278 Bird -Lore 



not to tread on Peter. I usually found him not a foot from her nose, on the 

 defensive, while she pranced and yelped at him. For, after he got well enough to 

 leave his perch on the table, Peter got in the habit of wandering around by 

 himself; an open door was his opportunity. I generally discovered him 

 either perched upon one of the rounds of a dining-room chair, or snugly 

 tucked away in a little tunnel under the sofa pillows on the couch. Here 

 he was always found facing outward. Perhaps an instinct of the immemorial 

 nesting of his tribe in holes made him feel at home in this little hole under 

 the pillows. 



Judy was an enemy to be despised, but Peter had a foe of a different nature. 

 One of my neighbors owned a coal-black coon-cat, with great yellow eyes like 

 two full moons. "Coony" was an inveterate bird-catcher, a fierce and subtle 

 beast. He was interested in Peter and would steal up to my kitchen door and 

 gaze into the room, calculating his chances of a good meal. Often I found 

 him there. Peter also enjoyed going to the screen door and looking out. He 

 would cling to it and climb nearly to the top, but usually he stayed in the lower 

 panel. I have heard Peter chattering defiantly in the kitchen, and, on going 

 to him, have found him clinging to one side of the screen door while "Coony" 

 on the other was clawing it and trying to get him. Was Peter afraid? Not 

 Peter! Peter was enjoying it. His heart did not flutter except with valiant 

 rage. There was no symptom of fear about him. Crippled as he was, he was 

 perfectly ready to stand up and fight the cat. I fear Peter was a poor judge of 

 character, for seldom have I seen a cat with which a bird would have had 

 such an unequal contest. 



Daily I exercised Peter, trying to get his wing in condition. In ten days it 

 improved very much. His first feeble flutterings were little downward flights; 

 then he was able to sustain himself on a level for a short distance; and finally 

 he undertook to rise. He got so that he could fly from my hand to the ell 

 of the house. The trouble was to induce him to return. He seemed to think 

 my time of as little value as his. And on account of cats I had to watch not 

 only him but the whole neighborhood. Once he gave me a sad fright by flying 

 from the ridgepole down the other side of the house. I expected to find him 

 devoured by some lurking cat over there, but on hurrying around I found him 

 sitting in the grass, ready to be taken up. 



Meantime I was anxiously watching the migration of the Martins. It was 

 now well into September, and the nights were cool and the supply of flies 

 growing perceptibly less. Peter was getting in condition to travel, but would he 

 have any traveling companions? Day by day I watched the flights of Martins 

 wheeling about the church spire and saw their ranks get thinner and thinner. 

 It was the last end of the migration and although he was well and fat, Peter 

 was hardly in condition for the strain of the long journey south. But there 

 came a day when I decided to wait no longer. I gave Peter to my brother 

 to take care of, and I never saw him afterward. 



