. I f'ied."

"You _what_?"

"F'ied. I icher pa'yow. On'y die tare too big!"

"Yes, indeed," said Sin, laughing. "The stairs are a great deal too
big. And little sparrows don't fly--down-stairs. They hop round, and
pick up crumbs."

"Ho I did," said Marmaduke, showing his white little front teeth in
the midst of a surrounding shine of stickiness.

"Yes. I see. Sugar. But you didn't manage that much better, either.
The trouble is, you haven't _quite_ turned into a little bird, yet.
You haven't any little beak to pick up clean with, nor any wings to
fly with. You'll have to wait till you grow."

"I _ta'h_ wa'he. I icher pa'yow now!"

"What shall I do with this child, Frank?" asked Sin, with her grave,
funny lifting of her brows, as her husband came into the room. "He's
got hypochondriasis. He thinks he's a sparrow, and he's determined
to fly. We shall have him trying it off every possible--I mean
impossible--place in the house."

"Put him in a cage," said Mr. Scherman, with equal gravity.

"Yes, of course. That's where little house-birds belong. Duke, see
here! Little birds that live in houses _never_ fly. And they never
pick up crumbs, either, except what are put for them into their own
little dishes. They live in tiny wire rooms, fixed so that they
can't fly out. Like your nursery, with the bars across the windows,
and the gate at the door. You and Sinsie are two little birds;
mamma's sparrows. And you mustn't try to get out of your cage unless
she takes you."

"Then you're the great sparrow," put in Sinsie, coming up beside
her, laughing. "Whose sparrow are you?"

Asenath looked up at her husband.

"Yes; it's a true story, after all. You can't make up anything. It
has been all told before. We're all sparrows, Sinsie,--God's
sparrows."

"In cages?"

"Yes. Only we can't always see the wires. They are very fine. There!
That's as far as you or I can understand. Now be good little
birdies, and hop round here together till mamma comes back."

She went into her own room, to the tiniest little birdie of all,
that was just waking.

Sinsie and Marmaduke had got a new play, now. They were quite
contented to be sparrows, and chirp at each other, springing and
lighting about, from one green spot to another in the pattern of the
nursery carpet.

"I'll tell you what," said Sinsie, confidentially; "sparrows don't
have girls to interfere, do they? They live in the cages and help
themselves. I like it. I'm glad A