FRIENDS IN FEATHERS 



the daintiest piece of bird architecture of my experience a picture 

 was made of it even when it was empty. 



But I have had three real experiences with Humming-birds. 

 The first, when one of them mistook the front window of the 

 Cabin for a pool of water, and in trying to fly across it struck the 

 glass full force and fell stunned. I heard the blow, hastened to 

 pick up the bird, and while trying to think what could be done 

 for it I saw that it was reviving and soon it flew away. 



Whenever Molly Cotton enters the Cabin alone, simultane- 

 ously with the setting of a foot on the threshold she always sings 

 out: "Mother!" One inflection she gives that call means: "Are 

 you at home?" Another: "May I go to Sarah's?" And yet a 

 third, which sends me flying at the first tone of it, means a heart- 

 break. This day came the trouble call, sharply defined as the 

 alarm-cry of my Robin. Molly-Cotton stood in the doorway 

 with big excited eyes shining from a background of flushed 

 cheeks and flying hair. On her outstretched palm lay a ruby- 

 throated Humming-bird, both wings widely spread, but making 

 no attempt to fly. 



"Doctor it!" she demanded. 



Is there anything more difficult for a mother than falling- 

 short of what her child expects of her? I did not know anything 

 to do for a sick Humming-bird, those daintiest creatures of nec- 

 tar and sunshine, but as I looked on Molly-Cotton's distressed 

 and eager face, I knew I could not tell her so. Of course I real- 

 ized there would come the inevitable hour when I would not be 

 able to furnish "balm for every wound," but I could not fail her- 

 then, so I temporized. 



"Where did you get it? Do you know what is the trouble 

 with it?" 



"I gave a boy my soda dime for it. It's hurt with a sling- 

 shot." 



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