OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 25 
he gave a little “‘squawk” that brought the old birds 
about my head in a flash. 
He could hop about in a lively manner, but was 
not much inclined to move unless urged with a stick 
or the parents’ sharp commands. 
Several times he was picked up, but every time 
the old birds gave a scream, and flapped down on the 
head of the officious person who dared to touch their 
baby. 
In the evening, fearing a cat might get him, I 
threw him up into the pine, where he caught and held 
to the branch until the next day. The others never 
came to the ground, but remained near the nest until 
they learned to fly. 
They seemed to be too sleepy, for awhile, to try to 
fly. The old ones coaxed and scolded, and flew back 
and forth over them to show them how to fly; but 
they would merely rise up on their long legs, stretch 
one wing slowly, then the other, and settle down for 
another nap. 
After a few days they learned to fly about the 
tree, but the one who had fallen to the ground was 
more trouble to the parents than all the rest. He 
must have been the black sheep of the family. The 
feathers never grew on his head and neck, like the 
others, but he was always bald-headed and without a 
necktie. His neck was so slim as to remind one of a 
vulture. He must have taken a cold going with a bare 
neck, for, as he grew older, his voice became harsh and 
