150 More Tales of the Birds 



quite sadly. " Neither I nor the missis could 

 get along without one. Old Mag died quite 

 easy, of nothing but old age, and old he was, 

 to be sure. He'd have died years ago, if he'd 

 been any one else's bird. He'd have been shot 

 years ago if he'd lived his own natural life. 

 They say it's cruel keeping birds in cages ; 

 but if ever a bird was happy, that one was. 

 And what's more," he said, with a touch of 

 pathos in his voice which I have often remem- 

 bered since then, when I have been telling his 

 story to others, "he had his share in making 

 others happy, and that's more than can be said 

 for some of us, my boy. However, come along, 

 and I'll spin you the yarn (as you seafaring 

 folks say); and, indeed, I'll be glad to tell it 

 to some one, for poor old Mag's sake. Honour 

 where honour is due." 



We sat down on the bench by the front 

 door, and Mrs. Reynardson, bonny and bright- 

 eyed, came and gave me her hand and sat 

 down with us. The farmer paused a bit to 

 collect his thoughts, while he pensively tickled 

 the newly-installed genius of the house with the 



