Stuart Little Read Online Free PDF

she cried. “Stuart,
my poor little boy.”
    “How about a nip of brandy?”
said Stuart.
    “I’m chilled to the bone.”
    But his mother made him some
hot broth instead, and put him to bed in his cigarette box with a doll’s hot-water
bottle against his feet. Even so, Stuart caught a bad cold, and this turned into
bronchitis, and Stuart had to stay in bed for almost two weeks.
    During his illness, the
other members of the family were extremely kind to Stuart. Mrs. Little played
tick-tack-toe with him. George made him a soap bubble pipe and a bow and arrow.
Mr. Little made him a pair of ice skates out of two paper clips.
    One cold afternoon Mrs.
Little was shaking her dustcloth out of the window when she noticed a small bird
lying on the windowsill, apparently dead. She brought it in and put it near
the radiator, and in a short while it fluttered its wings and opened its eyes.
It was a pretty little hen-bird, brown, with a streak of yellow on her breast.
The Littles didn’t agree on what kind of bird she was.
    “She’s a wall-eyed vireo,”
said George, scientifically.
    “I think she’s more like a
young wren,” said Mr. Little. Anyway, they fixed a place for her in the living
room, and fed her, and gave her a cup of water. Soon she felt much better and
went hopping around the house, examining everything with the greatest care and
interest. Presently she hopped upstairs and into Stuart’s room where he was
lying in bed.
    “Hello,” said Stuart. “Who
are you? Where did you come from?”
    “My name is Margalo,” said
the bird, softly, in a musical voice. “I come from fields once tall with wheat,
from pastures deep in fern and thistle; I come from vales of meadowsweet, and I
love to whistle.”
    Stuart sat bolt upright in
bed. “Say that again!” he said.
    “I can’t,” replied Margalo. “I
have a sore throat.”
    “So have I,” said Stuart. “I’ve
got bronchitis. You better not get too near me, you might catch it.”
    “I’ll stay right here by the
door,” said Margalo.
    “You can use some of my
gargle if you want to,” said Stuart. “And here are some nose drops, and I have
plenty of Kleenex.”
    “Thank you very much, you
are very kind,” replied the bird.
    “Did they take your temperature?”
asked Stuart, who was beginning to be genuinely worried about his new friend’s
health.
    “No,” said Margalo, “but I
don’t think it will be necessary.”
    “Well, we better make sure,”
said Stuart, “because I would hate to have anything happen to you. Here. ...”
And he tossed her the thermometer. Margalo put it under her tongue, and she and
Stuart sat very still for three minutes. Then she took it out and looked at it,
turning it slowly and carefully.
    “Normal,” she announced.
Stuart felt his heart leap for gladness. It seemed to him that he had never
seen any creature so beautiful as this tiny bird, and he already loved her.
    “I hope,” he remarked, “that
my parents have fixed you up with a decent place to sleep.”
    “Oh, yes,” Margalo replied. “I’m
going to sleep in the Boston fern on the bookshelf in the living room. It’s a
nice place, for a city location. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I shall
go to bed—I see it’s getting dark outside. I always go to bed at sundown. Good
night, sir!”
    “Please don’t call me “sir,””
cried Stuart. “Call me Stuart.”
    “Very well,” said the bird. “Good
night, Stuart!” And she hopped off, with light, bouncing steps.
    “Good night, Margalo,”
called Stuart. “See you in the morning.”
    Stuart settled back under
the bedclothes again. “There’s a mighty fine bird,” he whispered, and sighed a
tender sigh.
    When Mrs. Little came in,
later, to tuck Stuart in for the night and hear his prayers, Stuart asked her
if she thought the bird would be quite safe sleeping down in the living room.
    “Quite safe, my dear,”
replied Mrs. Little.
    “What about that cat
Snowbell?” asked Stuart,