BIRD STORIES 



Yes, perhaps Larie's tree was an emblem of courage. 

 However that may be, it was a favorite spot on the 

 island. Often it could be seen, that dark, rugged tree, 

 which had battled with winds from its seedling days 

 and grown victoriously, with three white gulls resting 

 on its squarish top — birds, too, that had lived in rough 

 winds and had grown strong in their midst. 



There was more on the island than rocks and trees. 

 Over much of it lay a carpet of grass. Soft and fine and 

 vivid green it was, of the kind that had been gathered 

 for Larie's nest and had turned yellowish in drying. 

 Under the carpet, in underground lanes as long as a man's 

 long arm, lived Larie's young neighbor-folk — little pet- 

 rels, sometimes called '^Mother Carey's Chickens." 



There was even more on the island yet: for high on 

 the rocks stood a lighthouse ; and the man who kept the 

 signal lights in order was no other than Larie's police- 

 man himself. A useful life he lived, saving ships of the 

 sea by the power of Hght, and birds of the sea by the 

 power of law. 



So that was Larie's third world — an island with a 

 soft rug of bright-green grass, and big shelf y rocks of 

 red and green and gray, and rugged dark-green trees, 

 with white gulls resting on the branches, and a light- 

 house with its signal. 



All around and about that island lay Larie's fourth 



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