ry charming must be heaven!"

CHAPTER VI.

KATY'S FLIGHT.

The next morning Molly felt quite refreshed. "My foot," she said, in
answer to her mother's inquiries, "feels quite free from pain. I am
convinced that it is my lot to remain quietly at home; and I will try to
bear it as cheerfully as I can."

"Dear Molly," whispered her mother.

"Darling sister," repeated Jack and Katy.

Dick said nothing, but looked stupidly from one to the other, wondering
what they could mean. He had returned to the nest late the previous
evening, and had not heard of his sister's affliction.

Mr. Robin sat on his favorite bough, gazing sadly at the poor bird. He
had not yet tried to relieve her, and notwithstanding his wife's fears,
indulged strong hopes of being able to remove the string without
breaking the tender limb.

"I cannot be really unhappy," continued Molly, looking cheerfully
around, "while you are all so kind. To be sure, I have longed for the
time when I could fly from bough to bough, or skim through the clear
air; and I have hoped, when I was old enough, to find a mate and rear a
family of my own in the same sweet, peaceful happiness as our dear
parents have reared us; but now I resign all these innocent joys, and
find my delight in sharing yours.

"Come, dear Katy," she added, "let me no longer detain you from your
morning flight. I long to see how gracefully you will raise your pinions
and soar away."

"Sweetest and best of sisters," murmured Katy, in a loving tone, "every
moment I love you better than before, and am more sorry to leave you;"
and she nestled closely to Molly's side.

"You will soon return, dear one," said her sister, tenderly; "and
remember there will always be one heart in the nest that will welcome
you with joy. Go now, love, and treasure up all you hear and see, to
cheer me in my solitude."

While this beautiful interchange of affection was taking place, Mr. and
Mrs. Robin, the delighted parents, were sitting near, their hearts every
moment swelling with pleasure.

"Now," said the tender mother to herself, "I am well repaid for all my
care and watchfulness of my beloved children; for all my share of the
labor of building a nest; for the long days and nights, through cold and
rain, that I have sheltered my eggs, until at last I have seen the dear
ones come forth.

"Yes, indeed, and for the anxiety with which I have endeavored to
impress virtue and affection upon their young mind