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ment. He was not again allowed the full 

 liberty of the house. 



My pet grew large and strong during 

 the fall and winter and I spent many 

 pleasant moments watching his mis- 

 chievous pranks and quaint actions. 



Spring came at last, and the summer 

 songsters were arriving, treating us to 

 many a happy anthem. The blue bird 

 flitted by unnoticed. The robins were 

 building their nests, and that gaudy sum- 

 mer visitor, the red-breasted grosbeak, 

 had arrived in thegorgeous splendor of his 

 spring plumage, when far away across the 

 sweetly scented meadows echoed the bob 

 white of my little pet's relatives. Bob 

 would listen with head alert to this call, 

 and then he would pace up and down his 

 box just as you have seen wild animals 

 do in a zoological garden. With all my 

 kindness I had failed to deaden his love 

 for the wild life of his kind. One day, 

 when Bob was perched upon my window 

 sill, there came from across the orchard 

 a sharp and clear bob white ! This was 

 more than my little friend could with- 

 stand. He walked up and down, seeking 

 vainly for a way to escape. In his sturdy 

 body the varied emotions of a captive 

 were contending. There was anxiety and 

 hope, anger and fear, love and hate, com- 

 mingled in his every motion. 



Moved by my pet's desire for freedom, 

 I threw open the sash. Out he flew, with 

 a joyous whirr of his wings, and alight- 

 ing upon the garden fence, with his char- 

 acteristic energy, he uttered his first bob 

 white ! clear and strong. 



He remained near home, giving me a 

 good opportunity to watch his habits. 

 He daily came to the house for food, and 

 never was he disappointed, as I regular- 

 ly placed a handful of wheat where he 

 could reach it. 



One day a great happiness entered the 

 life of my little friend. He was uttering 

 his call with the sweet tremulous notes of 

 a love-sick life. Borne from the upper 

 orchard there came an answering call 

 from another lover in search of a bride. 

 Bob's head went up higher and higher; 

 he hurried along on an old rail fence, 

 sending his challenge for combat across 

 to his rival, for lurking near was a little 

 brown form watching Bob's sturdy mien 



with piqued interest. He sped quickly 

 to her side, she retreating farther and far- 

 ther away across the orchard to the place 

 where the other lover was watching and 

 waiting for the rival who had gained 

 favor in her eyes. Bob and his rival met 

 face to face in the dusty wagon road near 

 the spot where my pet's early life was 

 spent. Then there was a duel for love, 

 with the little modest brown lady-bird as 

 umpire and prize. 



The rivals chased each other up and 

 down the dusty lane. At last Bob was 

 victorious, and his rival quickly took 

 wing, followed by the angry victor. Pres- 

 ently Bob returned alone, and approached 

 his bride. She had laid a scheme to test 

 his love, and was now ready to abide by 

 the result of the conflict. 



My little pet led his mate away through 

 the wavy grasses, a victor and a king over 

 the heart of his loved one. Several weeks 

 later, after a nest had been built and a 

 downy brood hatched, I came upon my 

 old pet. It was a sunny day, and while 

 strolling down an orchard path, Bob flew 

 down in front of me, where he stood, 

 trembling and terrified. Thinking to help 

 my old friend in his distress, I put forth 

 my hand to take him up. I should have 

 known him better. In an instant he was 

 changed. He eyed me with that old keen, 

 distrustful glance, rose quickly from my 

 feet, and flew rapidly away. Hardly had 

 he gone fifty yards when a pigeon hawk 

 that had been waiting and watching, dart- 

 ed forth, and swooped down upon poor 

 Bob while in mid-air. A loud snap as the 

 hawk struck, a sharp cry from the bonny 

 victim, and a few feathers floating slowly 

 down told too pathetically of Bob's aw- 

 ful fate. I gathered up the scattered 

 plumage, a memorial of the little wayward 

 quail I had fed and reared to maturity. 



Bob seemed quite a patriot to me, as I 

 reflected upon his decision when he elud- 

 ed my hand that final time. "Liberty or 

 death.'' he seemed to say, as he flew rap- 

 idly away. He exhibited that trait, in his 

 bird-like way, by which great men have 

 won fame and renown, so he, too, is 

 worthy of having his story related and his 

 life immortalized. 



Charles Thompson. 



