back to Patrick. "Keep Black-and-white up the tree," she
said, in a breathless whisper; "don't let her go near the nest, and
don't let her come down for the world. The little Phoebe-birds have
lit."

"All right, miss," not at all understanding the situation, but more than
willing to obey orders. Tattine was in such haste to get back to the
house that she hardly heard his answer. What she had tried to tell him
was that the five little fledglings, crowded into the tiny nest under
the eaves of the porch, had taken it into their heads to try their first
flight at that precise moment, and there they were perched on the shafts
of the phaeton, lighting, as it seemed, on the first thing they came to,
while the father and mother birds were flying about in frantic anxiety
to see them in such a perilous situation. How could those tiny little
untrained claws keep their hold on that big round, slippery shaft, and
if the carriage started down they would surely go under the wheels
or under the feet of that merciless little grey mare. But the little
fledglings were in better hands than they knew, for, with the exceptions
of Betsy, Doctor, and Black-and-white, every living thing at Oakdene was
kind to every other living thing.

"Whoa, girlie; whoa, girlie," had been Patrick's quieting words to
Lizzie, and then when Tattine came hurrying that way he had motioned her
to come quietly for fear of frightening them. Then, as you know, Tattine
flew to make sure that treacherous Black-and-white was kept close
guarded, and then back she flew again to the aid of the little birds
themselves. Softly she drew nearer and nearer, saying over gently,
"Whoa, Lizzie! dear little birdies!" until she came very near and then
she put out one hand towards them. That was enough for the fledglings.
Refreshed by their rest on the shafts, they flapped their tiny wings
and fluttered up to the anxious mother bird on the branches above them,
wholly unconscious that they had been in any peril whatsoever.

"And Black-and-white would have killed them, every one, if she had had
the chance," thought Tattine; "oh, if I only knew how to teach her a
lesson!"

CHAPTER V. THE KIRKS AT HOME

Barney the donkey was harnessed, and Tattine sat in the little
donkey-cart waiting, and as she waited she was saying aloud, "What,
Grandma Luty? Yes, Grandma Luty. No, Grandma Luty. What did you
say, Grandma Luty?" and this she said in the most polite little tone
imaginable. Mean