67 



one baby after another, and had then run 

 off with one, putting the others back in 

 the nest. 



"Oh, help ! help !" suddenly cried poor 

 Mrs. Flicker, "here they come again ! 

 They will take all the others. What shall 

 we do?" 



Mr. Flicker looked, and, true enough, 

 there they were, coming over the hill 

 through the orchard — two boys, and an- 

 other. The agonized cries sounded 

 through all the trees, coming not so much 

 from the Flickers themselves as from the 

 friendly cat-birds and robins and cedar 

 waxwings and sparrows who, forgetting 

 the slights they had received from the 

 Flickers, joined in a noble effort to at- 

 tract the attention of the intruders and 

 keep them away from the cherry tree. 

 On they came, however, paying not the 

 slightest heed to the medley of cries about 

 them — two boys and a gray insignificant 

 person who seemed to be directing the 

 cruel expedition. Straight to the cherry 

 tree they made their way, up went the 

 sprawling boy, and before the crazy 

 birds could tell what had happened, the 

 three were making their way back 

 through the orchard again. The cat- 

 birds followed them and the others kept 

 up their cries for some time afterwa. d. 



At first Mrs. Flicker refused to return 

 to her empty nest, but as night came on 



she grew calmer and decided not to aban- 

 don her home. She knew she could lay 

 more eggs and raise another family, but 

 she would not believe that there could 

 ever again be such brave and beautiful 

 babies as her stolen ones. As she at last 

 came to the nest, she heard a soft little 

 familiar call, and peeping in — lo! there 

 were the babies just as she had left them 

 except that the stolen one had been returned 

 and lay cuddled safe and warm beside 

 the others! There was a happy Flicker 

 family in the old cherry tree that night. 

 Not long after this the cherries disap- 

 peared, and the baby FHckers, one by 

 one, took their flying lessons and flew 

 away on their own strong v/ings. Then 

 the nest was molested no more. And 

 when the banks of the creek were bright 

 with goldenrod and asters, and the milk- 

 weed pods were bursting, the Flickers 

 started on their southern journey. Of 

 course the next summer is a long way 

 off, and no one can tell what may happen. 

 But it might be that even if the Flickers 

 cannot forgive, they can forget — which is 

 the better, after all, if you can do but one. 

 And when the April days come round 

 again, remembering only the fragrant 

 air and the fat ant-hills of the orchard, 

 they may return again to the cherry tree. 

 Who knows ? 



Nell Kimberly McElhotie. 



