other trees, which did not in the least serve to 
rid the neighborhood of their presence. Then a 
man brought Roman candles, and it was rare 
fun watching these shot off under the trees. 
The little balls of fire would go darting up 
among the leaves until one would almost think a 
Fourth of July celebration was going on. But 
the birds paid no attention to the Roman candles. 
Evening after evening they came in still larger 
numbers. 
It so happened that just as old John was about 
to go out into his garden to look for the king- 
birds, a man knocked at his door and told him 
how the people had tried to get rid of the black- 
birds, but without success. The Mayor, or the 
Police Department, or the Board of Health, or 
some other authority had said that the flocks 
must be shot into and as many killed as possible. 
The gentleman slapped his hands with his 
gloves, rocked to and fro on his toes, and looking 
sidewise at old John, asked him to come and help 
shoot the birds, because he was such a fine shot. 
For once John Baukman was glad to comply with 
the request of a neighbor. He hastily put all 
. 43 
