BIRD STORIES 



Solomon loved the dusk. His life was fullest then and 

 his sight was keenest. His eyes were wide open, and he 

 could see clearly the shadow of the leaves when the wind 

 moved them lightly from time to time. He was at ease 

 in the great night-world, and master of many a secret 

 that sleep3^-eyed day-folk never guess. As he shook out 

 his loose, soft coat and breathed the cool air, he felt the 

 pleasant tang of a hunger that has with it no fear of 

 famine. 



Once more he sent his challenge through the moon- 

 light with quivering, quavering voice, and some vdio 

 heard it loved the darkness better for this spirit of the 

 night, and some shivered as if with dread. For Solomon 

 had sounded his hunting call, and, as with the baying of 

 hounds or the tune of a hunter's horn, one ear might find 

 music in the note and another hear only a wail. 



Then, silent as a shadow, he left his branch. Solomon, 

 a little lone hunter in the dark, was off on the chase. 

 Whither he went or what he caught, there was no sound 

 to tell, until, suddenly, one quick squeak way over be- 

 side the corn-crib might have notified a farmer that an- 

 other mouse was gone. But the owner of the corn-crib 

 was asleep, and dreaming, more than likely, that the cat, 

 which was at that moment disturbing a pair of meadow 

 bobolinks, was somehow wholly to be thanked for the 

 scarcity of mice about the place. 



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