Annie s New Home. 



113 



Aside from this, however, his red wing 

 marks him as effectually as a soldier's 

 epaulets. In the male, the scarlet shoulder 

 cap makes such a striking contrast with his 

 shining black coat that the careless observer 

 does not notice its border of brownish-yel- 

 low, even when it shades into white, as it 

 ■does in some of the eastern species. In 

 the female, the contrast is not so great. In 

 the first place, she is not such a pure black 



as the male, having brownish streaks that, 

 even at a distance, give her a duller look. 

 Then her epaulets are more of a salmon 

 color than scarlet. Still the effect is very 

 pleasing, and it is only a matter of taste if 

 one does not admire her as much as her 

 husband. 



The redwing nests in tufts of sedge, low 

 bushes, or other places in open fields. 



Florence A. Merriam. 



ANNIE'S NEW HOME. 



SHE had not always been lame. A few 

 years before, no foot so light, no 

 step upon the stairs so swift and ^JJtre as 

 Annie's. But one cruel winter's day, a slip 

 on the icy pavement changed all her life, 

 and from a brisk, bonny lass she silently 

 faded into a pale, patient cripple. Her 

 father had died long ago, and her mother, 

 after a weary struggle against adverse fate, 

 gladly followed him. The neighbors were 

 kind, of course, and Mrs. Lynch, the widow, 

 took Annie into her home; but it was not 

 like having one's own mother. Kindness, 

 not love, prompted every act. The days 

 passed very slowly and monotonously for 

 Annie. Every morning she was helped 

 into her cushioned chair by the window, 

 and there she sat all day, with no outlook 

 •except at a blank wall, while her patient 

 fingers fashioned the artificial flowers that 

 helped to pay her board. It seemed so 

 strange that she should be so terribly 

 afflicted that it made her sad sometimes, 

 and she could not help murmuring a little, 

 but she was generally very patient, and 

 then there was always Jim to be thankful 

 for. 



He was the idol of Annie's life, and his 

 devotion to her was beautiful to see. His 

 hands, though big and rough, were gentle 

 as a woman's when they touched Annie; 

 his deep voice softened and his heavy step 



grew light when he entered Annie's room. 

 As for Annie, he was not only her brother, 

 but her father, mother, and a whole host of 

 other relations besides. He was her light 

 and strength and very life. He worked in 

 the mines, and was away all day, and some- 

 times all night, but when he did come home, 

 no matter if it was midnight, then and then 

 only the sun shone for Annie. 



Jim was always trying to think of some- 

 thing that would shorten her long, weary 

 hours. One day he would bring her an 

 apple whose polished sides fairly glistened. 

 Again it would be a flower, a rose or a 

 pansy, which Annie always put before her 

 and copied at once, and she always thought 

 that none of her flowers were so natural as 

 those she copied from Jim's boquets. 



One bright, warm May Sunday, he took 

 her to the country. What a day that was 

 for Annie ! It was years since she had been 

 beyond the grimy, smoky streets of the min- 

 ing town, and she could only faintly remem- 

 ber how the country looked. She could call 

 up dim memories of fields of fresh green 

 grass, of flowers really growing, and of soft 

 warm air musical with the songs of birds, 

 but it all seemed very distant and unreal. 

 How she had looked forward to this day. 

 Jim borrowed the overseer's wagon, took the 

 cushions from Annie's chair and made a 

 seat for her, and together they drove away, 



