8o The Story of Scr aggies 



With her tiny head protruding from the 

 clenched hand, her bright eyes looking 

 now this way, now that, she watched 

 intently, but without fear, confident in 

 the protecting power of her big friend. 

 And I felt the trust, the confidence 

 reposed in me, the affection, and it drew 

 from me a response totally at variance 

 with the size of the tiny creature. 



We buried her where she and I had 

 gone daily, I to dig, she to eat whatever 

 I found that she liked. My daughter 

 lined the little grave appropriately with 

 the beautiful white blossoms known as 

 bird-cages, lace-like, delicate, and ex- 

 quisite, and as we crumbled the earth 

 over her tiny feathered little body, need 

 I be ashamed to confess that tears fell, 

 even as they do now as I write? 



