My Boyhood and Touth 



poor bird feel as though it were at home on its 

 native meadow, — a meadow perhaps a foot 

 or at most two feet square. Again and again 

 it would try to hover over that miniature 

 meadow from its miniature sky just under- 

 neath the top of the cage. At last, conscience- 

 stricken, we carried the beloved prisoner to 

 the meadow west of Dunbar where it was bom, 

 and, blessing its sweet heart, bravely set it 

 free, and our exceeding great reward was to see 

 it fly and sing in the sky. 



In the winter, when there was but little doing 

 in the fields, we organized running-matches. 

 A dozen or so of us would start out on races 

 that were simply tests of endurance, running 

 on and on along a public road over the breezy 

 hUls like hounds, without stopping or getting 

 tired. The only serious trouble we ever felt in 

 these long races was an occasional stitch in our 

 sides. One of the boys started the story that 

 sucking raw eggs was a sure cure for the 

 stitches. We had hens in our back yard, and 

 on the next Saturday we managed to swallow 

 [ 48 ] 



