XII. 

 TROUBLE IN THE HONEYSUCKLES. 



A LITTLE later in the same year I had the 

 rare opportunity of watching from beginning to 

 end another drama in sparrow-life. The first 

 intimation I had of trouble was loud and per- 

 sistent chirping, a cry of distress. For some 

 time I could not get sight of the bird, but just 

 at evening, when I was looking closely at a 

 pear-tree out of which the sound came, a cock- 

 sparrow flew out, alighting on the peak of a 

 low roof in my sight, and resumed at once the 

 very sound I was in search of. He was the 

 one in trouble, and the reason was plain — he 

 had lost a leg. 



He stayed on the roof some time, uttering at 

 short intervals the pitiful cry, and at last, flying 

 to the pear-tree again, established himself in an 

 angle formed by two twigs starting horizontally 

 from the same point. Here he settled himself 

 comfortably after some fluttering, and here he 

 remained. 



