importunate bird in the cage. “Now I should take as much pride in dressing anyone under my charge as I would myself, provided the subject was likely to do credit to my efforts.” And finding the bird incorrigible in his shrill singing, she moved over to the cage, where she stood balancing her white finger for the bird to peck at, with a pretty caressing motion of her lip, the little Geraldine of the wistful blue eyes, had never seen.
“You are welcome to do what you please in such matters,” was her husband’s reply. He was thinking again of that same little Geraldine; a fall of snow like the present always made him think of her and her innocent query as to whether God threw down such big flakes to amuse little children. “I give you carte blanche,” said he with sudden emphasis.
Mrs. Sylvester paused in her attentions to the bird to give him a sharp little look which might have aroused his surprise if he had been fortunate enough to see it. But his back was towards her, and there was nothing in the languidly careless