XXX 



THE BOBOLINK 



ONE afternoon in the late spring one of my brothers 

 brought me a black bird with white on the back 

 and shoulder and a whitish bordered buff spot on the 

 back of the neck. In size he was smaller than either 

 the red-winged blackbird or the robin, tho he was cer- 

 tainly more nearly the size of the red-winged black-bird 

 than of the robin. I had never seen a bird like him 

 before and did not know what he was. Strange to say, 

 for once neither father nor mother knew this bird's name. 

 ,They both said that he was a white-winged blackbird, and 

 that he lived along the roadsides or more commonly along 

 the creeks and that he was scarce in our part of the 

 country. They said he was one of the best song birds we 

 have. 



The poor fellow had had his leg broken and his wing 

 hurt in some way or other. Possibly some boy in the 

 neighborhood with a shotgun could have explained how 

 this happened. I got out my largest bird cage, the one 

 I always used in taming my pet birds, and determined to 

 do my best to nurse this bird back to health again. Father 

 whittled out a splint and helped bind up the broken leg 

 and the injured wing, while mother supplied her best 

 mutton tallow and balm of Gilead salve to anoint the 

 wounds. 



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