er breakfast, he
brought the bird down to his mother's room. She held it while he took a
pair of sharp scissors, and cut its leg right off a little way above the
broken place. Then he put some vaseline on the tiny stump, bound it up,
and left Dick in his mother's care. All the morning, as she sat sewing,
she watched him to see that he did not pick the bandage away.

When Carl came home, Dick was so much better that he had managed to fly
up on his perch, and was eating seeds quite gayly. "Poor Dick!" said
Carl, "A leg and a stump!" Dick imitated him in a few little chirps, "A
leg and a stump!"

"Why, he is saying it too," exclaimed Carl, and burst out laughing.

Dick seemed cheerful enough, but it was very pitiful to see him dragging
his poor little stump around the cage, and resting it against the perch
to keep him from falling. When Mrs. Montague came the next day, she
could not bear to look at him. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I cannot take
that disfigured bird home."

I could not help thinking how different she was from Miss Laura, who
loved any creature all the more for having some blemish about it.

"What shall I do?" said Mrs. Montague. "I miss my little bird so much. I
shall have to get a new one. Carl, will you sell me one?"

"I will give you one, Mrs. Montague," said the boy, eagerly. "I would
like to do so." Mrs. Morris looked pleased to hear Carl say this. She
used to fear sometimes, that in his love for making money, he would
become selfish.

Mrs. Montague was very kind to the Morris family, and Carl seemed quite
pleased to do her a favor. He took her up to his room, and let her
choose the bird she liked best. She took a handsome, yellow one, called
Barry. He was a good singer, and a great favorite of Carl's. The boy put
him in the cage, wrapped it up well, for it was a cold, snowy day, and
carried it out to Mrs. Montague's sleigh.

She gave him a pleasant smile, and drove away, and Carl ran up the steps
into the house. "It's all right, mother," he said, giving Mrs. Morris a
hearty, boyish kiss, as she stood waiting for him. "I don't mind letting
her have it."

"But you expected to sell that one, didn't you?" she asked.

"Mrs. Smith said maybe she'd take it when she came home from Boston, but
I dare say she'd change her mind and get one there."

"How much were you going to ask for him?"

"Well, I wouldn't sell Barry for less than ten dollars, or rather, I
wouldn't have sold him," and he ran out