BABY-BIRDS. 177 “ No, I don’t!” said Pudge, decidedly. “I mean a aby” bird. He said ‘ Ba—bee! Ba—bee!’” “T guess it was‘ Phoebe! Phoe—be!’ Come, Pudge!” “© Well! ” said Pudge, with a superior smile, “ if you don’t know enough to know ve diffuns, I should fink you ’d better go to grandma’s youself!” But Pudge had to go. She went up stairs after her clean apron. It was the first time she had ever gone after her own apron. She did n’t like aprons. In the drawer she found a little old suit of Bab’s, folded away years ago, when Bab was small enough to hear baby-birds himself, — though I doubt if he ever did. There was a little plaid jacket and a pair of brown little trousers. Pudge drew them out, and her eyes grew as large as a tea- cup. Mamma had gone away into the kitchen. Pudge looked carefully all around. Nobody was there to see. “J ll put on ’e little zhacket!” said Pudge; “ I’d most as lief go to grandma’s as not, in a little zhacket !”’ Away went the clean apron into the corner, and down went Pudge — in a terrible hurry — into the little “ zhacket ”’ and pantaloons. It took but a minute. In another she was out of the house and up the street, and nobody saw her. Nobody saw her but the baby-bird. He cocked his eyes at her, and flew away as fast as he could fly. Pudge listened for him as she ran along, half frightened, 8* L