rod upon the little singing-bird.

"Tweet," he cried; "you trod very hard upon me, madam."

"Well, then, why do you lie in my way?" she retorted, "you must
not be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I do not cry 'tweet.'"

"Don't be angry," said the little bird; "the 'tweet' slipped out
of my beak unawares."

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast
as she could, and made a good meal. When she had finished, she lay
down again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to
sing,--

"Chirp and twitter,
The dew-drops glitter,
In the hours of sunny spring,
I'll sing my best,
Till I go to rest,
With my head behind my wing."

"Now I want rest after my dinner," said the Portuguese; "you
must conform to the rules of the house while you are here. I want to
sleep now."

The little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly.
When madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a little
corn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept
well, she was naturally in a bad temper. "Give that to a chicken," she
said, "and don't be always standing in my way."

"Why are you angry with me?" replied the little singing-bird,
"what have I done?"

"Done!" repeated the Portuguese duck, "your mode of expressing
yourself is not very polite. I must call your attention to that fact."

"It was sunshine here yesterday," said the little bird, "but
to-day it is cloudy and the air is close."

"You know very little about the weather, I fancy," she retorted,
"the day is not over yet. Don't stand there, looking so stupid."

"But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when I
fell into the yard yesterday."

"Impertinent creature!" exclaimed the Portuguese duck: "would
you compare me with the cat--that beast of prey? There's not a drop of
malicious blood in me. I've taken your part, and now I'll teach you
better manners." So saying, she made a bite at the little
singing-bird's head, and he fell dead on the ground. "Now whatever
is the meaning of this?" she said; "could he not bear even such a
little peck as I gave him? Then certainly he was not made for this
world. I've been like a mother to him, I know that, for I've a good
heart."

Then the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in, and
crowed with steam-engine power.

"You'll kill me with your crowing," she cried, "it's all your
fault. He's lost his life, and I'm very near l