of his cartridges into his pockets and started 
down the street with his gun on his shoulder. 
It was only two or three blocks to where the 
shooting took place. Every time the sound of a 
gun came to Edith’s ears she hid her face in the 
sofa pillow and moaned, for she did not like to 
think of birds being killed, even if they were 
blackbirds that all the people said were a 
nuisance. 
I do not remember how many birds were shot 
that evening, or whether the survivors re- 
turned to their roosting places the next night; 
but the thing I do remember with pleasure is 
that when old John came home he had no more 
cartridges left. By this time the kingbirds had 
gone to sleep, so that he could not have found 
them that night even if he had had anything to 
shoot them with. The next day he had other 
things to think about. 
It was a windy morning and some of the boys 
in the neighborhood were flying kites. There 
were a good many trees about and they had 
more or less trouble in getting their kites above 
them. Some succeeded, however, and let out 
44 
