WHAT I HAVE DONE WITH BIRDS 



T3aby and the egg, although we knew it would not hatch. The 

 next morning the mother broke it and ate the contents. 



The birds were Black Vultures, the pioneers of their kind in 

 this part of the country. The female was a brilliant young bird, 

 with fresh face and feet. The male was much larger than his 

 mate, duller of coloring, with a wrinkled old face, and his feet 

 and legs were incrusted with a lime-colored growth at which he 

 bit and worked. 



When we left the swamp we were so overheated that we 

 chilled until we were compelled to wrap ourselves in the side cur- 

 tains and lap-robe of the carriage, lower the top so that we sat 

 in the sun of a hot June day, and drive at a slow walk. The 

 Deacon turned on me with the first word he had uttered, save to 

 ask what I next wanted done, and inquired, "Do you think that 

 paid?" 



Never in all my life was I so uncomfortable, so unspeakably 

 miserable. I was chilling until I shook under my leather cover- 

 ing and so pretended not to hear him. The next morning I pro- 

 duced my bunch of proofs. 



"Do you think it paid?" I asked. 



The Deacon went through the proofs several times, finally 

 selecting the best one of Little Chicken and the egg. 



"That more than pays," he said succinctly. "When are we 

 going again?" 



"I want to go every day and feed Little Chicken some liver 

 or sweetbreads and get acquainted with his parents. I want to 

 make a study of him every three days and all I can of the old 

 ones," I answered. 



"All right!" said the Deacon. 



"But you can't spare all that time," I cried in astonishment. 



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