A Street Troubadour 



All his joy and pride in his house were gone. 

 This was a staggering blow, when he had looked 

 for unmitigated commendation. He sat dis- 

 consolately on the door-step for a minute, and 

 chirruped in a way that probably meant, " Come 

 back, come back ! " But his bride did not come. 

 He turned into the house. There was a scratch- 

 ing sound, and he came out at once with a large 

 stick and flung it from the door to the ground. 

 He returned for another, sent that flying after 

 the first, and so went on, dragging out and 

 hurling down all the sticks he had so carefully 

 and laboriously carried in. That wonderful 

 forked one that had given so much trouble to 

 get here from Union Square, and those two 

 smooth ones, just like the ones in his foster- 

 mother's nest — all, all must go. For over an 

 hour he toiled away in silence and alone. Then, 

 apparently, he had ended his task, for on the 

 ground below was a pile of sticks, as big as a 

 bonfire, the labor of a week undone. Randy- 

 glared fiercely at them and at the empty house, 

 gave a short, harsh chirp, probably a Sparrow 

 bad word, then flew away. 



Next day he reappeared with Biddy, fussing 



!I5 



