"Mama, Miss Kerr, look at the lovely bird Frank has brought me,"

cried Bunny, running back to her mother's chair.

"A bird, Frank?" said Mrs. Dashwood, looking into the cage in surprise. "What a pity it was to catch him and put him in prison, poor little creature; he looks dreadfully frightened."

"In prison, mama!" cried Bunny indignantly. "Why, it's a lovely cage; and see, he has water, and hard-boiled egg, and bread sopped in water, and--"

"Yes, dear, I see all those things, but still he is in prison, Bunny," said Mrs. Dashwood gently, "and I think it would have been much kinder to have left him to fly about the woods and sing his sweet songs in happy freedom."

"I am afraid he will never sing again," said Miss Kerr as Frank placed the cage on the table beside her; "he looks as if he were going to die, I think; just see how he has gathered himself up into a ball, and his eyes are shut."

"Oh! I hope he won't die," cried Frank; "I am sorry I caught him, Mrs. Dashwood. Shall I let him fly away again?"

"No, you sha'n't, Frank; he is my bird, and you must not let him fly away," cried Bunny; "I want to keep him."

"But, Bunny, your mama thinks he would be glad to get away, so I would rather let him go. Do say I may send him off."

"No, no, Frank, you sha'n't; I want him; he's mine now," answered the little girl in an angry voice; "I will have him and keep him;"

and making a dive across the table she seized the cage and ran away with it down the garden.

"Bunny! Bunny! come back this minute," cried her mother and Miss Kerr together.

"I'll soon bring her back!" exclaimed Frank, and off he went after the runaway.

When Bunny heard footsteps behind her she turned her head to see who it was that was following her, and as she ran along without looking where she was going, her foot came against a stone, and down she went, cage and all, upon the gravelled path.

"Oh, you cruel big boy!" she cried, bursting into tears. "Why did you come after me and make me fall in that way? I'll never speak to you again--never;" and, gathering herself up from the ground, she began to rub her knees, and brush the dust and sand off her frock.

"Now, don't be silly, Bunny," said Frank, as he picked up the cage.

"You are not a bit hurt--but, look here! I believe you have killed the poor bird."

"Oh! no, Frank, dear! oh! I didn't do that!" sobbed the little girl, coming forward and looking wistfully into the cage.

"Yes, I am afraid he is dead. He was very much frightened before,"

said Frank sadly, "and the shock of the fall, and all the water and things falling on him have killed him. I am so sorry. I wish, now, I had left him to sing happily in the garden, Mrs. Dashwood," he said, going back to where the ladies sat together, carrying the poor dead thrush in his hand. "You were quite right; it was a great pity to take the poor bird and put him in a cage. I will never catch a young bird again--never."

"Poor little creature! I thought it would not live long," said Miss Kerr; "but, Bunny, you were very naughty to run away with it in that way; I am sure the fall helped to kill the thrush."

"I didn't mean to kill it!" cried Bunny in a choking voice. "Oh!

mama, I am so sorry!" and she flung herself on the ground beside her mother's chair, and buried her face in her lap.

"Never mind, Bunny, dear," whispered Mervyn softly, as he stole up and put his arm round her neck. "Don't cry, dear; I am sure it would have died very soon anyway. Wouldn't it, Miss Kerr?"

"Yes, dear, I think it would," said the governess gently. "But what are you going to do with the thrush, Frank?"

"Oh! I suppose I must bury it," answered Frank; "I wish I had a pretty box to put it in."

"I have one, I have one," cried Bunny, jumping quickly to her feet, and running off towards the house, mopping up her tears as she went along. "I've got a dear little one that will just do, Frank."

"We must have a solemn funeral," said young Collins. "Who will write an epitaph to put at the head of his grave?"

"An epee--what, Frank?" asked Mervyn, with a puzzled look on his little face. "What do you mean?"

"An epitaph, you little simple Indian; do you not know what that means?"

"No," said Mervyn gravely, "I don't think people in India ever have such things."

"Don't they indeed! Bunny, what is an epitaph?" asked Frank, laughing merrily as he took a pretty bon-bon box from the little girl's hand.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Bunny; "I never heard of such a thing. What is it yourself?"

"Well, you are a clever pair! Why, it's something written on a tombstone," cried Frank, and, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, he scribbled a few words, and then proceeded to read them aloud. "Listen and learn what an epitaph is, my friends:--

"Beneath there lies a little thrush, Who should have sung on many a bush."

"Capital!" said Miss Kerr, laughing merrily at this brilliant production. "Why, you are a regular poet!"

"It is very good indeed, Frank," said Mrs. Dashwood with a bright smile. "Now, Mervyn, I hope you know what an epitaph is?"

"Yes, I think so," said Mervyn slowly; "but no one says bush like thrush. It doesn't sound at all right."

"Hallo! young Indian, are you going to find fault with my p.r.o.nunciation? Isn't it splendid, Miss Bun, bun?"

"I'm not bun, bun, and I think Mervyn is quite right," answered the little girl with a toss of her head. "It sounds very funny, and all that, but it isn't the proper way to say the word, I know."

"Of course not, little Miss Wisehead, but we are allowed to say all kinds of things in poetry," said Frank grandly; "and I can tell you it's jolly convenient when a fellow wants a rhyme. But now that we have decided this knotty point, let us go and look for a nice place where we can bury the little fellow;" and, having placed the thrush in the box, he went off to look for a suitable burying-place.

"Put him in my little garden," cried Bunny eagerly. "There are lovely flowers there, and we can make him such a nice grave."

"Where is your garden, monkey?" said Frank. "I did not know you had such a thing."

"Yes, I have; at least I call it mine," answered Bunny, skipping gaily along. "It's a dear little flower-bed down there by the sun-dial, and it will be such a pretty place for the poor dead bird.

Do bury him there, Frank."

"Very well; what pleases you pleases me," and off they went to Bunny's garden.

Very carefully Frank dug up the earth, and, having placed the bird within the grave, he filled it in neatly, took a lovely geranium from a neighbouring flower-bed, and planted it just over the poor songster's head.

"We must water it," cried Bunny, "or it will not grow," and away she rushed to the tool-house. Here she found the gardener's watering-pot, and, unfortunately for them all, it was more than half-full of water.

"This will make the flowers grow beautifully," she cried; and before the boys had time to speak or stop her hand, she tilted up the heavy pot and sent the water flying all over their feet and legs.

"Oh! Bunny, Bunny! just see what you have done," exclaimed Mervyn, beginning to cry as he felt the cold water soaking in through his stockings and shoes. "Oh, dear! what shall I do?"

"You little mischief!" cried Frank, shaking himself. "What on earth made you do that?"

"Oh! I wanted the flower to grow," said Bunny, bursting into tears, "and I did not mean to wet you and Mervyn at all; and look at my own pinafore and frock. Oh, dear! what will Sophie say?"

"Sophie will say you are a naughty, wicked little creature," cried the maid, darting out suddenly from behind a tree. "Come in this minute and get your things changed. Monsieur Mervyn, go to the nursery at once."