iS8 Bird - Lore 



ready to think that he was paying me back. After a time he became as docile 

 as you please. Always since, when I have refu.sed him what he wants, he has 

 been ofl&sh in some way or other, and never when I have treated him as he 

 seemed to think he ought to be treated. 



One noon after I had fed him and watered him, and cuddled him a little, 

 he flew as I tossed him into the air. Over the trees and east he went, up and 

 away till he was out of sight. Then I began his food-call, and in a few seconds 

 he was at my feet a trustful, docile, and apparently happy bird. 



Ultimately we released Pete permanently from his cage, insuring safety for 

 the night by bringing him in at dusk. 



It was a glad day for all of us when Pete learned to come to the back door 

 and ask for food when he did not find enough in the neighborhood — for the 

 neighborhood is his feeding-ground, and the neighbors are his friends. It was 

 a glad day, too, when he first flew to the shelf where he was always fed. Many, 

 many applications of the food-paddle are necessary to appease his hunger, 

 and then he peeps for his drink. That administered, he cleans his bill on any 

 convenient edge, and then wings his way out into the yard again. 



Pete's antics touch me wonderfully. Does he really know me? Does he 

 trust me? Young people have trusted me, and seemingly have given me a sight 

 into their heart of hearts, and that is something to be thankful for. But here 

 is a bird of the field, a wild thing with ages of the fear of abuse and treachery 

 in his little breast, bound up in what we call instinct. Contentedly he cuddles 

 in my cupped palm, and croons a little song so faint and sweet that it might 

 charm the fairies of his native fields. 



Out of the heavens that are all his for the taking he returns to perch upon 

 my shoulder, and tell me in my ear that he expects me to feed him. He follows 

 sometimes like a dog, and seems never so contented as when with me. He will 

 be quiet for a long time, if I am very near; but if I leave him, he gives every sign 

 of distress, unless I have just fed him to repletion. 



Altogether, Pete is the strangest bird I ever knew, strangest in his mod- 

 ified instincts, strangest in his influence upon me, strangest in his every act, 

 and pose, and note. 



How is it? Why is it? May we have such intimate relations with God's 

 wild things out-of-doors? And do they flee from us as from a known danger? 

 Why, if birds may be thus tamed, may we not be surrounded with feathered 

 songsters free to go and come at will, and yet looking to us for protection and 

 for a part of their food, especially in times of stress? 



I've stroked the sitting Thrush in her nest, handled the young when the 

 parents were not two feet away, and unprotesting; and because of these and 

 other similar experiences, and because of my intimacy with Pete, I am the better; 

 and further, I hope that bye and bye, when such friendships shall have mul- 

 tiplied, I may spell myself man, and question not. 



