BIRD STORIES 



But just at the moment of this sound he was turning, 

 and then, the first anyone knew, he was flying up gayly, 

 quite gayly. Then it was n't a groan of fear? Mis afraid! 

 Why the rascal had but to move his wings this way and 

 that, and go up instead of down. He might be within a 

 second of dashing himself to death against the ground, 

 but so sure were his wings and so strong his muscles, 

 that a second was time and to spare for him to stop and 

 turn and rise again toward the safe height from which 

 he dived. A fine trick that! The fun of the plunge, and 

 then the quick jerk at the end that sent the wind groan- 

 ing against and between the feathers of his wings, with 

 a ^^boom" loud and sudden enough to startle anyone 

 within hearing. 



Yes, you might have seen the little clown at his tricks 

 without a ticket at the wild-circus gate, for all he cared 

 or knew. What did the children of men matter to him? 

 Had not his fathers and grandfathers and great-grand- 

 fathers given high-air circus performances of a spring- 

 time, in the days when bison and passenger pigeons in- 

 herited their full share of the earth, before our fathers 

 and grandfathers and great-grandfathers had even seen 

 America? 



Was it, then, just for the joy of the season that he 

 played in the air, or was there, after all, someone be- 

 sides himself to be pleased with the sport? Who knows 



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