12 
OUR HOME BIRDS. 
“ Are you hurt?” asked Miss Harson, as no an- 
swer seemed to be forthcoming. 
“ No’m,” replied the captive, manfully ignoring 
an ugly bruise on his knee. 
Patrick had disappeared with a parting grin at 
the discomfiture of the young gentleman, whom he 
would not have harmed for the world, but he owed 
him a grudge for a particularly mischievous prank 
of the day before. 
“ I think I can guess what you have been doing,” 
continued Miss Harson, as she glanced at the strange 
ornaments on Malcolm’s shoulders. “ You have been 
trying to fly. You are certainly fortunate to have 
escaped so easily, for you might have broken your 
neck in the attempt. Did you not know, Malcolm, 
that boys were never intended to fly? They are not 
made for it.” 
“ But they used to fly,” was the confident answer. 
“ Men had wings, anyway. My history says so.” 
The governess looked at her pupil in amazement. 
He was a fine, manly-looking boy, and his frank, 
open gaze now met hers with the utmost assurance 
in the strength of his position. 
“ And pray, what history is that, Malcolm ? I am 
quite curious to know.” 
“ The history of England,” he replied, “ where it 
says that ‘ the English army took flight before the 
