Mr. Esau 155 



and on the bottom of the cage was a rigid little 

 body, the worthless remains of what we had 

 known as Mr. Esau. Perhaps the eyes blurred a 

 little and the hand was not usually steady when 

 certain rites and ceremonies were being performed 

 that were destined to change Mr. Esau into, not 

 only a stuffed Grosbeak, but a whole sermon on 

 the text, "Who being dead yet speaketh." 



Making my annual bird-talk to the village 

 school, shortly after the death of the Grosbeak, 

 I took his skin with me and told his story and let 

 the children of the lower grades not only see 

 but handle the patched-up wing, the only witness 

 called for a time; but in the fifth grade I re- 

 ceived a hunch and shading my eyes with my hand 

 I began to look for the guilty boy; after a pre- 

 tended unsuccessful search, I said in substance: 

 "No, he is not here and if he was I would not 

 point him out, for you all hate him, hate him be- 

 cause he is a robber and has robbed you and me 

 of something of the sweetness and melody of the 

 spring-time and to this there is to be added the 

 hideous blood-lust that is supposed to lurk in jun- 

 gles." "Children," I continued, "I want you to 

 be very sorry for this boy's mother poor, poor 

 soul, how I pity her, in ignorance of his real char- 

 acter, sneaking, cowardly, pitiless, she is 

 doubtless hoping, believing, praying ithat her son 

 will turn out a splendid man, a leader of men." I 



