Them there eggs won't hardly hatch out this year, I don't reckon," and at the prospect Joe broke into a malicious guffaw.
"I think to club it was meaner'n to shoot the poor thing," said Betty indignantly.

"And, anyway, I wouldn't a-killed it on the nest.

It's mean to treat an 'fectionate bird so." "Pshaw, you'd do big things!" was Joe's scornful reply.
"Well, I wouldn't be so tremenj'us cruel," persisted Betty; "I don't believe in killing a pretty bird." "But what would the wimmen do without bunnet trimmen' if we didn't kill 'em, hey ?" and Joe finished his question with a taunting whistle.
As the shadows of each evening gathered around the cottage, the shadow over my life seemed to deepen and grow more gloomy.

Outside the door I could hear the hum of the bees as they flew homeward, the wind-harp played in the yellow pines its softest, sweetest music, and I scented the odor of honeysuckles and roses far away.

The rushing of the waters over the stones in the creek tinkled dreamily, but in the midst of all earth's loveliness I was desolate, because I was not free.
And thus the summer days dragged wearily along, and the autumn came.
It is not surprising then that I was overjoyed when later on I learned that I was to be given as a present to a young relative of Betty's, who lived to the northward in a distant State.