74 



Two barefoot boys with bows and arrows 

 were hunting, one September day, about the 

 'ee-7okh-sts half-grown thickets of an old pasture. The 

 older was teaching the younger how to shoot. 

 A robin, a red squirrel, and two or three spar- 

 rows were stowed away in their jacket pockets ; 

 a brown rabbit hung from the older boy's 

 shoulder. Suddenly the younger raised his 

 bow and drew the arrow back to its head. 

 Just in front a chickadee hung and twittered 

 among the birch twigs. But the older boy 

 seized his arm. 



" Don't shoot — don't shoot him ! " he said. 



" But why not .? " 



" 'Cause you must n't — you must never 

 kill a chickadee." 



And the younger, influenced more by a 

 certain mysterious shake of the head than by 

 the words, slacked his bow cheerfully; and 

 with a last wide-eyed look at the little gray 

 bird that twittered and swung so fearlessly 

 near them, the two boys went on with their 

 hunting. 



No one ever taught the older boy to dis- 

 criminate between a chickadee and other 



