144 What Birds Have Done With Me 



some easy meat and clearly was in no way pre- 

 pared for an avalanche of boy that was on him be- 

 fore he could make way with his kill, knocked his 

 prey out of his mouth and was seemingly bent on 

 squeezing the breath of life out of him as well. 

 The strong legs and powerful feet with their mur- 

 derous claws made short work of the little hands 

 that grasped the throat of the small tiger, that 

 escaped after lacerating the hands of a child be- 

 longing to the foolish human creatures who, for 

 ages, have harbored it. That such things could 

 be in the light of day had such a numbing effect 

 upon him that he made no out-cry, the cat had 

 done that and he had duly contrasted his red 

 hands with the pitiful red feet of his pet, as he 

 took the body out to the garden and buried it be- 

 fore he allowed them to take him to old Dr. Shaw 

 to stop the bleeding. Every Mourning Dove since 

 has been a lineal descendant of Mourny and the 

 wife and daughter, of the man writing this, have 

 heard for the first time since this reminiscence 

 was started, the name Mourny which all these 

 years he had kept hidden in his heart. 



A certain Doctor of Divinity here in the South 

 is known as a mighty hunter, and a notice in a 

 city paper said that on a recent hunting expedi- 

 tion, he had to his credit (?) thirty-three Mourn- 

 ing Doves; let those who will call him Reverend 

 Doctor, to me he is nothing but an old Tom- 



