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For three long days and nights he was a prisoner, and suffered much. The house was full of happy people, but no one took pity upon him. Ladies and gentlemen talked learnedly about him; boys poked and pulled him; little girls admired him, and begged his wings for their hats, if he died. Cats prowled about his cage; dogs barked at him; hens cackled over him; and a shrill canary jeered at him from the pretty pagoda in which it hung, high above danger. In the evening there was music; and the poor bird’s heart ached as the sweet sounds came to him, reminding him of the airier melodies he loved. Through the stillness of the night, he heard the waves break on the shore; the wind came singing up from the sea; the moon shone kindly on him, and he saw the water-fairies dancing on the sand. But for three days no one spoke a friendly word to him, and he pined away with a broken heart.

On the fourth night, when all was quiet, little Gulliver saw a black shadow steal across the lawn, and heard a soft voice say to him:

“Poor bird, you’ll die, if yer stays here; so I’se gwine to let yer go. Specs little missy’ll scold dreffle; but Moppet’ll take de scoldin for yer. Hi, dere! you is peart nuff now, kase you’s in a hurry to go; but jes wait till I gits de knots out of de string dat ties de door, and den away you flies.”

“But, dear, kind Moppet, won’t you be hurt for doing this? Why do you care so much for me? I can only thank you, and fly away.”

As Gulliver spoke, he looked up at the little black face bent over him, and saw tears in the child’s sad eyes; but she smiled at him, and shook her fuzzy head, as she whispered kindly:

“I don’t want no tanks, birdie: I loves to let you go, kase you’s a slave, like I was once; and it’s a dreffle hard ting, I knows. I got away, and I means you shall. I’se watched you, deary, all dese days; and I tried to come ‘fore, but dey didn’t give me no chance.”

“Do you live here? I never see you playing with the other children,” said the gull, as Moppet’s nimble fingers picked away at the knots.

“Yes: I lives here, and helps de cook. You didn’t see me, kase I never plays; de chilen don’t like me.”

“Why not?” asked Gulliver, wondering.

“I’se black,” said Moppet, with a sob.

“But that’s silly in them,” cried the bird, who had never heard of such a thing. “Color makes no difference; the peeps are gray, the seals black, and the crabs yellow; but we don’t care, and are all friends. It is very unkind to treat you so. Haven’t you any friends to love you, dear?”

“Nobody in de world keres fer me. Dey sold me way from my mammy when I was a baby, and I’se knocked roun eber since. De oder chilen has folks to lub an kere fer em, but Moppet’s got no friends;” and here the black eyes grew so dim with tears that the poor child couldn’t see that the last knot was out.

Gulliver saw it, and, pushing up the door, flew from his prison with a glad cry; and, hopping into Moppet’s hand, looked into the little dark face with such grateful confidence that it cleared at once, and the brightest smile it had worn for months broke over it as the bird nestled its soft head against her cheek, saying gently:

“I’m your friend, dear; I love you, and I never shall forget what you have done for me to-night. How can I thank you before I go?”

For a minute, Moppet could only hug the bird, and cry; for these were the first kind words she had heard for a long time, and they went straight to her lonely little heart.