LITTLE PRISONERS IN THE TOWER. 79 



away vigorously upon their plumes. It was com- 

 ical to see them try to find their oil glands. Had 

 the old birds taught them how to oil their feathers 

 while they were still in the nest? They were 

 thickly feathered, but when they reached back to 

 their tails the pink skin showed between their 

 spines and shoulders, giving a good idea of the 

 way birds' feathers grow only in tracts. 



When the little princes were about a month 

 old, I arranged with a neighboring photographer 

 to have them sit for their picture. He drove over 

 to the sycamore, and the lad who had rescued the 

 prisoners took them down to keep their appoint- 

 ment. One of them tried to tuck its head up 

 the boy's sleeve, being attracted by dark holes. 

 While we were waiting for the photographer, the 

 boy put Jacob in a hollow of the tree, where he 

 began pecking as if he liked it. He worked away 

 till he squeezed himself into a small pocket, and 

 then, with his feathers ruffled up, sat there, the 

 picture of content. Indeed, the little fellow looked 

 more at home than I had ever seen him anywhere. 

 The rescuer was itching to put the little princes 

 back in their hole, to see what they would do, 

 but I would n't listen to it, being thankful to 

 have gotten them out once. 



When Bairdi was on the bark and Jacob was 

 put below him, he turned his head, raised his red 

 cap, and looked down at his brother in a very 

 winning way. 



