Lonely Tom 239 
nection, | remember an amusing incident that occurred several years ago, 
while on a visit to a school where I remained for several days. One morning 
while awaiting the breakfast hour, I was reading on the veranda, when I was 
accosted by a very hearty “Hello! Hello!” Looking up, I was amused, as well 
as surprised, in seeing a Magpie solemnly walking up and down the walk, 
looking at me with his head tilted to one side, and punctuating his morning 
exercise by his distinct and hospitable salute. 
- But to return: I named him Tom, and imagined, shortly, that he knew 
his name. He lived upon the fat of the land. He was, if I am not greatly 
mistaken, a Pinion Jay, and beautifully marked in shades of blue and slate. 
He lived up to all the standards and reputation of his race, and seemed equally 
as proud of the one as of the other. He was inquisitive to a fault, and’ inter- 
ested and attentive in all that went on around him. I would often place him on 
a penholder stuck in the stopper of my ink-bottle, and here he would sit' for 
long periods, his head tilted to one side, watching my hand intently in its 
movements across the page in writing: and how he would follow me with his 
eyes as I walked from place to place across the room! He soon learned the 
base of supplies, and, when I crossed in this direction, I was sure to be greeted 
with his merry croak, and down he would fly to my arm and peck at the cracker 
I usually had for him. Upon coming in from work, I would whistle to him as 
I entered the room, and he would usually flit to my shoulder, never omitting - 
his unearthly call. 
One thing, however, puzzled and worried me. Tom ate too little, and daily 
grew thinner. I offered him every dainty I could think of and secure, but of 
no avail. He turned up his aristocratic nose at all. Raw meat was the most 
tempting, and sometimes crackers, but he seemed happier in making a noise 
than in eating. At last I offered him his freedom, but the rascal, after a few 
turns in the air, came back to the window-casement, pecked a few times at 
the woodwork, gave a sad croak and hopped inside. He seemed possessed 
of a feeling or presentiment that he must soon depart this sad world, and 
preferred to do so in good society. Ofttimes in the night he would utter his 
strange call, and, if I happened to be awake and spoke or whistled back, he 
would repeat it. 
One night, about the fourth week of his stay with me, I heard him moving 
about more than usual, as if an uneasy spirit ruled him. In the morning he did 
not respond to my usual call, and upon investigating I found that he was indeed 
free. Was that midnight croak his farewell to me? What strange notions 
ruled his life? Was he a social outcast from his tribe? Had his life’s experience 
proven too severe for him and he voluntarily left his companions? Had he 
once been a captive and escaped, but, after a short taste of freedom, reéntered 
captivity of his own choice? Or was he half-crazed over the loss of his mate 
and, willing to starve rather than live on alone? And why, meeting on the 
lonely darkening prairie road, did he attach himself to me? Who can say? 
