QUIRREL. 
165 
small enemy. What was to be done with such a bird ? Of 
course I was very angry again, and not knowing how else to 
preserve peace, I turned Quirrel out, neck and crop, hoping she 
would mate, and with her mate’s help be able, now the weather 
was warm, to fend for herself. Some hours later I went out, and 
while feeding the pigeons heard the familiar “ quirr-r-el,” and 
my incorrigible flew down upon the wire netting with her head 
on one side, and said distinctly, “ I wish I w'ere in there too — 
let me in ! ” and I did, arguing to myself that perhaps she had 
had provocation, and had now recovered her temper. Had she ? 
She was back at the pigeons in an instant, scolding, pecking, 
clinging. Once more I turned her free, but it was just the same 
story over again. 1 delayed my return longer this time, but the 
instant I reached the pigeon door, with a loud “ quirr-r-el ” she 
flew down again, almost at my feet, and almost embracing in her 
flight the cat whose presence she had grown so accustomed to 
on the top of her wire-netted home. I saw then how totally unfit 
she was to brave the world, even had she wished to, and she did 
not wish to — and I did not wish her to ; her appeal to be taken 
back was irresistible. I opened the door again and in she flew ; 
I rigged up some wire netting across the end of the enclosure, to 
preserve the pigeons from molestation — it was not quite wide 
enough to reach across, so I wove the netting together with 
string, tying the string at the bottom. Next morning I was 
surprised to find Quirrel the wrong side of the division. I saw 
the string loose at the bottom and I rectified the mistake. Next 
morning the same thing had happened. I could not quite under- 
stand my repeated stupidity, and I made sure my knot was tight 
the third night ; but next morning the same thing had occurred 
again. The following night I got the coachman to make it 
secure, telling him what had happened ; he tied a hard and I 
think double knot, but the next morning it was all undone again, 
and a Avider opening made, as if in triumph. Quirrel had learned 
to love a certain snug little roosting place behind the partition, and 
it cook wire string to keep her from it. I am told it was cruel and 
unsympathizing not to let her cleverness have its just reward — 
she outwitted man four times, and she deserved a reward. 
Quirrel refused to take her freedom with the wild birds, but 
I shall scarcely be believed when I say further that a little wild 
song thrush (who never sings, by the way) has voluntarily joined 
Quirrel in her captivity. It might go by the same road it came 
any day, but it seems to have no inclination to do so, and had 
been some two or three weeks in its chosen captivity when I left 
home last month, and I have little doubt will be there still when 
I return. It is very strange to me, this, and the more so that 
the two birds exhibit no particular affection for one another — 
scarcely indeed notice one another apparently. I have placed 
a nest for Quirrel, but she chooses her own nesting place, and 
lays her own eggs in absolute independence. Her self-chosen 
nest is a pigeon-rest under the open eye of heaven, on which she 
