The Happy Garden 



" A heron, ma'am," said she. 



" Oh, we can't keep it." 



Her face fell. 



" It will fly away." 



" Its wings 've been clipped, 'm." 



I was thinking of an infant thrush which we 

 had found a few days before in the garden and 

 had given a home in a cage. It sang cheerily for 

 three days ; sadly for two ; and then it died for 

 want of company. And I had vowed in future to 

 avoid all such tragedy. My vow had been put into 

 practice in the case of a woodpecker which had 

 been found in a similar plight in the courtyard. 

 It had aimed at the roof of the study, but, the 

 wind being too strong for its wings, it had missed 

 its mark and been carried down to earth, where 

 it lay cursing and blaspheming. It was taken up 

 into the woods and left clinging to a tree, and, 

 for all I know, it has made good use of its liberty. 

 . . . Among woodpeckers I fancy our reputation 

 must stand high. 



How we stand with the community of the 

 herons over the road, I do not know. They fly 

 over the garden, but pay no attention to their 

 young relative standing solitary by the pond. . . . 

 And he gives no heed tb them. 



For we kept him. There seemed no other 

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