FEATHERED PHILOSOPHERS 93 



comfortably for the night, head under 

 wing. 



Never afterward did he show any 

 signs of fear, but when I whistled to 

 him he would always come close to the 

 cage bars and make a soft kissing 

 sound and part his beak. When spring- 

 time came, I found that to let him fly 

 meant solitude and perhaps starvation. 

 One mild day, I hung his cage in a 

 low tree, when suddenly a tremor shook 

 him, and throwing back his head he 

 looked up through the leaves where the 

 insects buzzed, as if the remembrance 

 of some forgotten time had come back 

 to him, and beating his wings, he fell 

 from the perch with his eyes closed; 

 but when taken indoors he rallied 

 quickly, and lived, singing and cheer- 

 ful, for many years. 



The sky was gray, unrevealing, 



