BIRD STORIES 



which was wonderful enough, as he was a talented flier, 



— he used them in a sort of gymnastic stunt he was fond 

 of performing in the springtime. 



Perhaps he did it to show off. I do not know. Cer- 

 tainly he had as good a right to be proud of his accom- 

 plishments as a turkey or a peacock that spreads its 

 tail, or a boy who walks on his hands. ]Maybe a better 

 right, for they have solid earth to strut upon and run 

 no risks, while Mis did his whole trick in the air. It was 

 a kind of acrobatic feat, though he had no gymnasium 

 with bars or rings or tight rope, and there was no canvas 

 stretched to catch him if he fell. A circus, with tents, and 

 a gate-keeper to take your ticket, would have been lucky 

 if it could have hired Mis to show his skill for money. 



But Mis could n't be hired. Not he! He was a free, 

 wild clown, performing only under Mother Nature's tent 

 of wide-arched sky. If you wanted to see him, you could 



— ticket or no ticket. That was nothing to him; for 

 Mis, the wild clown of the air, had no thought either of 

 money or fame among people. 



Far, far up, he flew, hither and yon, in a matter-of- 

 fact-enough way ; and then of a sudden , with wings half- 

 closed, he dropped toward the earth. Could he stop such 

 speed, or must he strike and kill himself in his fall? 

 Down, down he plunged; and then, at last, he made a 

 sound as if he groaned a loud, deep ''boom." 



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