Betsy and Doctor, and now I'm done with Black-and-white. I wonder if Mamma can make it seem any better," and then she turned her steps to the house in search of comfort, but she had gone only half-way when the coachman, who was waiting at the door with the little grey mare and the phaeton, motioned to her to come quietly. Tattine saw at a glance what had happened, and sped swiftly back to Patrick. "Keep Black-and-white up the tree," she said, in a breathless whisper; "don't let her go near the nest, and don't let her come down for the world. The little Phoebe-birds have lit."

"All right, miss," not at all understanding the situation, but more than willing to obey orders. Tattine was in such haste to get back to the house that she hardly heard his answer. What she had tried to tell him was that the five little fledglings, crowded into the tiny nest under the eaves of the porch, had taken it into their heads to try their first flight at that precise moment, and there they were perched on the shafts of the phaeton, lighting, as it seemed, on the first thing they came to, while the father and mother birds were flying about in frantic anxiety to see them in such a perilous situation. How could those tiny little untrained claws keep their hold on that big round, slippery shaft, and if the carriage started down they would surely go under the wheels or under the feet of that merciless little grey mare. But the little fledglings were in better hands than they knew, for, with the exceptions of Betsy, Doctor, and Black-and-white, every living thing at Oakdene was kind to every other living thing.

"Whoa, girlie; whoa, girlie," had been Patrick's quieting words to Lizzie, and then when Tattine came hurrying that way he had motioned her to come quietly for fear of frightening them. Then, as you know, Tattine flew to make sure that treacherous Black-and-white was kept close guarded, and then back she flew again to the aid of the little birds themselves. Softly she drew nearer and nearer, saying over gently, "Whoa, Lizzie! dear little birdies!" until she came very near and then she put out one hand towards them. That was enough for the fledglings. Refreshed by their rest on the shafts, they flapped their tiny wings and fluttered up to the anxious mother bird on the branches above them, wholly unconscious that they had been in any peril whatsoever.

"And Black-and-white would have killed them, every one, if she had had the chance," thought Tattine; "oh, if I only knew how to teach her a lesson!"

CHAPTER V. THE KIRKS AT HOME

Barney the donkey was harnessed, and Tattine sat in the little donkey-cart waiting, and as she waited she was saying aloud, "What, Grandma Luty? Yes, Grandma Luty. No, Grandma Luty. What did you say, Grandma Luty?" and this she said in the most polite little tone imaginable. Meantime Rudolph and Mabel, discovering that Tattine did not see them, came stealing along under cover of the apple-trees.

"Whatever is Tattine doing, talking to herself like that?" whispered Mabel, and then they came near enough to hear what she was saying.

"She's out of her head," said Rudolph, when they had listened some moments, and then Tattine turned round and saw them.

"No, I'm not out of my head at all," she laughed; "I was just practicing a little while I waited for you."

"Practicing your GRANDMOTHER," which as you have observed was a pet expression with Rudolph, whenever he wished to intimate that he considered your remarks to be simply absurd.

"Yes, that's exactly it," Tattine answered good-naturedly. "I am practicing my Grandmother. Grandma Luty, that's Mamma's mother, has come to make us a visit, and Mamma has discovered that I'm not very polite to old people. Children used to be taught, you know, to say, 'Yes'm,' and 'Yes, sir,' but now that is not considered nice at all, and you must always say the name of the person you are speaking to, especially if they are older people, to whom you ought to be respectful," and Tattine sounded quite like a little grandmother herself as she talked.

"Yes, we know, and it's an awful bother," sighed Rudolph. "We're fairly nagged about it, Mabel and I, but Mother says she's going to keep it up until we always do it. Perhaps we would get on faster if we practised by ourselves as you do, but really, Tattine, it did sound as though you were out of your head, to hear you saying all those sentences over to yourself."

While the children were having this little talk about politeness, Rudolph and Mabel had climbed into the wagon, and the donkey, acting upon a suggestion from Tattine's whip, had started down the roadway. The trio were off for Patrick's, for this was to be the day of the Kirks' "At Home," and, dressed in kis Sunday-best, Patrick that very minute was waiting at his door to receive them.

Full two miles lay ahead of the children, and though Barney fortunately seemed to be in the mood for doing his best, Patrick would still have a full half-hour to wait. At last the donkey-cart drew up at the Kirks' door and two happy old people welcomed three happy little people into their comfortable little home. It would take another book, the size of this one, to tell you all the doings of that August day. First they went into the house and laid their wraps on the white coverlid of the great high feather-bed in the little spare room, and then Mrs. Kirk sat them down to three little blue bowls of bread-and-milk, remarking, "shure you must be after being hungry from your long drive," and the children ate it with far more relish than home bread-and-milk was ever eaten.

"Now I'm doubting," said Patrick, standing with his back to the cooking-stove and with a corn-cob pipe in his mouth, "if it's the style to have bread-and-milk at 'At Homes' in the city."

"Patrick," answered Tattine seriously, "we do not want this to be a city 'At Home.' I don't care for them at all. Everybody stays for just a little while, and everybody talks at once, and as loudly as they can, and at some of them they only have tea and a little cake or something like that to eat," and Tattine glanced at the kitchen-table over by the window with a smile and a shake of the head, as though very much better pleased with what she saw there. A pair of chickens lay ready for broiling on a blue china platter. Several ears of corn were husked ready for the pot they were to be boiled in. A plate of cold potatoes looked as though waiting for the frying-pan, and from the depths of a glass fruit-dish a beautiful pile of Fall-pippins towered up to a huge red apple at the top.

"Indade, thin, but we'll do our best," said Mrs. Kirk, "to make it as different from what you be calling a city 'At Home' as possible, and now suppose you let Patrick take you over our bit of a farm, and see what you foind to interest you, and I'm going wid yer, while ye have a look at my geese, for there's not the loike of my geese at any of the big gentlemin's farms within tin miles of us."

And so, nothing loth, the little party filed out of the house, and after all hands had assisted in unharnessing Barney and tying him into his stall, with a manger-full of sweet, crisp hay for his dinner, they followed Mrs. Kirk's lead to the little pond at the foot of the apple-orchard. And then what did they see! but a truly beautiful great flock of white geese. Some were sailing gracefully around the pond, some were pluming their snowy breasts on the shore beside it, and three, the finest of them all, and each with a bow of ribbon tied round its long neck, were confined within a little picket-fence apart from the others.

"Why, what beauties, Mrs. Kirk!" exclaimed Tattine, the minute she spied them, "and what are the ribbons for? Do they mean they have taken a prize at some show or other? And why do they each have a different color?"

"They mane," said Mrs. Kirk proudly, standing with her hands upon her hips and her face fairly beaming, "they mane as how they're to be