A Street Troubadour 



right eye; then decided to let it alone. But 

 Randy came closer ; he was not unfamiliar with 

 threads. He hopped this way, then that, pulled 

 at a thread, started back, but came nearer, 

 nibbled at one or two, then made a dart at a 

 string and bore it away. Next time Biddy 

 came, and each bore off a string. They took 

 only the dull ones, but after these were gone 

 Biddy selected some of the brighter material, 

 though even she did not venture on the gaudiest 

 ribbons, and Randy would have no hand in 

 bringing home any but the soberest and most 

 stick-like materials. The nest was now half 

 done. Randy once more ventured to carry in a 

 stick, but a moment later it was whirling down 

 to the pile below, with Biddy triumphantly gaz- 

 ing after it. Poor Randy! no toleration for 

 his hobby — all those splendid sticks wasted. 

 His mother had had a stick nest, — a beautiful 

 nest it was, — but he was overruled. Nothing 

 but straw now ; then, not sticks, but softer 

 material. He submitted— liberty had brought 

 daily lessons of submission. He used to think 

 that the barber-shop was the whole world and 

 himself the most important living being. But 



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