"Mother," said George, as he looked into the garden through the open window, "what can be wrong with our song-sparrows?"
His mother came forward, and seeing the birds fluttering about excitedly, she said—
"Run, George, there is a cat or some other enemy at the nest."
Without a moment's delay the lad seized a cane, and running along the garden-walk and jumping over flower-beds and bushes, he came to the scene of the disturbance. He knew well where the nest was, and looking to that spot he was horrified to see the snake bending over it with arched neck and head, preparing to devour the helpless young song-sparrows. Springing fearlessly forward like a hound, George smote the snake on the head, and that one blow was enough. But grasping its tail he jerked it back from the nest, and stamped upon its head, to make sure that the life was gone. Then lifting it across his cane he went to the fence, and flung it over in indignant disgust.
Oh, how the parent song-sparrows rejoiced. The mother flew to the nest to examine and fondle her young, while the father-bird went up on the twig of a white rose-bush and sang a rapturous song of deliverance.
"Ever since then the male sparrow has shown his gratitude to George in a truly wonderful manner. When he goes into the garden the sparrow will fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and gratitude."
*****
"How is it, Richard," said Jenny one day, "that nearly all these great creatures called mankind look upon us as if we had very little understanding in our head? Is it because we are so little and wear feathers?"
"Oh, no, it is because our language is different. In fact, they really think we do not speak at all, and it seems to them that where there is no speech there is little or no thought."
"What language does Master George speak, Richard?"