Miss Laura always picked up the little, dead creature, pitied it and stroked it, and scolded Malta till she crept into a corner.

Then Miss Laura put the bird on a limb of a tree, and Malta watched her attentively from her corner.
One day Miss Laura stood at the window, looking out into the garden.
Malta was lying on the platform, staring at the sparrows that were picking up crumbs from the ground.

She trembled, and half rose every few minutes, as if to go after them.

Then she lay down again.

She was trying very hard not to creep on them.