cambric handkerchief round his neck, to keep him from beating his
wings. Out of his white wrappings he looked forth green and grave as
any judge with his bright round eyes. Like a bird of discretion, he
seemed to understand what was being done to him, and resigned himself
sensibly to go to sleep.

The box was covered with a sheet of paper perforated with holes for
purposes of ventilation; for even humming-birds have a little pair of
lungs, and need their own little portion of air to fill them, so that
they may make bright scarlet little drops of blood to keep life's
fire burning in their tiny bodies. Our bird's lungs manufactured
brilliant blood, as we found out by experience; for in his first nap
he contrived to nestle himself into the cotton of which his bed was
made, and to get more of it than he needed into his long bill. We
pulled it out as carefully as we could, but there came out of his
bill two round, bright scarlet, little drops of blood. Our chief
medical authority looked grave, pronounced a probable hemorrhage from
the lungs, and gave him over at once. We, less scientific, declared
that we had only cut his little tongue by drawing out the filaments
of cotton, and that he would do well enough in time,--as it
afterwards appeared he did, for from that day there was no more
bleeding. In the course of the second day he began to take short
flights about the room, though he seemed to prefer to return to us;
perching on our fingers or heads or shoulders, and sometimes choosing
to sit in this way for half an hour at a time. "These great giants,"
he seemed to say to himself, "are not bad people after all; they have
a comfortable way with them; how nicely they dried and warmed me!
Truly a bird might do worse than to live with them."

So he made up his mind to form a fourth in the little company of