Poor little pigeon!  He had been fluttering, off and on, over the crumbs,—­now scared away by a fast trotting-horse, now flying to a door-post to get rid of some rapid walker,—­and had only just alighted to pick up his breakfast, when he was struck right in the back by the bullet-like lemon.

Uncle Tom ran as quickly as he could, and took the panting little thing up in his hand very gently.  Just then the horse-car came along; and uncle jumped into it, saying to himself, “I’ll take this pigeon out to little Emily.  How she will dance and skip when she sees it!”

The car went on and on, ever so far away from Boston, and by and by was half-way across a bridge.  The pigeon had lain nestled under Uncle Tom’s coat; and the warmth seemed to make it feel better.  First it put one round bright eye out, then the other, and took a peep at the people sitting near it.

Then, I think, its back must have ceased aching; for it grew lively, and stirred around.  Uncle Tom felt it moving, and was afraid that it would presently try to get away:  so he held it as close as he could without hurting it.

But just as he thought how safe he had it, and how tame it would be when it had lived with its little mistress a while, it popped its head out again.

It popped so far out this time, that there was nothing to take hold of but its tail-feathers.  Uncle Tom clutched those firmly; but, to his great astonishment, the pigeon gave another spring, and pulled itself away, leaving all its beautiful tail-feathers behind it.

Away it flew, down the car, over the heads of the people, out of the door, past the head of the conductor (who did not know that he had such a strange passenger), and out over the water, back to Boston.

Uncle Tom was left with only a handful of dark-gray feathers to take home with him; and little Emily had no pet pigeon, after all.

AUNT EMMIE.

THE CHICKEN AND THE DOG.

Tantalus, as the old Greek fable tells us, was King of Lydia.  Being invited by Jupiter to his table, he heard secrets which he afterwards divulged.  To divulge a secret is to make it vulgar, or common, by telling it.

Poor Tantalus was punished rather severely for his offence; but he had sinned in betraying confidence.  Sent to the lower world, he was placed in the middle of a lake, the waters of which rolled away from him as often as he tried to drink of them.

Over his head, moreover, hung branches of fruit, which drew away, in like manner, from his grasp, whenever he put forth his hand to reach them.  And so, though all the time thirsty and hungry, he could not, in the midst of plenty, satisfy his desires.

Therefore we call it to tantalize a person to offer him a thing he longs for, and then to draw it away from him.

[Illustration]

In the picture, a little chicken is looking up at a spider which sits over her in the midst of its web.  She watches it, hoping that it will come so near to her little bill, that she can peck at it, and swallow it.