Beth was seated with Fritz and the kittens in a large Mexican hammock on the front porch. She held up a warning finger to her mother who stood in the doorway.
"Mamma, do not frighten birdie away. He is not the least bit afraid of me, and I love to hear him sing."
Mrs. Davenport was surprised to see a mocking bird perched on the railing directly by the side of Beth. His little head was cocked sidewise, and floods of sweet sounds issued from his throat.
His spouse, who was guarding their nest up in the big live oak in the front yard, trilled her limited paeon of praise.
Beth, who often acted as interpreter for beast and bird, thought the proud wife-bird meant to say:
"Bravo. Isn't he the most wonderful tenor that ever lived? Are you surprised that I love him so? He is the best and smartest husband in all the world."
Fritz and black pussy grew restless. She spit at him, and he barked at her.
"Now, my dears, do let me enjoy this beautiful music in peace," Beth said reprovingly.
Hardly had she spoken, before black pussy sprang away, and Fritz was after her in an instant.
Beth did not dare follow for fear of frightening away Mr. Mocking Bird, who stopped singing as cat and dog scampered away, but who had not yet flown back to his mate. He was watching fearfully every move of the frolicsome pair.