“I don’t think you’ve ever seen anything like him before. They’re not common, and he’s a funny little beggar. I thought you’d like to see him when I saw you looking at the basket. He’s very tame, but we must be careful he doesn’t get out. With all these windows open, he’d be gone before we knew it. Now I’ll lift the cover and hold my hand so that you can peep in.”
The child’s head was bent over the basket, intense curiosity in her wide eyes, and a little, anxious smile on her parted lips. “Oh, oh, how pretty! What is it?” she asked, catching a glimpse of a strange-looking bird, with a very long bill and little, bright eyes, huddled up at the bottom of the basket. “I never saw one like it. What is it?” she repeated, her sparkling eyes full of delight and surprise.
“It’s a blue heron, and they’re very rare about here.”
“He’s not blue—not very blue; but he’s pretty. I wish I could just touch his feathers.”
“You can. You can put your hand in the basket; he won’t bite.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said with confidence, as she stroked the soft feathers.
“If these windows were closed I’d take him out, and let you see him walk. He’s very funny when he walks; and he’s so intelligent. Why, he comes to me when I call him.”
“What do you call him? What is his name?”
“I call him Tony, because when he was very small he made a noise like ‘tone—tone.’”
“Tony,” she repeated, “that’s a pretty name; and it’s a funny one too,” she added, dimpling with smiles.