The deep-drawn wrinkle passed away from Polly's forehead.

She laid down her book and came to my cage, then she stood for a moment looking at me tenderly.

Then she took the cage down from its hook and carried it to the door leading to the garden.

The air was pleasant, and a sunbeam slanted across the porch making a yellow gleam on the lattice.

How beautiful it looked to my weary eyes! "Dearest Dickey Downy, good-bye," she said to me, and her voice had a little tremor in it.