Peter, stiffly, in more ways than one, and without any more waste of
sympathy he turned his back and went doggedly at the vines. That was my
opportunity, and I took it. I rose, looked with fear at the two men at
work in front of me, and fled, basket and all. I stopped long enough to
empty my full basket in one of the barrels that were already in the
wagon; and as I climbed laboriously down over the wheels, with my
paralyzed legs working slowly, I caught a glimpse of a flash of blue out
in the bushes, topped by a glint of red that was too large to be that of
any bird inhabitant of The Briers.

"Byrd," I called, softly.

No answer.

"Byrd, do you want to go to town with me to see Mother Hayes?" I asked
in subdued tones. That brought its response.

There were difficulties; but we surmounted them. We were afraid to wake
Mammy at her afternoon nap for the clean clothes of civilization, so we
purloined a fairly clean blue jumper hanging on the porch, while I left
a note for Sam pinned on my old doll seed-basket hanging by his door. It
was large enough for him to see, and it read:

I'm a good young mule, but I've broken down. Poor Peter! All that
is left of
BETTY.

_P.S._--I've rescued the Byrd for overnight. I'll return him to
his fate to-morrow. Poor Peter! Poor Peter!