The Story of Puff, by Mrs. C. M. Livingston │ Project Gutenberg

When she got home, she took me out of the basket and put me in a small wire cage. I curled up in one corner, and did not dare to look about me for a long time. They brought me some supper, but I would not taste it. I was only just learning to feed myself; my dear mother used to feed me nice bits from her bill; my heart swelled right up in my throat. I could not have eaten if I had tried.

When it began to grow dark, I cried as hard as I could: we used to cuddle down under mother's wings and go to sleep; I thought my heart would break. Towards morning I tucked my bill in my neck, and snugged down in a heap with one foot under me and got a little sleep.

I was wakened next morning by the sun shining right into my cage. I was glad of it, for I had been quite cold. My feathers were not so very thick yet. Pretty soon two little girls, Rita and her sister Dody, came and talked to me. Dody was a little bit of a round-faced girl, with bright blue eyes and red cheeks.

I loved her right away. She said "Poor birdie!" and her voice was as sweet as my little sister's voice when she said "peep" to me in the mornings. They stood and looked at me a long time, and talked about me. "How bright his eyes are!" they said, and, "What funny little feet!" "How pretty he will be when he gets all his feathers." Then their mother called, "Children, come to breakfast," and they ran off.

I ate a very few seeds for my breakfast, and drank a little water. Then I tried to dress my feathers just as I had seen my dear mother do hers, but mine would not lie down smoothly. After breakfast they came back and talked to me again, but I never gave a single chirp in answer. It was a long, sad day, and I was glad when night came again.

Just as I was going to bed, Dody came to the cage with her hands full of little fixings. I wondered what she was going to do. I flew up on the top perch and watched her. She opened the door, and in one corner of my floor she put a piece of cotton, soft stuff like thistledown. Then she spread some pieces of white flannel on it, and covered it with a piece of pink stuff. Then what did she do but catch me and try to put me in the little bed she had made.

I tried my best to make her know that birds didn't sleep in beds, but she kept saying, "Poor Puffy was tired! Shall have a nice bed, so he shall."

So she put me on the soft little bed, and spread the blanket and the pink thing over me; then she took her hand off and I flew right back to my perch.

Then we had another hard time. Her little hand chased me about the cage till I was ready to drop, but she got me. She put me in the bed again and held me down. She tucked the blanket around me, and said:

"Dear Puff, it's a very cold night; little birdies will freeze if they don't cover up. Dody wants you to learn to sleep in a bed, just as she does. That's no way to rest; get way up on a perch, and stand on one foot, and stick your head in your feathers way behind you. I'll just tell you, Puffy, we ain't going to have any such uncomfortable works in this house. Now be still, and I'll sing you to sleep."

I wish I could tell you just how she looked while she sat there singing her sweet little hymn:

Her singing was so sweet, and she looked so loving! If anybody could make me sleep in a bed she could, but I wasn't going to do it not even for her. I thought I should smother, bundled up there, and I knew I was right, for my mother began to teach us to sleep on a perch. I kept still, though. It was no use to flutter; she only squeezed me the harder. Pretty soon she thought I was asleep. She softly raised her hand, and I popped up quick as wink and was back on my top perch in no time. Then poor Dody cried. I felt sorry for her, but I couldn't help it. Her mother came in then, and explained it all out nice to her and she felt better.

They all sat around then, looking at me and talking about me. They tried to find a name for me. One said "Billy," and another said "Dick." "Call him 'Goldy,' he is so yellow," Rita said. But their mother said, "Better call him Puff; he looks just like a little puff ball." They clapped their hands and cried out, "So we will; that's a sweet little name." I never forgot my name from that day to this. I couldn't, I heard it so much.

It was a pretty little home that I had come to. There was no fine furniture in it, but it was snug and warm, the fire was always bright and everybody looked sunshiny. Even when the wind blew and the snow flew, it always seemed as if the sun shone in that room. I think one reason was because everything went on smoothly, and there was a good deal of singing. Rita and Dody sang all their little songs, and evenings and Sundays their father and mother sang with them.

I never shall forget the day I began to sing myself. I didn't know I could. I remember the very first song—Rita and Dody were singing it. It was "Blooming May makes all gay."

It made the girls almost wild with joy when I piped out a few little notes, no louder than a katydid's. They said, "He's going to be a singer! Isn't that nice?"

And they ran and told their mother, and she came and stood looking at me a long time. But I didn't sing a word while she was there. Somehow I couldn't when they were all watching me so. They told all the neighbors, too, and when their father came from his work, they ran to meet him the first thing. I never could see why they made such an ado over it. I thought birds were made on purpose to sing, and of course they all did. But now that I come to think of it, my dear mother did not sing. My father did all the singing in our family. She chirped a little, but it was sweeter than any singing to me.

The cold winter went away and spring came. My cage was hung out of doors under the apple-tree every day now, and here was a beautiful new world, made of soft blue and pretty green and white blossoms. What a lovely spot my home was! A little brown house, with tall old trees around it, standing on a green hill sloping down on one side to a little brook that rattled and hurried over the stones. The trees were covered with pink and white blossoms, and the air was soft and sweet.

There was a wide porch where everybody came to get cool, so I had plenty of company. There were other birds, too, who came often to the apple-tree. I was afraid of them at first, but I soon got over that. One by the name of Jenny Wren, built a nest just in the corner, at the top of the porch. I enjoyed her society very much.

I grew very fast, and could sing almost as well as the birds that came in the trees and sang in the mornings. I began to be very happy, too, and to like my new home. Rita and Dody loved me so much, and I loved them. They always ran to me the first thing when they came from school. They brought me fresh chickweed and lumps of sugar, and sometimes a bit of orange or apple, and I ate it right from their fingers. It was good, too.

There is one thing that I never could understand, and that is why they do not give us oranges to eat all the time when we like them better and they are so much easier to eat than seeds. I do get very tired getting the shells off from my seeds. I would have much more time to sing, if I did not have to keep pecking away at those hard old things all the time. It is a very hard way to earn one's living, I think. And yet it is not so bad as it might be, for my friends in the apple-tree tell me that nobody brings them anything at all, that they pick up their eating just where they can. Sometimes they get plenty, and sometimes not. They eat bugs and worms and all such vile things. Pah! I am sure I should not like that. But then it must be nice to spread one's wings and fly away up into the blue, and sit and swing on a bough of a tall tree.

One morning the little girls brought me some news. They told me that a rich lady who lived down in the village, was going away with all her family for a month, and that she was going to pay them for taking care of her bird while she was gone.

"So you see you are going to have company, Puffy," Rita said. "I'm going to bring him home to-night, and you must be sure to have your feathers all smoothed down nicely, and your best manners on, for he's very stylish, Puffy, and he lives in a great, grand house ten times as big as ours."

That day seemed very long to me, and I dressed my feathers a great many times, and tried to look my best. I grew very restless as it drew near to four o'clock, and hopped up and down stairs till I was all tired out; for you must know my little house is three stories high. There is the first floor, then the first perch, where I stand to reach my seeds and water, and the second one where I sleep nights, and that makes three stories, besides the attic where my swing is.

Pretty soon I heard the gate click. I peeped through the leaves. Yes! There he was coming, sure enough—the grand company bird. My heart fluttered so I could hardly breathe, but I flew up-stairs with all speed, curled down on my feet, puffed out my feathers, and tried to look as if I didn't care.

"Here he is, Puff," Rita said, as she came up the steps of the porch with a pretty cage in her hand. "This is Fred, Puffy; why don't you make a bow to him?"

I straightened myself up then and looked at him, and he looked at me, but neither of us spoke. I forgot all about manners. Rita hung his cage very near mine, and went away, and we went on staring at each other. He was a handsome fellow, large, and yellow as buttercups. I thought he looked proud, he stood up so tall and stiff, and snapped his black eyes at me, just as if he were poking fun at something. Then he went up to his highest perch and sat and looked and looked.

I had always thought my cage was a cosey little home until his great gilt one was put by the side of it. Then I began to feel ashamed of my little house, so very small and plain. I remembered just then what Rita said about manners; so I chirped a few times to him in a friendly way, to let him know he was welcome. He never answered my chirps at all, but just kept on staring, and I could feel that he was looking me over from head to foot, as if he were measuring every feather I had on. Of course I could not make as good an appearance as he did; I hadn't had so much time to grow in.

All at once he jumped up on the highest perch he had and began to sing with all his might. He trilled and warbled and went up and down the scale, in and out and every way, and when he came to the high notes, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and screamed. He certainly had a very powerful voice, but not a sweet one. When he went up so high it was just yelling, and that's all you can call it.

When he had finished, he cocked his head on one side and looked at me out of the corner of his eye, as much as to say, "There! Did you ever hear anything like that?"

CHAPTER II.

Fred was surprised, too. He dropped the seed he was biting in two, and glared fiercely at me. Then his wings began to drop down, and he looked very mad. Then he spread his wings till he looked like a great bat, and flew at the side of his cage as if he would dash right through it, and fly at me. I sung away, and he chattered and scolded and tried his best to get out. I was glad he couldn't. I should not have liked him to come to my cage as mad as he was then.

When I got to the end of my song, I stopped and gave him a little piece of my mind. I don't know how I dared to speak so to a stranger, but I guess I was a little out of patience myself.

I think Fred was all worn out, for he went to bed soon after. I did not go to sleep right away, though I went to my chamber. Somehow I didn't feel so happy as I usually did. I knew I had not been polite or kind to Fred, and I had been jealous and vain. I did not sleep well. I had bad dreams. When I woke in the night, I was afraid. I heard cats walking round I thought. I thought I would try to be a very good little bird to-morrow.

When I woke again, the sun was shining, and Fred was already stirring. He seemed to have forgotten how cross he had been. He said "Good morning," and chirped away quite pleasantly.

After we had eaten breakfast, and taken a bath and dressed ourselves, we sung. We sung together, just as loud and high as we could yell. My throat was almost split, but I wasn't going to let him beat me. For the first few days we did not get along very well. Fred was very quick-tempered. He would spread his wings and open his mouth as if to swallow me, if I said the least thing to provoke him.

Some days we had very good times. Our cages hung so near that we could talk together all we pleased. Fred told me about his life when he was at home; how he hung between lace curtains in a pretty window of a large, fine house, and watched people pass all day long. And there were a great many visitors, and they all said, "What a beautiful bird!" and "What a wonderful singer!" And he had cake and candy, just as much as he wanted, and oranges and bananas, and they had a piano, and when they played, he sang with it, and people said it was as good as a concert. He said it was very dull in that little old brown house, and he wondered I didn't die.

And one day when he felt very good-natured, he told me that I was very handsome, and that I had a wonderful voice, and that I ought to be out in the world where people would admire me. He said, too, that it was a shame to give me nothing but seeds and water to eat; that they were mean, stingy people to treat me so. I did not like to hear him talk in that way about my dear Rita and Dody, who were always so kind to me. But when I came to think it over, it did seem as if I had been treated badly, and I felt cross when Dody filled my seed-cup. I wouldn't touch one for quite a while.

I sat and pouted half the morning, and Dody thought I was sick. She went and told her mother how I acted. Her mother was looking over lettuce for dinner; beautiful green leaves they were—oh! How I wanted to get my bill into it.

Her mother said, "Poor Puffy, he needs something fresh and green. Give him a leaf of lettuce."

So she did—a lovely curly, tender leaf. I was going at it at once, but I waited to see what Fred would do with his leaf. I was afraid he might laugh at me if I ate lettuce. But when I saw him eat his as if he liked it very much, I began on mine. It was so good. In a few days after that the cherries were ripe, and we each had a fresh one every morning. I felt ashamed of being so bad and talking as I had, when a great red juicy cherry was given me every day.

"I can tell you what it is," said Fred one morning, as he was nibbling a big cherry, "it must be a very nice thing to get just as many of these as you want. Think of our sleeping up in that big tree, all tucked in among the leaves, then in the morning making a breakfast of cherries, and away we'd go sailing off just where we please! No cage for us any more! See here, Puff," and Fred came to the side of his cage, and poked his head away out through the wires and spoke low, "let's you and me run away!"

The idea of such a thing almost took my breath away. I looked up in the blue sky. The white clouds were floating along softly. What if we could escape and fly away up, up, and stand on that soft cloud, and sail along, sail along, through the blue forever! It would be lovely. Just then Rita and Dody came to bring us chickweed, and we had not time to talk about it. But when the time came for our evening song, instead of singing a low, soft hymn, we talked again about running away. Fred talked so much and so fast, that before I knew it I had promised to try to escape. We made up our minds that we would go in the morning.

"The sooner we are off the better," Fred said, "for this is the grandest time in the year. Everything is ripe—cherries and berries, and we shall find hosts of friends as soon as we get out. I was talking with Mr. Wren only yesterday, and he promised to help us in any way he could."

We sat up very late that night laying our plans. We decided to slip out when the cage doors were opened to change the water in our bath-tubs.

"Be quick as a wink when the time comes," Fred said. "Whoever gets out first will wait on the top of that tall lilac for the other. Good-night! We must be off to sleep now, so as to be ready for morning. And don't you go and back out. Have some spirit about you; as if a creature with wings ought to live in a cage, like a poor little mean mouse!"

Then Fred stretched himself up tall, and looked very proud. He bounded into his swing in high spirits, and soon swung himself to sleep. But I couldn't sleep. It seemed dreadful to be going out into the great wide world all alone. Perhaps the cats would get us, or a bad boy shoot us. I could hear the dogs barking, and everything seemed dark and gloomy. I wished I hadn't promised to go. Dody told me once that God took care of little birds, but I couldn't feel sure about it that night. I started at every noise I heard. I was very unhappy.

It was a long night, but morning came at last. Dody was up bright and early. She brought Fred and me each a beautiful fresh clover blossom the first thing she did. Much as I loved clover, I couldn't bear to taste it, I felt so bad, thinking of what we meant to do. I couldn't eat much breakfast, for when I heard the little breakfast bell tinkle, I knew it would be time to start in a little while. I always had sung at prayers, but I couldn't that morning. Dody sat in her little rocking-chair and sung from her hymnbook as hard as she could. It was a sweet hymn, and a tune I liked. But I could not sing a note, and she kept looking at me as if she wanted to know why. Fred sang louder than anybody.

It was but a few minutes afterwards that the girls came to attend to us. They carried our cages out on the back porch, and brought the seed-box and fresh water. Rita tended to me that morning, and Dody took Fred. Dody turned her back just a minute to get the seeds. Fred's door was open a little bit, and he stood down close by it waiting his chance. He slipped out as swift as a butterfly! Dody gave a scream, but Fred spread his wings and went way, way up. How beautifully he soared along. I wished I was with him. I had no chance to get out myself, for Rita shut my door tight and went off trying to catch Fred.

Everybody shouted and ran here and there. The neighbors all came over, and one said, "I see him!" and another cried, "There he is!" and at last somebody said, "Here he comes on top of the lilac. Hand me his cage and I'll get up on the fence and hold it towards him. Maybe he'll go in!"

Maybe he didn't! Naughty Fred flew up in the tip-top branch of the maple, and swung gayly back and forth, just as if he greatly enjoyed seeing a woman on the fence with a red face turned up to the sky, and an empty bird-cage in her hand. He only stayed a minute, then he flew far away and was never seen again.

Dody cried as if her heart would break. When I saw how badly everybody felt about Fred's getting away, I couldn't make up my mind to try to go that day. I couldn't go if I had tried, for Rita opened and shut my door in a flash when she waited upon me. I suppose Fred was vexed at me because I didn't come. Rita and Dody and their mother spent nearly all that day out doors looking for him, and they kept his cage hanging out for him a good many days, but he did not come.

I missed Fred very much, and felt discontented and unhappy. I did not enjoy life as I did before he came. I was all the time wishing and longing to be somewhere else, and to have things I had not. I did not sing any more. I moped. I thought if I could live in a big, handsome house, such as Fred told me about, and have a golden cage and all those new things to eat, and see people passing back and forth all day, then I should be happy. How could I be expected to content myself always in this back place, seeing nothing all day long but trees and birds and two or three people?

Sometimes I thought about following Fred, but I felt a little afraid to go alone. I heard them say that perhaps the cats or dogs had killed him by this time: But I kept thinking of all he had told me, and I made up my mind at last that I would not be a prisoner any more. I would get out and see the world. So now I spent all my time in planning how it should be done. It would not be an easy thing to do. Rita and Dody were so very careful they never left my door open a second. You may wonder how it was that I could make up my mind to leave my dear friends, but when one begins to go wrong, I guess nothing is of any account but the thing they want to do. So night and day I thought and contrived how to escape.

One pleasant afternoon when the little girls got home from school, they came to pet me. They brought a great treat they thought. It was a piece of banana. I wanted to taste it and see what it was like, but I sat sulkily in one corner, and never touched it. They talked to me, but I wouldn't answer.

Her little hot face looked so tired after her long walk, I ought to have been ashamed of myself for acting so.

"Shut the windows and let him out for a little while," her mother said. "That will rest him."

So she took my cage into the dining-room, and opened the door. I flew right out and alighted on the window-sill. I went straight to the window, because, I knew something that I guess Dody had forgotten. There was a hole in one of the dining-room windows, just a little one, no bigger than Dody's hand.

"You stay here, Puffy," Dody said, "and I'll get you some nice cold water, and you'll feel better, birdie dear. I always do when I take a bath."

No sooner had she shut the door than I rushed up to the broken window, and out I went! I was free—free as the wind!

I waited just a minute on the rose bush, and peeped in to see Dody hunting under chairs and tables, and calling, "Where are you, Puffy!"

Then I said softly, "Good-by, dear Dody," and I spread my wings and away, away. I thought I never would stop till I got up into the beautiful blue and sat on one of those soft, white clouds.

CHAPTER III.

It was so sudden I had no time to get away, and my heart fluttered with fear. The hand was soft and white, and I found when I dared to look up that the owner of it was a beautiful young lady. She was dressed in gauzy white stuff, and was such a pretty creature that I thought I should like to stay with her always.

"Do see what I have found," she said to another lady. "A darling little canary."

Then there gathered about me ever so many ladies dressed in silks and jewels. They talked to me and called me a beauty, and wondered if I could sing.

One lady called a girl, and said, "Angeline, go up in the attic and bring down that old bird-cage."

It was near a window that I was placed, and not long after I saw the pretty young lady who caught me, get in a carriage and go away.

And who was Rose? I did not find out that night for I soon went to sleep, tired out with my journey. I had time in the morning to look about me before the rest got up. Here I was at last in a large fine house such as Fred told me about. I could see through into the parlor, and there were the lace curtains and pictures, and ever so many pretty things. It was better than being free to live in such a place. I was almost wild with joy. I sung at the top of my voice, and swelled out my feathers till I was three times as big as usual. I should never have any more trouble; everybody would praise me, and I should have everything I wanted. I thought there was only one thing lacking to make me perfectly happy. I wanted a big gold cage like Fred's.

While I was watching them set out the table in a scarlet and white cloth, and china and silver, just wonderful to see, a little girl danced into the room and came toward me.

Her voice was low and sweet, and she looked like one of the little pinkish-white roses that clamber over the porch at Dody's house. Her eyes were blue, like the sky, and her gold hair hung on her shoulders in pretty waves. I was glad I belonged to Rose. I was just thinking what a nice place I had come to, when I heard a great noise and a boy burst into the room with a whoop and a yell. I trembled when I saw him, for I had heard about boys. He was short and chubby, with very black eyes and hardly no hair on his head—I guess his feathers hadn't grown out.

Then he poked his fingers through the wires and hooted at me, and kept me flurrying about from side to side, frightened almost to death.

He paid no attention to her, though, and I was glad when the breakfast bell called him away. After breakfast both he and Rose went off to school.

It was pretty quiet all day. The dining-room was darkened to keep out the flies, and nobody brought me any nice little bit to eat. I had nothing but seeds and water. I missed my cuttle-bone and my chickweed. I began to be lonely, and to wish I could see Dody. Then I sat and thought just how the little room looked with the roses peeping in at the window. I could see my empty cage hanging there, and dear Dody sad and lonely. A little whisper from somewhere asked me whether I did right to run away, and if, after all, I was going to like my new home so very much better than the old. But I hushed it up with a very loud song.

In a few days something happened. Angeline cane walking in with a great beautiful gilt cage in her hand, larger and handsomer than Fred's even. She opened its door, then she opened my door and put the open doors close together. I stood and looked at it in great astonishment and delight.

I didn't like being called a goose, nor did I think it was a polite way to invite me. But I stepped in, and she shut the door and carried the old cage away. Then she took the new cage into the back parlor, and fastened it on a pretty gilt chain that hung down from the ceiling between the lace curtains of the window. There! Now I had everything just as I wanted it. Was it I, or somebody else, in that great bright cage among the lace curtains, looking out on the gay street? I danced up-stairs and down, and strutted about and tried to look like Fred. I nibbled the cuttle-bone, and took a seed and a drink of water, and tried to sing a little to express my feelings. But, somehow, it seemed as if my throat was all swelled up. I couldn't sound a note.

You would think that then, surely, I was perfectly happy, with everything so nice and a dear little mistress who loved me. But, oh, that boy! I knew as soon as I saw him that my troubles had begun. He seemed to have a great many names. Most of the time it was "Bob," but Rose called him "Rob." When he was going to bed his mother said, "Good-night, Robbie," and his father said "Robert!" when he was naughty, and that was most of the time. Saturdays he nearly tortured the life out of me. He would catch me, and squeeze me till I was almost choked. He would poke at my eyes, and open my mouth and try to get hold of my tongue. I tried to get away from him. If I could, I would have gone out of the window and left everything, and never have come back. Schools ought not to have Saturdays. Rose was in school all the week, and Saturdays she often went to visit her cousins, so nobody knew how the naughty boy tormented me.

I began to find out that Fred had told only the bright side of things. As the weeks passed away, I got tired of the life I led. It was fun at first to watch the people pass, but at last I got very tired watching them come and go, come and go all day long. Some of them looked cross, and some looked sad, and nobody looked very happy. It wasn't half so nice, after all, as hanging under the apple-tree and having calls from the other birds that flew about. Here no birds came to see me, except one ill-natured old sparrow, and he came to pick a quarrel with me. He would dart at my cage when the window was open, his mouth stretched and his eyes fierce as cat's eyes, I learned how to manage him after a while. I would just get back in the further corner of my cage, keep perfectly still, and look at him. So he got ashamed of himself and left me in peace. That was one of my troubles. I had others.

Some days I nearly starved. Everybody would go off and forget me. Not a drop of fresh water, not a seed in my cup, I thought many a day I should die before night. I would get so weak I couldn't sing, and I sat sad and cross and remembered how Rita and Dody never forgot me once. Rose would have seen to me if her mother had allowed her to, but I was left to the care of servants, and Rose went to school very early and did not know how badly I was treated. There were days, though, when I had everything and more too; sugar and orange and berries and cake. Then I often made myself sick. I would rather have had something steady, even if it was plain.

I was very lonely, too. Nobody seemed to have time to give me a kind word. Once when I had sung one of my best songs and did the high notes beautifully, a young man sitting in the room reading a newspaper, said, "What a horrid screecher that bird is. He ought to have his neck wrung!"

Think of that when I had been doing my best to please him! I didn't sing any more for a good many days. I just stood on my highest perch, and looked into the street to see if I couldn't see Rita and Dody coming to take me home. Day after day I tired myself all out watching, but they never came. It was dusty in that window, too. My eyes and nose were full of it. I thought of the pure air in my other home; how sweet the roses smelled in the porch; and Rita and Dody were there and I was not. Oh! If I had only been content in the dear little place. Now I never should see it again. They were better folks, too, in the little house. They never spoke angry words to each other. But in this house I heard a great many; besides there were no prayers and hymns there.

I had worse enemies, too, than Bob, I found out after awhile. One day, when Angeline took me into the kitchen to clean my cage, she left me standing on the kitchen table while she talked with another girl that put her head over the back fence. I was looking about the room, when to my horror I saw stretched out behind the stove a great long gray cat. I kept as still as a mouse—hardly breathed. It was dreadful! What if she should wake up? I had heard awful stories about cats.

I never took my eyes from her. Sure enough she did wake up just then. She stretched herself and washed her face, and then got up and walked about. I kept still. I didn't dare to scream as long as she had not seen me. All of a sudden she turned her head and saw me. Oh, what frightful big yellow eyes she had! She gave one great bound and sprang up on the table. Then I screamed loud and sharp, and Angeline rushed in, just as that dreadful monster had her paw raised all ready to strike at me.

Angeline took a broom and sent that cat out of the door pretty fast. Then she talked real nice to me, and comforted me, and I thought more of her than I ever did before.

Then they had a dog, too. He was another trouble. He was white as snow, and had little curls all over him, and wore a blue ribbon around his neck. His name was Beauty. He didn't act very beautiful. He tormented me too. He would jump up towards me, and bark furiously whenever he came into the parlor. I did not really think he could catch me, but it made me nervous.

The only happy moments I ever had was when I was alone with dear Rose. She was so gentle, and seemed to love me so much. She would put her face to mine and say low, sweet words. She called me "Tina," after the pretty young lady. Her name was Christina. Sometimes Rose took me to her room. Then she would open my cage door and tell me to fly. She shut all the windows first, or I think I should have run away again to get rid of my tormentors. But I did have good times in her room. I flew all about and it rested me. I sat on her pretty white bed, and on the tops of chairs, and walked all over the bureau and saw myself in the mirror.

I thought at first that I was meeting a stranger. I said to myself, "That's a good-looking little fellow; wonder who he is?" Then I bowed and talked to him, and he, impertinent fellow, just mimicked me for everything I did and said. Then I scolded at him, and he scolded back.

I began to feel cross, and I was just getting ready to fight him when Rose said, "Why, Tina, that's yourself!" And grandma who sat in the room said, "He's as foolish as some touchy boys and girls are; ready to quarrel with their own shadows." Then I can tell you I felt ashamed.

Grandma was another good friend of mine. She always made Bob let me alone when she happened to be in the room with us, and she began to look after me every day, and see if I had some nice little bit to eat. Whenever she ate an orange, she always gave a piece to me. She was a pretty old lady. Her hair was white as snow. She wore black silk dresses and white lace caps, and her face looked as if everything was just as she liked to have it.

CHAPTER IV.

It was only once in a while on Saturdays that I had such good times. All the rest of the week I hung in that window and heard wagons rattle by, and wished so much that I could hear the brook gurgling over the stones by the little brown house, and smell the flowers, and see Dody.

One Saturday Rose's cousin came after her to spend the day. I watched her getting ready with a sad heart, for I knew Bob would tease me as soon as she was gone. And sure enough, no sooner was she gone than he began to poke a stick through the wires at me. I was patient for a while, and kept out of the reach of it by lively work. Then I got cross, I opened my mouth wide at him, and dropped my wings and scolded. He only laughed at that. Then he caught me. I slipped away from him ever so many times at first, and bumped my head and bruised my sides. But at last I was fast, and he squeezed me tight and tried to bend my legs the wrong way, and put his little black fingers in my mouth. I bit him then, so he pulled out one of my longest, brightest feathers, to pay me off, he said. That hurt me, and I screamed so that grandma came to see what was the matter. I was trembling like a leaf.

She sent Bob off, then she took me in her own hands, talked low to me, and cuddled me up in her soft neck and smoothed my feathers down gently, and took the mad all out of me. Little girls are nice and pretty, and so are young ladies, but grandmas are best when you get into trouble. This grandma always seemed to be around when I was frightened almost to death. I loved her dearly.

One day I sat gazing idly into the street, and who should I see but Rita and Dody walking along! My heart jumped with joy! Were they coming after me? I leaned over and looked down. No! They passed on. I called and screamed to them, but the window was shut, and they did not hear. They went on. I was almost sick the rest of that day, I was so disappointed.

But, oh me! I didn't know then what other hard thing was coming. For a great many days I missed Rose, and wondered where she was. I thought everybody looked sad, and everything looked quiet, though a good many people were coming and going. One afternoon the folding doors were opened, and they trimmed the doorway with pretty green vines, and the room was filled with white flowers. Dear Rose lay on a little bed of flowers. She was just as white as the lilies that lay all over her pillow. It was really Rose, and she lay very still, and the pink was all gone out of her face. I was going to pour out a glad little song when I saw her, but when I noticed that everybody was crying and I saw Rose did not wake up, I gave two or three sad little chirps. Rose always used to come to me when she heard them, and say, "What's the matter, Tina, dear?" But now she never moved.

Then a lady came and carried me away to grandma's room. I did not know what happened next; I only know that I never saw my darling Rose again. But I am sure God took care of her, for she was kind and loving; and, once when she let me hang in her room all night, I saw her kneel down and pray just as they used to do in the little brown house.

I stayed in grandma's room always after that. I think she was lonely without her little Rose, and wanted me for company. She prayed, too, and read a good deal from a big book.

I was very lonely and sometimes, just at dusk, grandma would sing such sad tunes that I thought they would break my heart. One was:

I never saw the dog or cat now, and Bob didn't come into the room very often, and grandma would not let him tease me. I don't know as he would have done it, anyway. He seemed to feel so bad because Rose was gone. He didn't do as much mischief as he used to. I felt sorry for him.

When winter came on and it was time to shut the doors and windows, I enjoyed myself. Grandma let me stay out of my cage all I pleased. I liked flying about the room and sitting up on top of a picture. I sat on grandma's head, too, and picked her lace cap; and when she ate apples, I sat on the arm of her chair. She would take a piece and then give me a bite. I have sat for a long time and watched her put a shiny needle in and out a piece of cloth. It was very funny work. I played with her spools, and her spectacles when she took them off. I think a bird would look very funny with little spectacles on.

Sometimes grandma's tea was sent up to her. Then I took tea with her. I took nibbles right out of the bread on the plate, and dipped my bill in the butter. I always noticed that people ate bread and butter together. I ate a little cake and some peaches, and walked all over the table and she never said "stop," once.

Grandma had some nice plants, and I had fine times with them. Sometimes I stayed all day among them. I enjoyed picking in the earth, and I played that I lived out doors, and that I had great, beautiful grounds, all my own, and that the high plants were my tall trees, and the little ones my rose bushes and lilacs. There was one big geranium that was my very tallest tree. When I felt tired, I played it was night and flew into my big tree and hid among the sweet-scented leaves and went to sleep. It was just beautiful. Sometimes I played that I had a great many brothers and sisters, or that each one of the pots was the house of one of my friends, and I would go out calling and have long talks with them; or they would come to visit me. I couldn't help thinking at times how nice it would be if Fred were there too. I suppose we would have quarreled if he had, for Fred always wanted his own way, and that shows me that I must have wanted my own way too, or there wouldn't have been anything to quarrel about. Grandma says that one can't quarrel alone. I heard her tell Bob so.

Once I did something very bad. Grandma went out and stayed a long time, and I got into great mischief. She had one handsome, fresh-looking plant, with bright green leaves. I never thought of eating any of them, but I happened to take a little nip out of this one. It didn't taste very good, but the leaves were tender and crisp, like lettuce, and I liked to snap out bits of it. It made me think of summer. I didn't mean to take all the leaves off. I worked real fast and it was good fun, but when I saw it stand there all bare, not a leaf left, I began to be frightened. When I heard grandma coming, I hid in the big geranium. I kept very still, and she didn't find me for ever so long.

When she spied the plant with all the leaves gone, I heard her say "O-h!" She called and called me, "Where are you, naughty little fellow?" I heard her say, but I never stirred.

My heart beat so loud I was afraid she would hear it. By that time I was so sorry and ashamed I most hoped she never would find me. She looked on the top of the windows and under the chairs; then she stooped down and looked in among the plants, and before I knew it, her hand was over me and I was caught.

As she put me in the cage and shut the door, she said, "Bad birdie; you must be punished for this. I cannot let you take tea with me to-night, nor let you out again for a good many days."

Oh, how I felt when I saw her supper brought in, I watched Angelina while she drew out the little round table, and put a pretty buff cloth on it, and set it out with china dishes all covered with pink flowers and butterflies, and then brought cunning little biscuit and cold meat, and preserves and cake—frosted cake too. Then she brought the little silver tea-pot smoking hot, and supper was all ready and I couldn't come to it. Oh, dear! If I only hadn't done it!

I've often wondered when I saw Bob doing naughty things why he did them when he knew he'd have to suffer for it in some way, and here I had been acting just like him. I stood right at the corner where I could see best and leaned my head out and watched grandma while she ate. How I did want to get on to that table! When she was through, she gave me a bit of cake, but I don't think I deserved it. I made up my mind never to be naughty again, though.

I could have been quite happy that winter, if we had not missed Rose so much. My heart was so heavy. Sometimes it was hard to sing a merry song. I asked grandma again and again to tell me about her. Once I heard her say, "Since Rosie died." I thought she must be somewhere, for grandma said one night when she sat in her arm chair by the fire, "Dear little Rosie, I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me."

Spring began to come again. I could see from my window that a soft green carpet was spread all over the earth. The trees blossomed out, some in pink, and some in white, and the warm air filled the room from open doors and windows. It was all so pretty and pleasant.

But now my door was never left open a minute, Angeline snapped it shut when she did up my room, as quick as wink. I felt as if it was rather hard to be such a prisoner when I was not used to it, and I began to get gloomy and discouraged again. When I saw other birds hopping about so gay and free, I used to tell grandma if she would only let me out a few minutes, just to sit in that lovely little cherry-tree and taste the blossoms, I would come right back. But she never paid any attention to such talk. She did hang my cage outside her window, though, and the branches of the elm drooped all about it. I had a good many visitors there, and some of them were very pleasant.

Little Mrs. Bluebird slipped over often. She told me how she and Mr. Bluebird worked for weeks making a lovely nest, lined with wool; and she had four little speckled eggs, and had commenced sitting on them when some bad boys tore down the nest and carried it off, eggs and all.

I wondered if it was Bob. She said she was discouraged, and she believed she would like to live in a little house like mine and be taken care of. After I had told her my troubles, she thought that perhaps she was as well off as anybody.

And I, too, found that my lot was not the hardest there was. Robin Redbreast told me that they all had passed through sad times that spring. They came North too early; the whole family froze their feet, and often went hungry to bed because not a crumb nor a bug was to be found on the snow-covered ground. And if it had not been for our grandma, they would certainly have starved. She put crumbs on the piazza roof for them every morning. He thought he would be perfectly happy in my home, with such a grandma. Then, besides, they had been obliged to move their nest three times that spring, and every one that visited me had complaints to make about the sparrows; they are a bad, quarrelsome set. It seems they were invited here from Europe, and now they act as if they owned all this country. I think they must be a very low family. I don't see why they should put on such airs. They are common enough looking birds with their dusty gray coats. Why! A sparrow looks like a mouse by the side of some that used to come to the elm—great, splendid creatures with scarlet vests and black velvet coats, looking as if they belonged to the royal family. They were kind, and polite, and modest, and they didn't come from Europe either. But there! Grandma says it is wrong to say ill-natured things of people.

Every morning at four o'clock all the birds in our neighborhood held a concert. They invited me to join it. They thought my voice would be a great addition, they said. They wanted Mr. Bobolink and me to sing a duet together. Then they put me down for a solo and all would join in the chorus. I wanted to attend very much, but I was ashamed to find that every morning by the time I got outside, the concert was over and my friends had gone different ways to attend to the business of the day. They were hard at work building nests, and they seemed so busy and happy, hopping about among the boughs, or going long journeys and coming back with twigs and bits of thread in their mouths.

Every night they had a sort of party just before bedtime and such a chattering as they kept up! Sometimes they held it in the elm-tree and I put in a little word now and then. But the favorite meeting place was in a grove across the street. Oh! How I longed to be out with them; my life seemed so hum-drum by the side of theirs.

CHAPTER V.

I spread my wings and away I went, up, up, up. Was there ever anything so nice as flying! I steered for a tall maple, and, there I sat and rocked myself back and forth, and looked down on the whole world. Away down ever so far I could see grandma at her window sewing. She had not missed me yet. I could see Bob down on the lawn.

The dog was there too. How glad I was that I was up so high. Pretty soon grandma got up and got a cherry, and came back to put it in my cage. Poor grandma! How astonished and frightened she looked. She put out her head and looked all about. Then she called, "Bob, see if you can find Birdie. He is gone!"

Bob ran up and down, and shouted, and didn't seem to look anywhere but right up in the sky. Then everybody in the house came out, and looked in the hedge, and under the lilac, and in the evergreen. It was fun to watch them.

Yes, there I was looking at them. I was ahead for once, and they couldn't do a thing but stand and look at me.

"Let's send Tab up to scare her down," said Bob. "Come Tabby, Tabby," he called, and that dreadful old cat came walking out of the kitchen.

I didn't wait to see what would be done next. I spread my wings for a long high fly out of reach of all cats and dogs and boys.

If you never flew, I can't begin to tell you how nice flying is. When I was sure I was far enough away, I rested myself in a grove. I fell asleep there, and had a nice long nap. When I awoke, I couldn't think for a minute where I was. I was very hungry. I found a berry or two, but they were almost gone. I thought I ought to go back now. I would have liked to try to find the little brown house, but I was afraid if I stayed any longer, grandma would be troubled about me, so I started home, as I thought. On and on I went, but I could not find a big gray house. Where was it? And where was I? I began to feel very tired, and had to stop every few minutes to rest.

It was growing dark, and I began to be afraid I should never find grandma's house again. I flew wildly about till I was too tired to move. It was dark, and I was lost! It's all very well to be free while the sun shines, but when the dark night comes down, it's better for a poor little bird like me to be in his own little house. Oh dear! I thought, if only I hadn't gone out. I never meant to get so far away. Grandma did know best, after all, and it seems one can't do the least little wrong thing without suffering for it. I knew it was naughty to go out, and now I was being punished for it.

These were my thoughts as I sat sad, and hungry, and wretched. I did not dare to sleep up in a high tree. I was so tired I was afraid I would fall and break my neck, so I curled up in a little low bush and was just falling asleep when I heard a great long m-e-o-w. A cat! It made my heart stand still. As soon as I could get strength I flew up in a big tree. The wind blew so hard I was afraid it would blow the tree down. The cat went off after a while, and I was just dropping off to sleep again when a loud shrill voice said, "Tu-whoo, tu-whoo," and just a little ways from me I saw two big eyes that looked like fire-balls. I thought it must be some great monster come to swallow me up. I did not dare to make a bit of noise. I hid behind some big leaves and shut my eyes tight so that he couldn't see me, and I sat and trembled.

How I thought then of my pretty cage hanging empty in grandma's room, and wished, oh! so much, that I was only in it. There was very little sleep for me that night.

I was glad when the sky began to get red in the east. Then soon after I heard a stir and twitter from some other birds. This cheered me up; I ventured to peep out. The big eyes were gone, and the first rays of the sun were peeping into my tree. The great drops of dew lay all about me. I was so glad, for I had been thirsty all night, and there is no sweet good drink like dew. The next thing was to go out and hunt up some breakfast. I didn't know which way to turn to find something. I went toward the place where I heard the voices of other birds. I made sure first that they were not those saucy blue-jays, or cross sparrows, then I flew right down among them. I was glad to find that they belonged to the same families with whom I was acquainted. I guess they were cousins.

They all gathered around me as if I were a great sight. They were very kind to me, and said they would show me where to get some breakfast, but when I saw what it was—bugs and worms—I turned away. I had to tell them that I couldn't eat such as that if I starved. Some of them laughed at me then, and said I was putting on airs.

Then old mother Robin spoke up and said, "Children, don't be rude. This little stranger has not been used to eating such food. Come with me, my child, and I will show you where you can find some seeds."

So she took me to a large, lovely garden, and showed me how to get the seeds out of some little balls that were growing there. They were very sweet and good.

I stayed with these birds a long time, for after a few days I gave up trying to find either of my homes. I saw in my journeys a good many little brown houses and tall gray ones, but they were never the right ones. So I settled myself down to an outdoor life, and was quite content. I helped the other birds. I brought bits of things that I found to them, and went out with them to hunt bugs for their little ones; it was great fun to do that. I went with the robins just before dark often to get worms. They would stamp on the ground, then the worms that live way down under ground would come and poke their heads up to see who was knocking at their door, and the robins would snatch them up in their bills and be off.

We had grand concerts. The first one was always at four o'clock in the morning. The world is very beautiful then. Everything looks fresh and clean. It is a wonderful sight to see the sun get up. There is a great glory in the sky just before he comes. The little pink-edged clouds lie all around, and the dewdrops sparkle like thousands of diamonds. Only birds enjoy it, though. People stay in their beds and sleep, just when the world is the very prettiest. I have often wondered why all little boys and girls did not go to bed when birds do, and get up when they do, and not miss the best of everything. The four o'clock concert is given by the birds on purpose to make folks wake up to enjoy things. But they will not—only just a few; the others scold. They turn over and say, "I wish those little scamps would stop that noise." I've heard them many a time.

My friends took long journeys, and I often went with them. But I could not stand it to fly as fast or as long as they did, and often stopped by the way and rested till they returned. One day I stopped in a grove and had a nice sleep. Then I waited a long time for them, but they didn't come. And they never came; I never saw them again! It grieved me very much. I thought they might at least have said "good-by" to me. I remembered that they had told me they always went South every fall and stayed until spring. And now they were gone, and I was sad and lonely.

There were no birds left very soon, except swallows and sparrows, and I never had been sociable with them. The nights grew very cold. I had to get in the evergreen-tree and tuck my feet under me, or they would have been frozen. The seeds were all gone out of the garden. I lived on crumbs that people threw out in their dooryards. One day a few little flakes of snow came down. That frightened me. What if great heaps of it were to come and cover up all the crumbs!

Oh, how dreary the pretty world begun to look! The leaves all gone from the trees, the branches bare, and the green hills turned to dingy brown; the rain drip, dripping all day long. I sat on the fence for long hours, and watched and looked at every little girl to see if it were not Rita or Dody. I went to all the tall houses to try to find grandma's window. I thought how she sat in the twilight by the fire, humming her sad little songs, and wondering where I was. Oh, dear grandma! If she would only come out to look for me, I would fly right into her arms. Day after day I sat and mourned. I grew thin, and my feathers fell out, and I felt sick. Where were all my friends?

One morning I sat on a bush not far from a house. A cold rain was drizzling down, and I was cold and hungry. Just then a woman came along, and before I knew what she was about she threw a handkerchief over my head and caught me. I struggled hard to get away, for I did not like the looks of the woman. I thought I would rather stay out and starve than to live with her. She had a rough, red face, and her dress was soiled and torn. Her shoes wouldn't stay on, and her hair straggled over her face. She held me tight and took me into the house. A pack of ragged children ran to meet her.

How shall I begin to tell you what I felt when I looked around that house? It was bare and dreadful looking. There was no carpet or curtains, and nothing but a broken stove and table, a chair or two, and some ragged beds on the floor in one end of the room. The children had dirty faces and tangled hair and ragged clothes. To think of my Rose and Dody looking like that! Every one of them wanted to take me the same minute, and they snatched me about from one to another, and squeezed me up as if they thought I was made of paper.

Pretty soon the woman brought a small box, and said in a loud voice that made me shudder, "Give him to me this minute!"

She lifted the cover, plumped me in and shut it quick. There I was, in the dark. After a while she fixed it so that a little ray of light came in, and I could see a cup of water and a piece of bread. But though I was almost starved my heart was too heavy to eat. To think that I should ever have come to this—a prisoner in such a place. How could I ever have been unhappy in that sweet dear home that I first ran away from. I tell you, it's thinking what might have been, and that it is our own fault that it doesn't be, that is the hardest part to bear when you get into trouble.

I tried to resign myself to the thought that I was to stay in that dark place forever. But after a long time, they took me out and put me in a little rough cage made of splintery sticks nailed together. And now began the very hardest part of my life. The father came home, and he was a great big shaggy man, with fierce eyes and a red nose. He scolded and knocked the children about, and drank all the time from a big black bottle, and smoked till I was almost choked, and said bad words, and got worse and worse till he fell asleep. Day after day he went through that.

Bob's tormentings were nothing to what I had to suffer now. Bill and Sam and Betty and Sal quarreled over me, and pulled me about from morning till night. It is a wonder I did not die. Still, my feathers grew in again, and I began to feel stronger, but I did not sing. I went over some sad little chirrupings that meant, O, dear Rose! O, grandma! O, Dody! Won't some of you come to help me? What a dismal, wretched home it was. Nothing but cuffs, and kicks, and scoldings through the dreary weeks. I am only a little bird, but I would like to speak out and tell all boys and girls that they ought to be very happy if they have enough to eat and wear, a kind father and mother, and a pleasant home.

One night I saw that big fierce man looking sharp and long at me. I thought it meant something, and it did. For early the next morning, before it was scarcely light, while all the rest were asleep, he slipped softly up to me, took down my cage, hid it under his coat and went out.

I shivered when I felt the frosty air, both with cold and fear. I didn't know what this bad man would do to me. Perhaps he was going to kill me! He walked on and on a long ways. We did not pass many houses at first. At last he went through a long street, and another, till he came to the edge of the village and stopped before a house where a man was mending his gate. He asked him if he wanted to buy a bird.

I peeped out at him and his pretty home. Oh I how I wished I could speak and beg him to take me. Then the bad man said he wanted to sell him very much; that he was a poor man and had no money to buy breakfast for his family. Then the nice man laid down his hammer, and came close and took a good look at me.

"Where did you get this bird?" he asked. And when he had been told, he said, right away, "I'll take him!"

And he pulled out some money and handed it over, and took me and went up the walk to the house as fast as he could.

No, this was a white house, with green blinds. But there was the porch, and the apple-tree and the broad stones just the same. And was that leafless bush the lilac? And who was the chubby little girl in a long nightgown that bounded into the room as soon as I was inside? My dear Dody? It was, it was surely Dody.

She shouted and clapped her hands and cried, "Papa, is that Puff? O, where did you get him?"

She bent over me just a minute, then she said, "Yes, it's my dear Puffy. It's his hind toe; it is, it is! Don't you know, papa, the nail was crooked and shorter than the others, and there's the topknot on his head. Oh, I must have him in my hand just a minute, the dear darling!"

And she took me in her warm, soft hands, and laid me to her cheek and I was happy, and Dody looked as if she were.

Then she took me into the little bedroom that I remembered so well, and there lay Rita still fast asleep. Dody put my bill close to her cheek, and I kissed her.

And Dody laughed till she cried. Then father and mother came in, too, and they all talked and wondered together about me.

When breakfast was ready, they let me come and eat with them. I cannot tell you if I try, what a happy, happy time it was when I sat and sung again at morning prayers, in the pretty little sitting-room with the sun shining straight into my cage.

I am at last perfectly happy and contented. I have tried everything I thought I wanted, and it wasn't what I thought it was, and now I am back in the old place, and here was what I wanted all the time and I didn't know it. Silly Puff!

It is out of fashion to put a moral after a story, but I am going to have one to mine.

   MORAL.—If you should be thrown into bad company, don't take their advice.

   It takes only one little minute to do something that may cause months of sorrow.

   Be content.

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The story of Puff

THE STORY OF PUFF

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

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