Lonely Tom 239 



nection, I remember an amusing incident that occurred several years ago. 

 while on a visit to a school where I remained for several days. One morning 

 while awaiting the breakfast hour, I was reading on the veranda, when I was 

 accosted by a very hearty "Hello! Hello!" Looking up, I was amused, as well 

 as surprised, in seeing a Magpie solemnly walking up and down the walk, 

 looking at me with his head tilted to one side, and punctuating his morning 

 exercise by his distinct and hospitable salute. 



But to return: I named him Tom, and imagined, shortly, that he knew 

 his name. He lived upon the fat of the land. He was, if I am not greatly 

 mistaken, a Pinon Jay, and beautifully marked in shades of blue and slate. 

 He lived up to all the standards and reputation of his race, and seemed equally 

 as proud of the one as of the other. He was inquisitive to a fault, and inter- 

 ested and attentive in all that went on around him. I would often place him on 

 a penholder stuck in the stopper of my ink-bottle, and here he would sit for 

 long periods, his head tilted to one side, watching my hand intently in its 

 movements across the page in writing: and how he would follow me with his 

 eyes as I walked from place to place across the room ! He soon learned the 

 base of supplies, and, when I crossed in this direction, I was sure to be greeted 

 with his merry croak, and down he would fly to my arm and peck at the cracker 

 I usually had for him. Upon coming in from work, I would whistle to him as 

 I entered the room, and he would usually flit to my shoulder, never omitting 

 his unearthly call. 



One thing, however, puzzled and worried me. Tom ate too little, and daily 

 grew thinner. I offered him every dainty I could think of and secure, but of 

 no avail. He turned up his aristocratic nose at all. Raw meat was the most 

 tempting, and sometimes crackers, but he seemed happier in making a noise 

 than in eating. At last I offered him his freedom, but the rascal, after a few 

 turns in the air, came back to the window-casement, pecked a few times at 

 the woodwork, gave a sad croak and hopped inside. He seemed possessed 

 of a feeling or presentiment that he must soon depart this sad world, and 

 preferred to do so in good society. Ofttimes in the night he would utter his 

 strange call, and, if I happened to be awake and spoke or whistled back, he 

 would repeat it. 



One night, about the fourth week of his stay with me, I heard him moving 

 about more than usual, as if an uneasy spirit ruled him. In the morning he did 

 not respond to my usual call, and upon investigating I found that he was indeed 

 free. Was that midnight croak his farewell to me? What strange notions 

 ruled his life? Was he a social outcast from his tribe? Had his life's experience 

 proven too severe for him and he \'oluntarily left his companions? Had he 

 once been a captive and escaped, but, after a short taste of freedom, reentered 

 captivity of his own choice? Or was he half-crazed over the loss of his mate 

 and, willing to starve rather than li\-e on alone? And why, meeting on the 

 lonely darkening prairie road, did he attach himself to me? Who can say? 



