lose
to him, only to dart off and call on him to follow, he looked so
disappointed that I really felt as if I must comfort him.

The mother came back very soon and resumed her lesson in flying, and
very hard work she found it too, for the little fellow was timid and
refused to follow her, in spite of all her coaxing and scolding. After
working a long while, she flew off, leaving her baby trembling on his
perch. I pitied the poor little fellow, he seemed so forlorn and
helpless.

The little bird, left to himself, got tired at last of staying where he
was, and made one or two efforts to fly. He flapped his wings, rounded
up his back until he looked like a ball of down, and leaned forward, as
much as to say, "I'll do it now." But when he saw the awful distance
between himself and the ground, his courage failed him, and he clung to
his perch more tightly than ever.

After a while the mother-bird came back, bringing a large bug which she
used as a bribe for her timid birdling, holding it under his very bill,
and then darting off in the hope that he would follow. The youngster
chirped for the bug, but he would not fly for it; and, after many
efforts, the old bird, unable to resist his pleading, perched on a twig
just beneath him, and held up the bug, which you may be sure he was not
slow to seize and eat.

The little fellow now seemed to make up his mind to fly, even if he died
in the attempt. He flapped his wings, rounded his back, and leaned
forward as before, while the mother-bird flew about, fluttering and
chirping to such an extent that the father came down from the top of a
high tree to see how they were getting along.

The little bird was just about to fly, and I was just ready to clap my
hands in applause, when, lo! there he was clinging to his perch again,
trembling with fear, and chirping, "I can't do it. I dare not. Oh,
dear!"

The two old birds flew away much disappointed; but the mother soon
returned with another bug, and the lesson was repeated. Indeed it was
repeated so many times, that I began to lose patience with the little
coward, and to be full of pity for the poor tired mother.

His birdship had just eaten a bug, and the parent-birds were chirping
and flying around, when, with the hope of helping them in their labors,
I stepped forward, and tapped him on the bill with a flower-stem. The
blow was so sudden and unexpected, that, before he had time to think, he
lifted his wings and flew to a neighbo