and capture. They carried the bird into the hall, where they looked at it, but it lay quite still in Blessington 's hand, with its helpless little claws relaxed, and with its eyes fast glazing in death. Its beak was open, and on its speckled breast were two oozing drops of blood, that stained the feathers.
"Eh, poor thing, it's dead," said Blessington.
Archie felt all the desolation of an unavailing pity.
"No, it can't be dead, Blessington," he said. "It'll get all right, won't it?" and his lip quivered.
"No, dear, it's quite dead," said Blessington; "but if you like we'll bury it. There'll be just time before tea. Shall I run upstairs and get a box to bury it in?"
Without doubt this was a consoling and attractive proposal, and while Blessington went to get a suitable coffin, Archie held the "small slain body" in reverent hands. It was warm and soft and still; by now the bright eyes had grown quite dull, and the blood on the speckled breast was beginning to coagulate, and once again, even with the novel prospect of a bird-funeral in front of him, Archie's heart melted in pity.
"Why did Cyrus kill it, Jeannie?" he said. "The thrush hadn't done any harm."
"Cats do kill birds," said Jeannie. "Same as birds kill worms, or you and William kill worms when you go out fishing."
"Yes, but worms aren't birds," said Archie. "Worms aren't nice; they don't fly and sing. It's an awful shame."
Blessington returned with a suitable cardboard box which had held chocolates, and into this fragrant coffin the little limp body was inserted. This certainly distracted Archie from his new-found emotion.
"Oh, that will be nice for it," he said. "It will smell the chocolate."
"It can't; it's dead," said hopeless Jeannie.
But Blessington understood better.
