October, 1921 



TT WAS not long before, one and all, they had 

 passed from my control. I could only guard 

 them from afar, heading them off from places of 

 danger by driving them in a quick process of 

 hops across the lawn. In the daytime the 

 mother seemed quite confident of her ability to 

 cope with peril, and as I met her running down 

 the path attended by her hungry brood, she 

 would scold me roundly for my officious watch- 

 fulness. But at dusk she grew anxious and 

 made sacrifice of her pride, summoning me to her 

 assistance by squawks which were fretful at 

 first, and insistent if I delayed. Then as I 

 appeared, bearing the fireless cooker, she would 

 flutter before me until one by one I had gathered 

 in her brood. They, too, seemed to expect 

 me as they crouched low in the grass like young 

 runaways, their beaks uptilted for a peck at my 

 covering hand. But with this one sign of re- 

 sistance their bravado was ended and they were 

 ready to snuggle down. 



In these bedtime rites the father never took 

 part. He would merely select his perch as 

 spectator and watch with an interest which, if 

 keen, was detached. But once I had started 

 off to the house with my burden he would follow 

 me with his song, uttered just before flight — an 

 act of exquisite courtesy. 



A T LAST an evening came when I heard no 

 ^ ■*- summons. I suspected that silence meant 

 my release, but I wished to make sure. Low 

 on the syringa bush I found the mother, but she 

 made no move to share secrets, and, indeed, 

 as she flew by without sign of recognition, I 

 might have been a nursemaid whom she had 

 dismissed. Yet though I was glad to be rid of my 

 charges, I could not return her slight with in- 

 difference. I had been in the family too long 

 for that. Instead I continued my search until 

 high in the grape vines I came on a figure, wee 

 and defenceless, but with a determined clutch 

 to his claws and a set to his stubby tail that bade 

 me defiance. He was no mollycoddle, but a 

 man of the world, and empty-handed I returned. 



Lonely as I was at their departure, I was de- 

 termined that I should have no more guests. 

 Had I been the Chinaman with the scroll I 

 should have quickly made an erasure and 

 scratched out my roof. But unfortunately ray 

 offer of hospitality had been put in more perman- 

 ent form. I could not uproot it. Whenever 

 it met with an eager acceptance I could only 

 rush forth with a broom and by acts of persistent 

 discourtesy proclaim that my invitation had 

 been recalled. 



