“the water-cure is the only remedy for me， when I am not well，” said the Portuguese. “Amusement， too， is very beneficial. The fowls from the neighborhood will soon be here topay you a visit. There are two Cochin Chinese amongst them; they wear feathers on theirlegs， and are well educated. They have been brought from a GREat distance， andconsequently I treat them with greater respect than I do the others.”
then the fowls arrived， and the cock was polite enough to-day to keep from being rude. “You are a real songster，” he said， “you do as much with your little voice as it is possible todo; but there requires more noise and shrillness in any one who wishes it to be known who heis.”
the two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing-bird. Hisfeathers had been much ruffled by his bath， so that he seemed to them quite like a tinyChinese fowl. “He's charming，” they said to each other， and began a conversation with himin whispers， using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect： “We are of the same race asyourself，” they said. “The ducks， even the Portuguese， are all aquatic birds， as you musthave noticed. You do not know us yet，—very few know us， or give themselves the trouble tomake our acquaintance， not even any of the fowls， though we are born to occupy a highergrade in society than most of them. But that does not disturb us， we quietly go on in ourown way among the rest， whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright side ofthings， and only speak what is good， although that is sometimes very difficult to find wherenone exists. Except ourselves and the cock there is not one in the yard who can be calledtalented or polite. It cannot even be said of the ducks， and we warn you， little bird， not totrust that one yonder， with the short tail feathers， for she is cunning; that curiouslymarked one， with the crooked stripes on her wings， is a mischief-maker， and never lets anyone have the last word， though she is always in the wrong. That fat duck yonder speaks evil ofevery one， and that is against our principles. If we have nothing good to tell， we close ourbeaks. The Portuguese is the only one who has had any education， and with whom we canassociate， but she is passionate， and talks too much about 'Portugal.'”
“I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about，” whispered one duck toanother; “they are always doing it， and it annoys me. We never speak to them.”
Now the drake came up， and he thought the little singing-bird was a sparrow. “Well， Idon't understand the difference，” he said; “it appears to me all the same. He's only aplaything， and if people will have playthings， why let them， I say.”
“Don't take any notice of what he says，” whispered the Portuguese; “he's very well inmatters of business， and with him business is placed before everything. But now I shall liedown and have a little rest. It is a duty we owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fat whenwe come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples.” So she laid herself down in thesun and winked with one eye; she had a very comfortable place， and felt so comfortable thatshe fell asleep. The little singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing， andat last he lay down， too， quite close to his protectress. The sun shone warm and bright，and he found out that it was a very good place. But the fowls of the neighborhood were allawake， and， to tell the truth， they had paid a visit to the duckyard， simply and solely tofind food for themselves. The Chinese were the first to leave， and the other fowls soonfollowed them.
the witty little duck said of the Portuguese， that the old lady was getting quite a “dotingducky，” All the other ducks laughed at this. “Doting ducky，” they whispered. “Oh， that's too'witty!'” And then they repeated the former joke about “Portulak，” and declared it was mostamusing. Then they all lay down to have a nap.
they had been lying asleep for some time， when suddenly something was thrown into theyard for them to eat. It came down with such a bang， that the whole company started up andclapped their wings. The Portuguese awoke too， and rushed over to the other side： in sodoing she trod upon the little singing-bird.
“Tweet，” he cried; “you trod very hard upon me， madam.”
“Well， then， why do you lie in my way?” she retorted， “you must not be so touchy. Ihave nerves of my own， but I do not cry 'tweet.'”
“Don't be angry，” said the little bird; “the 'tweet' slipped out of my beak unawares.”
the Portuguese did not listen to him， but began eating as fast as she could， and made agood meal. When she had finished， she lay down again， and the little bird， who wished to beamiable， began to sing.