260 FEATHERED FRIENDS. 



and shall not soon forget the spectacle that presented 

 itself to my sight. 



The poor Turtle Dove was certainly alive, but every 

 morsel of skin had been rubbed off the top of its head, 

 the lid of the little box was a mass of blood, and the 

 box itself nearly half- filled with feathers 1 I took the 

 unhappy captive out, and it did not move, for its eyes 

 were sealed up with clotted blood that had flowed 

 from the injured scalp: I got some warm water, bathed 

 the poor eyes and the bird opened them, feebly, looked 

 stupidly round it, as well it might, poor creature 1 and 

 shut them again, with an inspiration that sounded 

 uncommonly like a sigh. 



I loosened my hold of the bird and it made an im- 

 mediate dash at the window, which it struck with such 

 force that it fell, apparently lifeless, to the ground. I 

 picked it up and found that it was only stunned. 

 I placed it in a cage and it presently began fe knock 

 itself about so frantically, perhaps from the pain of its 

 bruised head, that I felt tempted to wring its neck in 

 order to put it out of its misery; but I concluded to 

 wait, covered over the cage, and went away. 



The next morning, the poor Turtle Dove's head 

 presented a sorry sight; the wound on it was dry and 

 black-looking, as if the skull had been seared with a 

 hot iron, but the wretched creature had eaten and 

 drunk and was evidently recovering. After a few days, 

 a crust peeled off the top of its head and I saw that 



