nge places with fierce, prowling
creatures,--she could answer for her, she thought!

It is worth telling,--the advent of Bel and her bird in the
up-stairs room in Leicester Place, and what came of it with
Bartholomew. Miss Blin believed very much in her cat with the
apostolic name, though she had never tried his principles with a
caged bird. She had tutored him to refrain from meat and milk unless
they were set down for him in his especial corner upon the hearth.
He took his airings on the window-ledge where the sun slanted in of
a morning, beside the very brown paper parcel in which was wrapped
the mutton chop for dinner; he never touched the cheese upon the
table, though he knew the word "cheese" as well as if he could spell
it, and would stand up tall on his hind paws to receive his morsel
when he was told, even in a whisper, and without a movement, that he
might come and have some. He preferred his milk condensed in this
way; he got very little of it in the fluid form, and did not think
very highly of it when he did. He knew what was good, Aunt Blin
said.

He understood conversation; especially moral lectures and
admonitions; Miss Bree had talked to him precisely as if he had a
soul, for five years. He knew when she was coming back at one
o'clock to dinner, or at nine in the evening, by the ringing of the
bells. After she had told him so, he would be sitting at the door,
watching for its opening, from the instant of their first sound
until she came up-stairs.

When Aunt Blin thought over all this and told it to Bel, on their
way down in the cars, she almost persuaded her niece and quite
convinced herself, that Bartholomew could be dealt with on
principles of honor and confidence. They would not attempt to keep
the cage out of his reach; that would be almost to keep it out of
their own. She would talk to Bartholomew. She would show him the
bird, and make him understand that they set great store by it, that
it must not be meddled with on any account. "Why, he never _offers_
to touch my tame pigeon that hops in on the table to eat the
crumbs!"

"But a pigeon is pretty big, Aunt Blin," Bel answered, "and may be
Bartholomew suspects that it is old and tough. I _am_ afraid about
my tiny, tender little bird."

Bel was charmed with Aunt Blin's room, when she opened the blinds
and drew up the colored shades, and let the street-light in until
she could find her matches and light the gas. It was just after dark
when t