“Well, now, that finishes me. I am an old fool, or I could tell you.”
“Uncle Garnaud, I never even felt a bird; could I feel Jack?”
“Well, I could catch him; but you mustn’t squeeze him.”
Jack was caught with a sudden dart of the old man’s hand; the little blind girl felt him softly, traced the shape of his outstretched wing, and put him back into the cage with a sigh.
“Tell me, Uncle Garnaud,” she asked, “how did they catch him?”
“Well, you see, they put a little cage on a stump in the oat-field, and by-and-by the bird flew over and went in.”
“Well, didn’t he know they would not let him out if he once went in?”
“Well, you know, he hadn’t any old uncle to tell him so.”
“Well, but birds must have uncles, if they have fathers just like we have.”
Old Etienne puckered up his eyes and put his awl through his hair. The bird ran down a whole cadence, as if he was on the wind over a wheat-field; then he stopped.