one to which he had accustomed.

He had even managed to eat a crumb or two, and, in spite of the fact that
he was very lonely without his sister to keep him company, he had finally
succeeded in going to sleep.

In the morning the big hand had grasped him again and had shown him to two
long-legged creatures who he had guessed were human children, because they
looked much as his mother had described them in one of her favorite lullaby
coos. He had not been afraid of them, but, flattered by their delighted
exclamations, had eaten everything they had offered him.

By the time the second night had come, Chico had so far become accustomed
to his strange surroundings that he slept almost as well as if he had been
under his mother's wings.

He was still dreaming when he heard a voice call, "Chico, Chico--are you
still there, Chico?"

He roused instantly, reminded of his friends who had given him his
breakfast the morning before.

He raised his head. There was a sound of other little feet climbing upon
the dry-goods box, and a softer voice called, "Chico, Chico!"

Still he made no movement, listening while the children speculated as to
whether or not their pet had been spirited away during the night.

"Chico! Chico!" There was something so pleading in the boy's voice that the
baby pigeon thrust his open bill out of the window on the ledge.