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“Is there a mocking bird in a cage here?”

This made people laugh, but Lindsay did not care. By and by, he came to a little house with green blinds; and the little lady who came to the door did not laugh at all when she answered his question:–

“No; there are no mocking birds here; but there are two sweet yellow canaries. Won’t you come in to see them?”

“I will sometime, thank you, if Grandmother will let me,” said Lindsay; “but not to-day; for if that mocking bird is in a cage, I know he’s in a hurry to get out.”

Then he hurried on to the next house, and the next; but no mocking birds were to be found. After he had walked a long way, he began to be afraid that he should have to go home, when, right before him, in the window of a little house, he saw a wooden box with slats across the side; and in the box was a very miserable mocking bird!

“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried Lindsay, as he ran up the steps and knocked at the door. A great big boy came to the window and put his head out to see what was wanted.

“Please, please,” said Lindsay, dancing up and down on the doorstep, “I’ve come to buy the mocking-bird; and I’ve a whole silver quarter to give for it, because I think maybe he is the very one that sang in Grandmother’s garden.”

“I don’t want to sell it,” answered the boy, with a frown on his face.

Lindsay had never thought of anything like this, and his face grew grave; but he went bravely on:—

“Oh! but you will sell it, maybe. Won’t you, please? Because I just know it wants to get out. You wouldn’t like to be in a cage yourself, you know, if you had been living in a garden,–‘specially my Grandmother’s.”

“This bird ain’t for sale,” repeated the boy, crossly, frowning still more over the bird-cage.

“But God didn’t make mocking-birds for cages,” cried Lindsay, choking a little. “So it really isn’t yours.”

“I’d like to know why it isn’t,” said the boy. “You’d better get off my doorstep and go home to your Granny, for I’m not going to sell my mocking-bird,–not one bit of it;” and he drew his head back from the window and left Lindsay out on the doorstep.

Poor little Lindsay! He was not certain that it was the bird, but he was sure that mocking-birds were not meant for cages; and he put the quarter back in his pocket and took out his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that would fall.

All the way home he thought of it and sobbed to himself, and he walked through the garden gate almost into Grandmother’s arms before he saw her, and burst into tears when she spoke to him.

“Poor little boy!” said Grandmother, when she had heard all about it; “and poor big boy, who didn’t know how to be kind! Perhaps the mocking-bird will help him, and, after all, it will be for the best.”

Grandmother was almost crying herself, when a click at the gate made them both start and, then look at each other; for there, coming up the walk, was a great big boy with a torn straw hat, and with a small wooden box in his hand, which made Lindsay scream with delight, for in that box was a very miserable-looking mocking-bird.

“Guess it is yours,” said the boy, holding the box in front of him, “for I trapped it out in the road back of here. I never thought of mocking-birds being so much account, and I hated to make him cry.”

“There now,” cried Lindsay, jumping up to get the silver quarter out of his pocket. “He is just like Mrs. Wasp, isn’t he, Grandmother?” But the boy had gone down the walk and over the gate without waiting for anything, although Lindsay ran after him and called.

Lindsay and Grandmother were so excited that they did not know what to do. They looked out of the gate after the boy, then at each other, and then at the bird.

Lindsay ran to get the hatchet, but he was so excited with joy that he could not use it, so Grandmother had to pry up the slats, one by one; and every time one was lifted, Lindsay would jump up and down and clap his hands, and say, “Oh, Grandmother!”

At last, the very last slat was raised; and then, in a moment, the mocking bird flew up, up, up into the maple tree, and Lindsay and Grandmother kissed each other for joy.

Oh! everything was glad in the garden. The breezes played pranks, and blew the syringa petals to the ground, and up in the tallest trees the birds had a concert. Orioles, bluebirds, and thrushes, chattering jays, sleek brown sparrows, and red-capped woodpeckers, were all of them singing for Grandmother and Lindsay; but the sweetest singer was the mocking bird who was singing everybody’s sweet song, and then his own, which was the sweetest of all.

“I know he is glad,” Lindsay said to Grandmother; “for it is, oh, so beautiful to live inside your garden gate!”