216 THE SOLITAIRE. 



The first time the clarin fell to the floor, I 

 ventured to offer him the end of a perch which 

 I held. Not in the least startled, he looked at 

 it, then at me, then accepted the civility by step- 

 ping upon it, and holding there while I lifted 

 and carried him to the door of the cage. This 

 soon came to be the regular thing, and all 

 through the trying season of moulting he waited 

 for me to bring a perch and restore him to the 

 upper regions where he belonged. He would 

 have been easily tamed. Even with no efforts 

 toward it, he came on my desk freely, talked to 

 me, with quivering wings, and readily ate from 

 my finger. The only show of excitement, as he 

 made these successive advancements, was the 

 rising of some part of his plumage. At one time 

 he lifted the feathers around the base of his 

 head, so that he appeared to have on a cap a 

 little too big, with a fringe on the edge ; and on 

 his first alighting on the arm of the chair where 

 I sat, the feathers over his ears stood out like 

 ear-muffs. 



When at last the clarin and the blue jay were 

 left nearly alone in the room, I noticed that the 

 clarin began watching with interest the move- 

 ments of the jay. They had never come in 

 collision, except of the voice above mentioned, 

 because the jay preferred the floor, chairs, and 

 desk, and seldom touched the perches, while the 



