top of a high back chair and tease until one is given to me. I like best to have my new mother hold a grape in her right hand while I perch on her left and suck all the rich, sweet juice next the skin out first; then I take the grape over on the table on a paper and knock it until all the seeds come out before I eat it. I like bananas, too, and go to the fruit dish and open one myself. Every morning I perch on the plate or finger-bowl and eat my orange.

We usually have our orange in our room, and sometimes I get so impatient I fly over to the bed, back to the orange, and beg my new mother to get up. I always take a drink out of the finger bowl and often said to myself, “What a fine bathtub this would make.” When fall came I began going to bed at 5 o’clock, and at 7 was awakened and taken out to dessert. One night I became tired of waiting and went out into the dining-room very quietly, and the first thing I spied was a finger-bowl, so thought that was just the time for a bath. In I went. They heard the splashing and looked up to see everything as well as myself soaking wet. Of course they thought it very cunning, but after I did it for three nights I was told two baths a day were too much for me. I made up my mind if I could not take a bath in the finger-bowl at night, I would in the morning and, as I refused to go near my old bathtub, the bowl was given me for my own. There was a bowl of Wandering Jew on the dining-table, and several times I took a bath in the center. All said I made a beautiful picture, but when they found I was tearing the vine all to pieces it was not so pretty and many lectures were given to me, but I heeded them not, and if taken away I would walk (for I can walk as well as hop) all over the table on the ends of my toes and look every way but towards the bowl; then, when no one was looking, grab a piece and take it up on top of a picture. One day I trimmed all of the pictures, and there was none left in the bowl, so I had to look up some other mischief.

When I go out to dinner I have my own little table cloth and plate put by my new mother’s. I usually take a little of everything; chicken and cranberry jelly is very good. Sometimes I do not behave very well, for I go tiptoeing across the table to my grandmother’s plate, hop on the edge, and see if she has anything I like. When dinner was ready to be served I went over on the sideboard, made holes in all the butter balls, then took some mashed potato and boiled onion and put them to cool in a big hole I had made in an apple. Few people know that birds are ever sick at their stomachs. I had been in the habit of eating a little shaved hickorynut that was put in a half shell and kept in a dish on the back parlor table. When I came down stairs I usually took a taste, and it seemed to agree with me. For a change I ate a little chestnut, and soon began to feel bad, so went off by myself and tried to go to sleep. When my new mother saw me she said she knew I was not well, for I never acted that way in the daytime. She put me in my cage, and sat down beside me. I would close my eyes and open my bill, and she thought I was dying until I opened my bill very wide and out came the chestnut in a lump a half inch long and a quarter wide.

My mother’s writing desk is a favorite place of mine. I get into drawers, pigeon holes and ink; pictures and all sorts of small things I throw on the floor. Once I stole ever so many dimes and pennies. I can lift a silver dollar and often carry a coffee-spoon all about the room, so you see I have a very strong bill. If anything is lost all say “Dewey must have taken it.” One day my new mother looked until she was tired for her thimble. When she asked me for it, I pretended I did not hear, but as she was going into the dining-room I dropped it down on her head from the top of the portiere. I often perch on a basket on top of the book case in the writing room. When I saw a new white veil beside me I went to work and made ten of the prettiest eyelet holes you can imagine, right in front; some were round and some star-shaped. As I grew older I said, “I will not sleep in my cage.” For a few nights I insisted upon sleeping on the brass rod at the head of the bed, then changed to the top of the curtain. I have a piece of soft flannel over some cotton put on the ledge and on the wall, so I will not take cold. If it is very cold I get behind the frill of the curtain, so no one can see me. If warm I turn around so my tail hangs over the outside. When my new mother comes in I open my eyes, make a bow, and, if not too sleepy, come down and sit on her hand. I never chirp or peep, and when I hide and hear “Dewey, Dewey,” I do not answer but fly down on my new mother’s head, shoulder or hand. Taffy gets so angry at me. I know he often feels like killing me. I wake up early mornings, and take my exercise by flying back and forth from a picture on one side of the room to the head of the bed. When Taffy is on the foot of the bed I fly very low, almost touching him with my wings, and say, “You lazy cat, why don’t you wake up and hear the little birds sing to God Almighty; why don’t you wake up?” I soon hear words that are not used in polite society, and next see the end of his tail disappearing around the corner of the door. Before I go to sleep at night I exercise again. One afternoon Taffy was trying to take a nap in a chair in the back parlor. I kept flying over him, making a whizzing sound with my wings. When he could endure it no longer he went into the writing-room and sat down by his mother. I went in to take a luncheon on the table. Taffy stood up on his hind legs, reached out a velvet paw, and gave me such a slap I fell upon the floor. I was not hurt in the least, flew up on a picture and shook with laughter at the punishment and scolding Mr. Taffy was getting. He said very naughty words, scratched and bit, but he was conquered at last, and has behaved like a gentleman ever since. The first time I saw the snow I was wild with delight, flew to the window and tried to catch the pretty white flakes. But when I heard the sleigh bells they struck terror to my heart, for I thought a whole army of cats was coming, as all I knew about bells are Taffy’s. Not long ago my new mother was very ill and had to send for a strange physician, who knew nothing about me. When I heard him coming upstairs I hid behind the curtain and watched him fix a white powder in a paper. When he laid it on the table I swooped down, grabbed it and took it into my cage. After that I was kept busy, as my grandmother was ill for many weeks. I would carry off all the sleeping powders; one day I put them behind the bed, for I thought they would not taste so badly, and do just as much good.

It did not take more than a minute to get down there when I heard the doctor come in, for I had to see that the medicine was mixed all right. It was great fun peering into the tiny little bottles in his case. I would stand on the ends of my toes and crane my neck to watch him drop the medicine into the tumblers. The other day some Christmas roses were brought in. They looked so tempting I took several bites, and the next day took some more. I felt a little queer, and kept opening my bill. My new mother thought I had something in my throat and gave me some water. The next afternoon she found me on the floor panting, took me to an open window, gave me wine and the attack seemed to pass. We went up to our room, and apparently I was as well as ever when she went down to dinner. After she had gone another attack came on and I am too weak to write any more, and can only warn little birds never to taste of a Christmas rose, as they are said to be deadly poison.

When I went to my room late in the evening no little birdie peeped over the curtain to greet me. I looked on the floor, and there lay my darling Dewey, stiff and cold.

Caroline Crowninshield Bascom.