224 More Tales of the Birds 



The humane boy was there, faithful to his trust 

 so faithful that, even as the Poet looked, he 

 drew from his pocket a catapult, picked up a 

 stone, and discharged it (luckily without effect) 

 at a black marauder. The Poet quickly huddled 

 on his clothes, and hurried down into the gar- 

 den, only to find the humane boy on his knees 

 among the dewy plants, eagerly devouring the 

 fruit that the blackbirds should have had ! 



In two minutes he was turned neck and crop 

 out of the garden. The Poet utterly refused to 

 listen to his plea that a boy had as good a 

 right to a strawberry as a blackbird. He was 

 beginning to get irritated. For the moment he 

 loved neither boys, nor strawberries, nor even 

 blackbirds. Misfortunes never come alone, and 

 as he turned from the garden gate he began 

 to be aware that it was raining. He looked 

 up, and for the first time for weeks he saw a 

 dull leaden sky, with here and there a ragged 

 edge of cloud driven across it from the west 

 The thirsty soil began to drink in the moisture, 

 and dull and dusty leafage quickly grew clean 

 and wholesome ; but the strawberries such few 



