ready all dead, and so was
the tortoise, and as one of the dormice had got loose and gone off to
live with the house-mice, we sent the other to a friend who had several.
There remained only the dog, whom _of course_ we couldn't give away and
my canaries, whom I got leave to keep.

These canaries had a history of their own. One, we had reared ourselves
from an egg, and as it was the only baby canary that had grown up of all
we had had, we did think it very remarkable. Its name was "Frise-tete,"
which means "curly head," because it had a funny little tuft of yellow
feathers right on the top of its head, and he was the cock canary,
though Frise-tete sounds more like a girl's name, doesn't it? And the
little hen canary was called "Coo-coo," because when she first came to
us she really did make a sort of cooing noise. Where she came from we
never knew--she flew in at the open window of the schoolroom one day,
having evidently got out of her cage and lost her way. She was a
sweet-tempered little bird, but not at all sharp or clever. She didn't
seem to mind in the least that she had got into a strange place, but was
quite content and happy to take up house, or "cage," with Frise-tete.
This little couple made the last of our pet canaries, and they were
always counted mine. I think we had had Frise-tete two years, and
Coo-coo more than a year, when there came the clearing-out of pets that
I told you of. But we never knew Coo-coo's age exactly, you see.

[Illustration]

That summer we were going in different directions. My two big sisters
were to spend it with our grandmother, and one of my brothers with them.
The other brother and I were to go to Germany with Mamma. We were very
proud of being chosen to go with her, and we had never been to Germany
before, at least not to stay any length of time there, and we were in
great spirits about it. There was only one thing that troubled me, and
that was about the canaries. I was so afraid Mamma would not consent to
take them, and yet I could not bear the idea of leaving them behind. I
was sure that the person who was to take care of the house would forget
to feed them, or let the cat get to them or something, and at last I
told Mamma that I really would be too unhappy if I mightn't take them.
Mamma was very kind--she didn't like the idea of the pretty little
couple being starved or killed any more than I did, still she warned me
that I should find them a good deal of trouble on the wa