"They are indeed wonderful, Jenny; but aren't they fearful? Do you remember how the poor hare fell, although it was far away from the gun and running like a railway train?"

"I do, Richard; it tumbled over just as the fire burst out, and there was such a big blood spot on its side. Oh, guns are dreadful things."

"They are, Jenny, and we ought to be thankful that n.o.body around this garden uses them," said Richard, with a look of relief.

"Isn't Master George a fine boy?" remarked Jenny.

"He is; he wouldn't hurt a fly--that is, pull off its legs and then its head and torment it, as wicked youngsters do."

"I love to see him in the garden," said Jenny; "somehow I feel safer when he is near. He is so big compared with you, Richard, and so kind.

He comes gently towards our nest, and looks down on me with his interesting, dark grey eyes; then he gets down on his knees, and stretching out his forefinger he lightly strokes my head and wings, saying as he does so--'Don't be frightened, birdie, I won't hurt you.'

I was scared at first, and jumped out and flew away; but I don't do that now."

"Yes, we know our friends," chimed in Richard, "and Master George is one of them."

The two birds went on speaking to each other this way in praise of the kindly boy, and then the mother-bird said--

"Sing me another song, Richard; I never tire of hearing your voice.

Sing out, dear, with all your might, and make every one happy far and near."

Richard was about to open his beak and fill the air with melody, when his quick eye detected something among the gra.s.s. He uttered a sharp note of warning, and the mother sparrow shrank close into the nest.

"The snake is coming," shouted Richard. But Jenny did not move, she only kept flat and shuddered.

"Come from the nest, and we will mislead the reptile," cried Richard.

Then both birds flew around and at and over the snake, doing their utmost to bewilder it; but it was no use--the cunning creature glided on--it knew its helpless prey was near; and the poor parents were frantic, as it raised its head and looked around.

"Mother," said George, as he looked into the garden through the open window, "what can be wrong with our song-sparrows?"

His mother came forward, and seeing the birds fluttering about excitedly, she said--

"Run, George, there is a cat or some other enemy at the nest."

Without a moment's delay the lad seized a cane, and running along the garden-walk and jumping over flower-beds and bushes, he came to the scene of the disturbance. He knew well where the nest was, and looking to that spot he was horrified to see the snake bending over it with arched neck and head, preparing to devour the helpless young song-sparrows. Springing fearlessly forward like a hound, George smote the snake on the head, and that one blow was enough. But grasping its tail he jerked it back from the nest, and stamped upon its head, to make sure that the life was gone. Then lifting it across his cane he went to the fence, and flung it over in indignant disgust.

Oh, how the parent song-sparrows rejoiced. The mother flew to the nest to examine and fondle her young, while the father-bird went up on the twig of a white rose-bush and sang a rapturous song of deliverance.

"Ever since then the male sparrow has shown his grat.i.tude to George in a truly wonderful manner. When he goes into the garden the sparrow will fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and grat.i.tude."

"How is it, Richard," said Jenny one day, "that nearly all these great creatures called mankind look upon us as if we had very little understanding in our head? Is it because we are so little and wear feathers?"

"Oh, no, it is because our language is different. In fact, they really think we do not speak at all, and it seems to them that where there is no speech there is little or no thought."

"What language does Master George speak, Richard?"

"English, dear, a beautiful language when well spoken and especially when well sung."

"And what language do we speak, Richard?"

Sloping his head a little to the side, Richard thought for a moment and then replied with a funny twinkle in his eye--

"Our language is Song-Sparrowish."

"Dear me," said Jenny, "it must be greater than English, when it needs such a big word. But Master George understands it, doesn't he?"

"He does indeed, he does, because he is well acquainted with us. I overheard him say the other day that he understood our ways well, and that our musical language and grat.i.tude were to him a great delight."

"Here he comes," exclaimed Jenny. "See, he opens the garden-gate. I do love to see his winsome, cheerful face."

"And he is both brave and kind," answered Richard, clearing his throat and preparing to deliver an eloquent speech in Song-Sparrowish.

"Now raise your song of grat.i.tude, dear, and sing your very best."

The above little story is founded on a fact recorded in the *_Courier Journal_.

*A SONG-SPARROW'S GRAt.i.tUDE.

It is a rare occurrence for animals in a wild state to select man for a companion and friend, yet well-authenticated instances where this has been done are a matter of record. The following incident is vouched for by a young lady who is a close and accurate observer:

"Last week my brother, a lad of 12, killed a snake which was just in the act of robbing a song-sparrow's nest. Ever since then the male sparrow has shown his grat.i.tude to George in a truly wonderful manner.

When he goes into the garden the sparrow will fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and grat.i.tude. It will accompany him about the garden, never leaving him until he reaches the garden gate. George, as you know, is a quiet boy who loves animals, and this may account in a degree for the sparrow's extraordinary actions."--_Courier Journal_.