ABOUT THE 

 FEATHERED FOLK. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE HOMELESS BIRD, AND THE 

 BIRD THAT DOES NOT FORGET. 



BEEP in the bosom of the 

 downs, almost hidden by 

 steep hills, and those 

 giant trees that grow in the south 

 countr}', there is a certain farm. 



A lane leads to it, and past it; 

 but traffic mostly turns in at the 

 farm gates, and it is only but very 

 rarely that wheels or footsteps make 

 a further journey. 



So the road beyond the farm is 



