XVI
THE STORY OF RUSTY STARLING
RUSTY STARLING had a coat of glossy black feathers, all speckled over with rust colored dots, for all the world like a freckle-faced boy in summer time. His long, sharp beak was brilliant yellow, and he had such a funny, strutting kind of a walk which made him appear not unlike a dandy as he minced along over wide fields to feed. But Rusty’s song was perhaps the queerest thing of all. It began, usually, with a few preliminary, creaking notes, which somehow reminded you of the noise made by a rusty swinging hinge; but occasionally he would change this note and burst forth into a beautiful, clear whistle, which he followed by a curious, throbbing call; and when he uttered this last call, it seemed to fairly shake his speckled body from the point of his yellow beak to the very tip of his long tail feathers.