122 More Tales of the Birds 



crooked chimney-pots, seemed to thicken and 

 congeal upon every object that it met. It clung 

 to the Linnet's feathers, it made his eyes smart, 

 and his heart palpitate fiercely ; he must rest 

 again somewhere, and then try his wings once 

 more. 



Fluttering over those horrible chimney-pots, 

 he spied at last a roof where there was an 

 attempt at a little garden : a box of sallow- 

 looking mignonette, and two or three pots of old 

 scarlet geraniums. Lintie dropped upon the 

 mignonette, which refreshed him even with its 

 sickly sweetness, and for a moment was almost 

 happy. But only for a moment ; suddenly, from 

 behind one of the geranium-pots there came a 

 swift soft rush of grey fur, a lightning-stroke 

 of a velvet paw, a struggle in the mignonette, 

 and Lintie emerged with the loss of three white- 

 edged tail-feathers, while a pair of angry yellow 

 eyes followed his scared flight into the grimy 

 air. 



The very fright seemed to give his wings a 

 sudden convulsive power. Where they were 

 carrying him he could not tell, and the loss of 



