OF A FLEDGLING 247 



grow strong enough to carry him away from the 

 yellow cat. 



I acquired the fledgling, his parents cursing me, 

 but they misunderstood my motives and cast 

 about for a receptacle ; a lodging, not a cage. The 

 birdlet's safety demanded something of the sort. 

 My eye met, my reason rejected, several things 

 A cigarette-box, a glass-fronted cabinet, a string- 

 bag. The creature meanwhile lay, still but palpi- 

 tating, in my palm, its callow beak resting against 

 a finger, its eyes closed in the extremity of terror. 

 It was utterly dissatisfied with its situation. 



I selected my fishing-creel. This was the very 

 thing ; large, deep, well ventilated, of dim interior. 

 In it I lodged our guest. 



I took dry grass, improvised a cosy nest, induced 

 the fledgling to sit there. I closed the lid. Hos- 

 pitality demanded that food should be provided. 



I bethought me that young birds like worms, 

 that worms are their staple fare. I took my very 

 large clasp-knife and went into the garden where I 

 procured two worms, pink, luscious, entirely suitable 

 for a fledgling. 



I introduced the worms into the creel. I found 

 that the fledgling had deserted the nest I had made 

 for it, was striving to break out through the wicker, 

 a manifest impossibility. Mine is a strong creel, 

 fifteen years old. It bears me while I meditate by 



