many children on the grass. Why, they 

 are as thick as dandelions any fine day, 

 and in spite of the care of the great gray 

 creatures it would be impossible to safely 

 teach our children to fly. We finally 

 found a lovely suburban place within 

 easy flying distance of the park. An 

 apple tree with perfect branches for a 

 nest grew in the back yard, the cherry 

 trees were white with bloom and the 

 whole place fragrant with the blossoms 

 of the grape. There was a flat jar always 

 kept filled with water for the birds, with 

 a stone in it that reached nearly to the 

 surface on which to stand while bathing. 

 The water made the birds come in flocks, 

 so that the place was gay with songs, and 

 really that yard was a little Eden. But 

 you know," she went on, dropping her 

 voice, ''there is a story of something ter- 

 rible that walked in the garden of Eden, 

 and I think it was a black cat, for that 

 is what walks in our garden. He lies on 

 the back steps in the sunshine pretending 

 to be asleep, but where his eyes ought to 

 be in that big black ball he calls his head 

 I can see a narrow yellow stripe, and out 

 of that stripe of yellow he watches every 

 bird that comes." 



''Does he get any birds?" asked the 

 Thrush in an awe-struck whisper. 



The Redbreast shook her black head 

 sadly. "Every now and then his mis- 

 tress finds him with feathers in his whis- 

 kers, and she scolds him. But there is a 

 serpent in every Eden," she added phil- 

 osophically ; "if it isn't cats it's boys." 



"Did you ever hear what became of the 

 family of Wrens that lived in the honey- 

 suckle over the back door?" asked Mrs. 

 Thrush, who cared more for gossip than 

 moralizing. "They were so pleasant and 

 cheery." 



"Oh, yes. We started south before 

 they left and I haven't seen them since. 

 They were a proud little folk, that made 

 believe they were not proud, always wear- 

 ing the finest clothes, yet in such sober 

 colors. I always called them stuck up." 



"Their tails certainly were — he, he, he," 

 giggled Mrs. Thrush. 



"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Mrs. Redbreast. 

 "That's pretty good. I must tell that to 

 Robin. But don't you remember," she 

 went on, "the Blue Jays that lived in the 

 elm tree down the lane?" 



"I never thought them very well-bred,'^ 

 replied Mrs. Thrush, bridling prettily^ 

 for she and her family pride themselves 

 on their correct behavior. "Wonderfully 

 pretty, but too loud." 



"Altogether too gay and noisy. Mrs.. 

 Jay was a great scold, and Blue almost 

 as bad. You could hear them all over the 

 neighborhood. Well, they lost all their 

 children by a Hawk, though Mrs. Jay 

 fought bravely for her little ones, and 

 Blue proved himself a real hero. She 

 over-exerted herself, however, and died 

 shortly after of nervous prostration. I 

 saw a girl, who had found her body,, 

 spreading out her poor dead wings and 

 holding them up against her hat. She 

 finally wrapped Mrs. Jay up in her hand- 

 kerchief and carried her away." 



"If women would only be satisfied with 

 the wings of a bird that had died a nat- 

 ural death we would not complain," said 

 Mrs. Thrush, as she folded her own pretty 

 wings a little closer. "Blue Jay married' 

 again right away, of course," she went 

 on, as she dropped a little red ant down 

 among the mill stones of her gizzard ta 

 be ground up. 



"He did not even wait the conventional 

 two weeks. If I thought Robin Red- 

 breast would be looking out for another 

 housekeeper so soon after my death he 

 would not have such a good wife as he 

 has to-day. He would have to hunt more 

 worms and bugs than he does, instead of 

 just bringing home a little bit of dessert 

 in the shape of cherries or grapes to 

 please the children ;" and the mother 

 fluffed up her feathers alarmingly. 



"That makes me think," said Mrs. 

 Thrush, "that I promised the children an 

 especially nice supper to-night if they 

 would not chirp or stick up their heads- 

 and look over the edge of the nest. They 

 are really getting so big now that Mr. 

 Thrush and I can do nothing with them. 

 Last night when I went home I found 

 my eldest son. Brown Thrush, sitting on 

 the edge of the nest, and he is taller " 



Just then a large shadow wavered over 

 the sunshiny sward, and with a scared ex- 

 clamation of "Hawk !" the birds flew 

 swiftly in different directions, not waiting 

 to see that the object which cast the 

 shadow was nothing but a harmless paper 

 kite. S. E. McKee. 



116 



