But the sense of caste, strong in his protuberant little
bosom, steeled him against these advances.
While the breakfast-table was being laid, he heard a faint tap against
the window-pane. Turning round, he perceived on the sill a creature
like to himself, but very different--a creature who, despite the
pretensions of a red waistcoat in the worst possible taste, belonged
evidently to the ranks of the outcast and the disinherited. In
previous winters the sill had been strewn every morning with
bread-crumbs. This winter, no bread-crumbs had been vouchsafed; and
the canary, though he did not exactly understand why this was so,
was glad that so it was. He had felt that his poor relations took
advantage of the Berridges' kindness. Two or three of them, as
pensioners, might not have been amiss. But they came in swarms,
and they gobbled their food in a disgusting fashion, not trifling
coquettishly with it as birds should. The reason for this, the canary
knew, was that they were hungry; and of that he was sorry. He hated
to think how much destitution there was in the world; and he could
not help thinking about it when samples of it were thrust under
his notice. That was the principal reason why he was glad that the
window-sill was strewn no more and seldom visited.
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