BY THE WAYSIDE 
66 
But l hope you admire 
My tine contempt for rhyme and 
rhythm. 
Is this not the ninth wonder of the 
world ? 
Wold you. or could you believe, 
If you hadn’t seen it, 
That these wild birds. 
Not the sparrows alone. 
But the shy, shy finches, 
Could become so tame, so fearless? 
Oh, it took time and patisence. 
One had to come every day, 
At the same hour. 
And sit very still. 
And softly, softly, 
Monotonously, monotonously. 
Croon, croon, croon. 
As I am crooning now. 
At first one cast one’s se f, d 
At a distance— 
Then nearer, nearer, 
Till at last— 
Well, you see the result.” 
Her eyes laughed but she was very careful 
not to move. Anthony, blotted against the 
leafy wall behind him, sat as still as a sta¬ 
tue. Her eyes laughed. Her red lips, smil- 
iner, tov delicious curves. And the hand on 
which Perlino perched, with its slender fingers, 
its soft modelling, its warm whiteness, was 
like a thing carved of rose-marble and made 
alive. 
“And Perlino,” she resumed her chant—- 
“Perlino Piumino 
Is the bravest of them all. 
And now that he has made an end 
Of his handful of seed, 
1 hope he will be so good 
As to favor us with a little music. 
Sometimes he will, 
And sometimes he just obstinately 
won’t: 
“Tu-ite, tu-ite, tu-ite, 
Andiamo. Perlino, tu-ite! 
Canta, di grazia, Canta.” 
And after some further pursuasion,—you 
will suspect me of meaning, but upon my 
word,—Perlino Piumino consented. Clinging 
to Susanna’s thumb .lie threw back he head, 
opened his bill, and poured forth his crystal 
song—a thin, bright, crystal rill, swift, flow¬ 
ing. winding in delicate volutions. And mercy, 
how his green little bosom throbbed . 
“Isn’t it creditable?” Susanna whispered. 
It is wonderful to feel him. His whole body 
is beating like a heart. 
And when his song was finished, she bent 
towards him, and—never, never so softly- 
touched the top of his green head with her 
lips. 
“And fly away, birdlings, back to your af¬ 
fairs,” she said.” Good-bye until tomorrow.” 
She rose, and there was an instant whirl 
of fluttering wings. 
—From “The Lady Paramount,” by Henry 
Harland. 
AN ADVENTURE WITH AN OWL. 
One bright moonlight night during the sum¬ 
mer of 1900 a large owl flew to the top of a 
tree near our house. Our dog Dude was the 
first to see him. When 1 heard the dog bark- 
mo- I knew that something was the matter 
and went to see what the trouble was. On 
reaching the foot of the tree, I saw two large 
bright eyes watching me. I picked up a 
stick and threw it in their direction and a 
frightened owl flew away. After a short time 
lie came back again and lit on the granary, 
near a dove cot. On one side of this were five 
or six holes. The owl tried to get in one 
hole and the doves flew out of the others. 
The owl tried to grab them but they were 
too quick for him. At last he caught one of 
them and flew to the woods with it. The 
next day I decided that he must have a nest 
some place not very far off and probably 
there were some young ones in it, so I strat- 
ed out. I took Dude with me but he was much 
more interested in chasing rabbits than in 
hunting owl’s nests. As I was walking along 
I came to a large tree with a hole, from 
which protruded the head of an owl. I picked 
up a stick and poked the owl but he pulled 
it away from me. I became angry and grabb¬ 
ed him by the head. I had no sooner taken a 
hold of him than he had hold of me trying to 
pick out my eyes. Just then what should 
come to the spot but my dog Dude. As we 
seemed to be having some fun he thought 
he would like to help. He caught the owl 
and for about, three seconds hair and feathers 
flew in all directions. Just as I was thinknig 
how lucky 1 had been to get out of the scrape 
something grabbed me. The dog was getting 
mad. Suddenly before I could see what was 
the matter the dog jumped upon me and I fell. 
