BY OLIVE THORNE MILLER. 65 



ing him by the throat, burying his bill in his breast, 

 shaking him as a dog would shake a rat, and in less than 

 thirty seconds dragged him from his hold, and dropped 

 him to the ground — a dead bird. 



I was horrified, and so were the other spectators. Once 

 during the occupation the mother had tried to interfere, 

 and was told unmistakably to ' mind her own business.' 

 Several times the male audience attempted to take part — 

 whether for or against the victim I could only guess — but 

 were as summarily disposed of. That little incarnate fury 

 was the tyrant of the moment, and worked his own 

 wicked will to the end. 



As soon as the tragedy ended every bird disappeared, 

 and the tree was completely deserted as though accursed. 

 The murderer alone did not leave the neighbourhood, but 

 strutted back and forth, on an elm which overlooked the 

 scene of his crime ; fluttering his wings, calling loud 

 defiance to all the world, in the greatest excitement for 

 hours. Were there no other youngsters in the nest? 

 Were they left to starve ? And where was the mother .? 

 As to the first query, I could not be sure. Once during 

 the fray I thought I saw something drop from the nest, 

 and I was obliged to conclude that if there had been 

 another it had fallen victim to a passing cat. 



In an hour or two the mother came back, as if to put 

 her house in order and resume her duties, but her spouse 

 had other designs. Whether he resented her interference 

 with his lordly will, or whether the late unpleasantness 

 was attributed to her because of defective training or un- 

 tidy house-building — whatever the cause, the fact was 

 patent that he had made up his mind to divorce the 

 partner of his sorrows. She appreciated his intention^ as 

 was evident from the cautious way in which she ap- 



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