Come, hurry, and put your things on!" Susy buried her face in her apron.
"I'll compose a dirge for him," said Percy.
"My bird is dead, said Susy P., My bird is dead; O, deary me! He sang so sweet, te whee, te whee; He sings no more; O, deary me! Go hang his cage up in the tree, That cage I care no more to see.
My bird is dead, cried Susy P." These provoking words Percy drawled out in a sing-song voice.

It was too much.

Susy's eyes flashed through her tears.
"You've always laughed at me, Percy Eastman, and plagued me about Freddy Jackson, and everything, and I've borne it like a--like a lady.

But when you go to laughing at my poor little Dandy that's dead, and can't speak--" Susy was about to say, "Can't speak for himself," but saw in time how absurdly she was talking, and stopped short.
Percy laughed.
"Where are you going with that cage ?" "Going to put it away, where I'll never see it again," sobbed poor Susy.
"Give it to me," said Percy: "I'll take care of it for you." If Susy's eyes had not been blinded by tears, she would have been surprised to see the real pity in Percy's face.
He was a rollicking boy, full of merriment and bluster, and what tender feelings he possessed, he took such a wonderful amount of pains to conceal, that Susy never suspected he had any.

She would have enjoyed her ride if she had not felt so full of grief.