CHIRPY, THE RUFFIAN. 127 
and back again, saying nothing the whole time, 
but going like the wind. 
Finally he found her at the foot of an old 
elm. She was not actually with anybody, 
but there was another fellow who might have 
been there by accident, or might not. Instantly 
Chirpy attacked her with the most astounding 
fury, making the feathers fairly fly as she 
dodged under a perfect rain of his vicious 
pecks, and for a moment or two there seemed 
some likelihood of his killing her out of hand. 
She made, apparently, absolutely no attempt 
to defend herself, but she did not go home. 
The other fellow, who was a fine young 
cock-bird, arrived without warning, and at 
speed, knocking Chirpy fairly and squarely on 
to his back ; but our friend was too old a hand 
to stay there longer than you could wink. 
He was up in a flash, and at the other like a 
little brown fury; and almost before you could 
say, ‘Oh, my !’ they were the centre of a raging, 
struggling whirlwind of fighting sparrows. 
The whole thing appeared to be an absolute 
chaos, in which everybody fought everybody 
else; but I like to think not, else how was it 
that, when all was over, and Chirpy—with an 
angry gash on his back—-returned to his nest, 
furiously driving his wife before him, he should 
have been accompanied in silence by those 
