Although I knew she did not mean to hurt me, the motion of her hand made me nervous.

Instead of persisting, she only said reproachfully, as she put me back on my perch: "Dear Dickey Downy, why are you afraid of me?
Your own little Polly wouldn't hurt you for the world.

I wanted to softly stroke your pretty plumage just out of pure love and, you dear little coward, you won't let me." In her affection for me, Polly did not forget the wild birds outside, which flew about in the big evergreen trees near the garden gate.

She showed her thoughtfulness for the little creatures by strewing bread crumbs for them on the window sills on snowy days.

She often gathered up the tablecloth after the housemaid had removed the breakfast dishes and, running out under the trees, would shake it vigorously that her wild pets might get all the little pieces of food that fell.