SOME FEATHERED FOLK. 



*73 



tremolo. Still it took him a week to coax 

 her inside the cage, and once there she 

 shot out when somebody laughed on the 

 porch. The next day she fluttered all 

 around, but would not go in, though Tom 

 was hopping in and out, carrying bits of 

 bark and sticks, in sign that he thought 

 it high time nest making was begun. All 

 the while he called to her and was an- 

 swered. Toward sundown another cardinal 

 began calling love to the little browny red 

 thing. She set her head doubtfully 

 on one side and piped a weak answer. 

 Tom heard it, dashed out of the cage 

 and at the intruder, who was flying to- 

 ward the damson tree. At once the 2 

 clinched, tussling so fiercely they fell to 

 the ground. A big stray cat, gaunt and 

 white, darted from the ambush of the 

 garden fence, tried to catch both birds, 

 did catch poor Tom, and before he could 

 be forced to drop his prey so mangled 

 Tom Coffin that the bird died in 5 

 minutes. 



Of course, Tom had a fine funeral. His 

 mistress wrapped him in a linen napkin 

 and laid him away in a cigar box, cush- 

 ioned with pink rose leaves. The grave 

 was at the foot of a big rose bush, and 



LITTLE DORRITT AND PIER LORD. 



every year drifts of the same pink petals 

 lie heaped above it. 



Little Dorritt was a hedge sparrow, the 

 meekest, mildest creature that ever was 

 victimized by a hectoring, peevish mate. 

 She had a dreadful time building her nest. 

 It was begun first in a gooseberry bush, 



handily low, yet well fenced about with 

 thorny stalks. She worked there half a 

 day, carrying in grass and fine roots and 

 industriously weaving them together. 

 Her lord, meantime, after fetching a sin- 

 gle stick, sat scolding and raising his 

 feathers amid the raspberry bushes just 

 beyond. Toward afternoon he made a 

 dash at the nest, plumped down in it, 

 and with beak and wings wrecked it com- 

 pletely. Then, with his mouth full of 

 fragments, he flew out and away to a 

 stubby swinging syringa bough, flung 

 down the nest stuff insecurely in a small 

 crotch of it, and set up a hoarse twitter- 

 ing, full of command. 



Little Dorritt followed him meekly, 

 bringing with her other fragments of her 

 ruined nest. When she dropped them in 

 the nest crotch and began whirling around 

 to weave them in place, her mate pecked 

 her and sent her flying, then hopped into 

 the new nest and began aranging it to 

 suit himself. He kept this up until it was 

 finished, never letting poor little Dor- 

 ritt set one twig or hair to please herself. 

 There is no denying he was a good archi- 

 tect. The finished nest was round and 

 firm as a cup, beautifully smooth inside, 

 and lined with the softest, finest hairs. 

 But it would have been hard on the little 

 wife if those watching the family's estab- 

 lishment had not pitied her to the degree 

 of putting much nest stuff, fine curving 

 grass stems, roots, hairs and soft string 

 where she could lay beak on them without 

 flying more than 20 yards. 



Possibly she grew wonted to the watch- 

 ers in the flying, or it may be she felt 

 the helpful impulse of strength so much 

 greater than her own. Certain it is, that 

 as she brooded her 4 greeny blue eggs 

 she never resented a friendly presence, 

 but sat on the nest to be looked at, and 

 would take worms or cherries from the 

 hand if it approached her over her shoul- 

 der. Then she lifted her beak, opened it 

 and twittered faint thanks. But if the of- 

 ferings came facing her she drew her 

 head back, tucked it down even with the 

 edge of the nest and sat shivering all 

 through. She grew to like having her 

 back stroked gently with one finger. 

 Whole cherries she could not swallow. 

 They had to be Seeded and pulled in 2. 

 Even then she ate them under protest, 

 but slugs and cut worms were her 

 delight. She swallowed 7 big cut worms, 

 3 slugs and a dozen flies once within 

 half an hour. At least, her human friends 

 gave her that number at short intervals, 

 and her cantankerous mate, no more can- 

 tankerous, but most anxious and lover 

 like, fed her others between times. As 

 his was not the temperament of self de- 

 nial, the people in watch decided that a 

 pair of active sparrows must consume 



