<h2 id="c8">ABOUT A SPARROW.</h2>
<p>There have been tales told about this
curious little rowdy among birds. He
was a nuisance; he drove our song and
grub-eating birds away; he also littered
the cornices of buildings and made of
himself a pest in general. There have
been other tales told about the cute chap
who perches upon a wire near the window
and rocks his clever head toward
you when you tap against the pane; and
still another story is told concerning the
lynching of one by a flock of the brisk
chaps. Some say they took a bit of twine,
fastened it to a wire, secured the victim,
and induced him to put his head through
a loop; then drew the twine and scattered,
leaving a lot of wise men to gaze
upon the wonderful spectacle, which the
newspapers took up and printed. I have
watched birds for years and I never saw
an incident of the sort—the lynching of a
sparrow by his fellow sparrows! A sparrow
has been caught in the loop of a bit
of twine fastened to a wire or a cornice;
but no sparrow ever deliberately put the
twine up and lynched one of his rowdy
brood. He wouldn’t do it simply because
he hasn’t got bird instinct enough to follow
out such a tragedy. I will tell you
a little incident concerning a sparrow
which I know to be true. It didn’t find
a place in any newspaper, either, simply
because I never gave it much thought until
now, hence never mentioned it before.</p>
<p>I had noticed upon arising for several
mornings in the early spring a half dozen
or so of sparrows congregated in a sunny
spot of the roof below. At first I paid
no attention to it, for the sparrow is apt
to go where he pleases, man’s wishes to
the contrary notwithstanding. But the
little chaps were there every morning,
and in the same sunny spot. I was curious
to know why they came there, and I
went down stairs one morning to watch
them from a more close point of observation.
I got there before they came. I
stood back of a closed blind, peeped
through the slats and waited. When the
sun-rays fell upon the spot close to the
window the little fellows began to come—each
with a morsel of food. They twittered
and hopped about as if they were
enjoying the morning fancy. Then they
scattered and took wings to chimneys,
cornices and wires. I opened the blinds
and looked out. I saw one lone, little
sparrow feeding. I bent over the sill.
He did not fly away. I reached out and
took him in. He fluttered and struggled.
His eyes were covered with a film. He
was blind.</p>
<p><span class="lr"><span class="sc">H. S. Keller.</span></span></p>
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