OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 53 
The mother being too kind-hearted to let it die 
without trying to save it, placed it in a box, and began 
feeding it carefully, with worms and insects. 
In a short time it had grown so large that she 
turned it out in the yard, expecting it to fly away. 
To her surprise, it stayed about the yard all day, 
and at night came into the porch to roost. After that it 
was allowed to come into the house or go out at its own 
pleasure. 
_ Its voice was not musical but it had a little call 
like ‘‘Wickey, wickey,” from which it was named. 
It provided its own food, after being let out, from 
the trees and ant hills. Often when its mistress started 
toward the garden, it would alight on her head, ride out 
to the garden, and busy itself in hunting ants while she 
gathered the vegetables or berries for dinner. 
In the afternoons, when she wished to take a nap, 
Wickey would sometimes come hopping into the room. 
She would say to him, ‘“‘ Now, Wickey, if you come in 
here, you must be quiet.” Then folding her apron 
over the back of a chair, she would le down, and 
Wickey would fly upon the apron, put his head under his 
wing, and take a nap too. 
When his nap, which sometimes lasted a half hour 
or more, was over, out he would go again, into the 
trees. "There he thrust his long tongue into crevices 
of the bark and feasted on the insects hiding there. 
Sometimes when he came into the house and did 
not find his mistress he would call ‘Wick-ah” then 
