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Page 24
"Nonsense, you ninny! What if it does hurt it?" and he roughly knocked
my bill with his hand.
"Now that's real mean, Joe. You're a scaring it to pieces. Here,
Dickey Downy, I'm going to give you a pretty name if you belong to me;
let me hold you. Why, its little heart is a thumping as if 'twould
burst through its body."
Joe was reluctant to loosen his grasp, and between being pulled first
one way and then the other by the two children, I was badly bruised.
Finally I was permitted by my young captor to enter the cage, where I
sank, trembling and exhausted, to the floor, and remained there all
night, being too sore to ascend the perch.
As may be imagined I was very sorrowful and unhappy. The separation
from my mother and my dear companions, coupled with the fear that I
might never again wing my blithesome flight through the bright blue
sky, but spend the balance of my life in this miserable cell, filled me
with despair. Frantic but useless were my efforts to escape. In vain
I beat my head against the hard steel bars; in vain I endeavored to
crowd my body between them. My prison was too secure.
At length I found that fluttering back and forth buffeting my wings
against the sides of my cell only injured me and availed nothing. Then
it was I wisely made the resolution to endure my imprisonment as
cheerfully as possible. I soon began to regain my strength and spirits
and, save that I was deprived of my liberty, I had no special fault to
find for some days with my treatment from Betty, who was now regarded
as my owner and keeper.
I was always glad when Joe was absent from home, for he was vicious as
well as rough. One of his favorite tricks was to dash my cage hard
against the wall, laughing boisterously as he did so to see how it
frightened me. The concussion was frequently so great that my claws
could not hold to the perch, and I would be tossed helplessly from side
to side with my feathers ruffled and broken. There was but one thing
Joe liked better than this cruel sport, and that was gingerbread; and
my tortures were often stopped by Betty's producing a slice of this
delicacy which she had saved from her own luncheon for this particular
purpose. When I discovered that Joe could be bought off with
gingerbread it can be imagined that I was always glad on the days when
the pungent odors of cinnamon, ginger, and molasses issued from the
cook-stove. It was a surety of peace, of a cessation of hostilities as
long as the cake lasted.
All went fairly well for a little while, but as the novelty of
possession gradually wore off, my little jailer grew negligent and left
me much of the time without water or food. Frequently my throat was so
parched from thirst that I could not utter a protesting chirp. I knew
no other way to attract attention to my wants than to flutter to the
bars and thrust out my head; unfortunately this action was attributed
to wildness and a desire to escape, and I was allowed to suffer on.
"That bird is the most annoying, restless thing I ever saw," complained
Betty's mother one evening when I was thus trying to tell them my cup
was empty. "It spends all its time poking its head through the wires
or thrashing around in the cage, instead of getting up on its perch and
behaving itself quietly as a decent bird should."
"Do you reckon it's sick?" suggested Betty, and she came to my cage and
looked at me attentively.
"Reckon it's hungry, you mean," growled her father, who was in one
corner of the kitchen cleaning his gun.
"She never feeds it any more," commented the mother. "What's the use
of keeping it? I'd wring its neck and be done with it. Betty don't
keer a straw for it."
"Yes, I do," cried the little girl. "I'll get it something to eat this
very minute."
These spasms of attention only lasted a day or two, however, when my
young keeper would lapse into carelessness, and again I would be
allowed to go with an empty crop and a dry throat. My beautiful
plumage grew rusty from this irregularity and continual neglect, and
although I am not a vain bird, my dingy appearance was a source of
daily grief and mortification to me. When Betty was not too busy
playing she sometimes hung my cage outside the door of the cottage, but
often for days together through the pleasant summer I was left hanging
in the kitchen, sometimes half-choked with smoke or dampened with
steam. No wonder I drooped and ceased my cheerful song.
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