40 What Birds Have Done With Me 



was out in all the tempest struggling in vain, to 

 shield from the merciless fury of the elements, 

 the helpless things whose mother he had ruth- 

 lessly slain. Rain and years wash out many 

 things, but the June day that went down in black- 

 ness, and the night of storm following, left an 

 ineffaceable sense of shame and regret that would 

 only pass with the mouldering back to dust of the 

 brain upon which it was stamped. 



When the very next day his two doves, leaving 

 a pair of young birds at home, flew down to the 

 village and were seen picking up grain around 

 the mill, and were promptly shot by Dr. Coffee, 

 the small boy felt that his crime was not to pass 

 unnoticed. Had he been aware of the fact com- 

 mented on by Shakespeare so many years ago, 

 when he wrote of sucking doves, he need not have 

 felt so bad when his squabs both died for want 

 of the predigested food they get from their par- 

 ents. About the only fun that the small boy had 

 at this time was the joy of hating Dr. Coffee, and 

 there is a good bit of evidence, of a circumstan- 

 tial character, that would indicate that he never 

 fully forgave him for killing his doves in the 

 breeding season. To be sure, he had shot the 

 Prairie Chicken, but he didn't know any better 

 and there was no excuse of that kind to mitigate 

 the crime of Dr. Coffee, and he would get his 

 punishment either in this world or the next. For 



