On the Fessor's Desk 37 



in a nest on a bough swinging hard in a 

 storm. Those were great times. 



But sometimes that bothering old pen 

 annoyed me, and I would seize it in my 

 bill as Fessor made it scratch on the 

 paper. As I held on he went on writing, 

 and that used to jerk my head up and 

 down, and, of course, it dragged me 

 right across the paper. But I did n't 

 intend to let go ; I wanted him to stop 

 and talk to me, so back and forth we 'd 

 go, he trying to write with me holding 

 onto the pen, and I determined not to 

 let go, my head bobbing up and down to 

 the movements of his writing and my 

 feet slipping over the paper and smear- 

 ing the ink, until I got too tired to hold 

 on and had to let go. 



Now and again he was determined not 

 to let me touch that pen, and then we 



