That the birds know what would happen if they were caught， and are even a little undecided about which is the better life， is obvious to every student of them. Thus， if you leave your empty perambulator under the trees and watch from a distance， you will see the birds boarding it and hopping about from pillow to blanket in a twitter of excitement； they are trying to find out how babyhood would suit them.
Quite the prettiest sight in the Gardens is when the babies stray from the tree where the nurse is sitting and are seen feeding the birds， not a grownup near them. It is first a bit to me and then a bit to you， and all the time such a jabbering and laughing from both sides of the railing. They are comparing notes and inquiring for old friends， and so on； but what they say I cannot determine， for when I approach they all fly away.
The first time I ever saw David was on the sward behind the Baby's Walk. He was a missel-thrush， attracted thither that hot day by a hose which lay on the ground sending forth a gay trickle of water， and David was on his back in the water， kicking up his legs. He used to enjoy being told of this， having forgotten all about it， and gradually it all came back to him， with a number of other incidents that had escaped my memory， though I remember that he was eventually caught by the leg with a long string and a cunning arrangement of twigs near the Round Pond. He never tires of this story， but I notice that it is now he who tells it to me rather than I to him， and when we come to the string he rubs his little leg as if it still smarted.
So when David saw his chance of being a missel-thrush again he called out to me quickly： "Don't drop the letter！" and there were tree-tops in his eyes.
"Think of your mother，" I said severely.
He said he would often fly in to see her. The first thing he would do would be to hug her. No， he would alight on the water-jug first， and have a drink.
"Tell her， father，" he said with horrid heartlessness， "always to have plenty of water in it， 'cos if I had to lean down too far Imight fall in and be drownded."
"Am I not to drop the letter， David？ Think of your poor mother without her boy！"It affected him， but he bore up. When she was asleep， he said， he would hop on to the frilly things of her night-gown and peck at her mouth.
"And then she would wake up， David， and find that she had only a bird instead of a boy."This shock to Mary was more than he could endure. "You can drop it，" he said with a sigh. So I dropped the letter， as I think Ihave already mentioned； and that is how it all began.
第一章III Her Marriage， Her Clothes， Her Appetite， and an Inventory of Her Furniture
A week or two after I dropped the letter I was in a hansom on my way to certain barracks when loud above the city's roar I heard that accursed haw-haw-haw， and there they were， the two of them， just coming out of a shop where you may obtain pianos on the hire system. I had the merest glimpse of them， but there was an extraordinary rapture on her face， and his head was thrown proudly back， and all because they had been ordering a piano on the hire system.
So they were to be married directly. It was all rather contemptible， but I passed on tolerantly， for it is only when she is unhappy that this woman disturbs me， owing to a clever way she has at such times of looking more fragile than she really is.
When next I saw them， they were gazing greedily into the window of the sixpenny-halfpenny shop， which is one of the most deliciously dramatic spots in London. Mary was taking notes feverishly on a slip of paper while he did the adding up， and in the end they went away gloomily without buying anything. I was in high feather. "Match abandoned， ma'am，" I said to myself；"outlook hopeless； another visit to the Governesses' Agency inevitable； can't marry for want of a kitchen shovel." But I was imperfectly acquainted with the lady.
A few days afterward I found myself walking behind her. There is something artful about her skirts by which I always know her， though I can't say what it is. She was carrying an enormous parcel that might have been a bird-cage wrapped in brown paper， and she took it into a bric-a-brac shop and came out without it.
She then ran rather than walked in the direction of the sixpenny-halfpenny shop. Now mystery of any kind is detestable to me， and I went into the bric-a-brac shop， ostensibly to look at the cracked china； and there， still on the counter， with the wrapping torn off it， was the article Mary had sold in order to furnish on the proceeds. What do you think it was？ It was a wonderful doll's house， with dolls at tea downstairs and dolls going to bed upstairs， and a doll showing a doll out at the front door.
Loving lips had long ago licked most of the paint off， but otherwise the thing was in admirable preservation； obviously the joy of Mary's childhood， it had now been sold by her that she might get married.
