A STORY ABOUT A STARLING.
A starling had been taught to answer certain questions, so that a dialogue like this could be carried on:
“Who are you?”
“I’m Joe.”
“Where are you from?”
“From Pimlico.”
“Who’s your master?”
“The barber.”
“What brought you here?”
“Bad company.”
A picture of the Jewish Tabernacle which the Israelites had instead of a church. It was made of skins and beautiful cloth—purple and fine linen—and could be folded together and carried about from place to place during the forty years in which the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness.
Now it came to pass one day that the starling got out of his cage and flew away to enjoy his liberty. The barber was troubled. Joe was the life of the shop; many a customer came because he had heard of the bird, and the barber saw his custom falling off. Then, too, he loved the bird, which had proved so apt a pupil. But all efforts to find the stray bird were in vain.
Meanwhile Joe had been enjoying life on his own account. A few days passed very pleasantly, and then, alas! he fell into the snare of a fowler, in truth.
A man lived a few miles from the barber’s house who made the snaring of birds his business. Some of the birds he stuffed and sold. Others, again, were sold to the hotels near by, to be served up to guests.
Much to his surprise Joe found himself one day in the fowler’s net, in company with a large number of birds as frightened as himself. The fowler began drawing out the birds one after another, and wringing their necks. Joe saw that his turn was coming, and something must be done. It was clear that the fowler would not ask questions, so Joe piped out, “I’m Joe!”
Patsy.
“Hey! What’s that?” cried the fowler.
“I’m Joe,” repeated the bird.
“Are you?” said the astonished fowler. “What brings you here?”
“Bad company,” said Joe, promptly.
It is needless to say Joe was soon given back to his master.