so badly hurt, it would be better to put her out of her agony at once. Couldn't you give her chloroform or some stuff like what they kill horses with in the streets in Paris?" "It's not so bad as all that," said Mamma cheerfully. "Sally, you mustn't be silly. Open your eyes—there is nothing dreadful to see." I had to open my eyes then—Mamma was holding Coo-coo tenderly in her hand. I wondered how she had courage to do it. The poor little thing seemed to know her, and to nestle down confidingly. "I don't think it hurts her except when she tries to stick it out," said Charley. "No, I don't think it does," said Mamma, "but I'd like some one who understands little birds, to see her."
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