Out popped a mouse from a hole behind the book-case.

"Why, what are _you_ doing here, canary?" she said. "I thought _your_
place was the bay-window in the dining-room."

"So it is--so it is!" beginning with a twitter, answered the canary;
"but they said I talked too much!"--ending with a trill.

"Talked!" repeated the mouse, sitting up on her hind-legs and looking
earnestly at him. "I thought _you_ only sang!"

"Well, singing and talking mean about the same thing in bird-language,"
said the canary. "But goodness g-r-r-racious!" he went on, swinging
rapidly to and fro in his little swing at the top of his cage, "'t was
they that talked so much--my mistress and the doctor's wife, and the
doctor's sister--not me. I said scarcely a word, and yet I am called a
chatterbox, and punished--before company, too! I feel mad enough to
pull out my yellowest feathers, or upset my bath-tub. Now, you look
like a sensible little thing, mouse, and I'll tell you all about
it--what they said and what I said--and you shall judge if I deserved
to be banished.

"The doctor's wife and the doctor's sister called.

"'It's a lovely day!' said they.

"'A lovely, lovely, lovely day!' sang I. 'The sun shines bright--the
sky is blue--the grass is green--yes, lovely, lovely, lovely--and I'm
happy, happy, happy, and glad, glad, glad!'