Presently a little flirt with two little wings, and the feathered busybody was on the breviary again.
Then Clement determined to try and feed this pretty little fidget without frightening it away. But it was very difficult.
He had a piece of bread within reach, but how get at it? I think he was five minutes creeping his hand up to that bread, and when there he must not move his arm.
He slily got a crumb between a finger and thumb and shot it as boys do marbles, keeping the hand quite still.
Cockrobin saw it fall near him, and did sagacity, but moved not.
When another followed, and then another, he popped down and caught up one of the crumbs, but not quite understanding this mystery fled with it, for more security, to an eminence; to wit, the hermit's knee.
And so the game proceeded till a much larger fragment than usual rolled along.
Here was a prize. Cockrobin pounced on it, bore it aloft, and fled so swiftly into the world with it, the cave resounded with the buffeted air.
“Now, bless thee, sweet bird,” sighed the stricken solitary; “thy wings are music, and thou a feathered ray camedst to light my darkened soul.”
And from that to his orisons, and then to his tools with a little bit of courage, and this was his day's work: