“Young birds should mind what old birds say,” remarked Billie.
“But they never do,” I exclaimed. “You’ve got to let the young things find out for themselves.”
“What about Susan and Slow-Boy?” asked Billie. “You said their nest was near by.”
“Yes, they had one squab in it—a very big, fat squab. It was frightened and fell from the nest down on an old table on the barn floor.
“Chummy says it was pitiful to see old Slow-Boy looking at it, as if to say, ‘Why did I lose my baby?’
“Our Mary took a snapshot of him for her bird album, and also one of a robin who lost her young ones. She had a nest high up in the barn, over the pigeons. Her name is Twitchtail, and she is very bad-tempered, but she can’t hold a candle to her mate, Vox Clamanti. Chummy said he made a tremendous fuss when he came home, his beak full of worms for his beloved nestlings. He began to scream and shake his wings when he caught sight of the crowd around the barn. Something told him his young ones were gone. They had been washed out of their nest by the heavy stream of water from the hose and were lying on the ground, quite dead. He and Twitchtail blamed
the landlady, the firemen, the crowd, the pigeons, and everybody on the street. They loved their young ones, and were bringing them up very well.”
“Tell me some more about the barn,” said Billie. “I noticed a man leading a horse from it just now.”
“Chummy says it used to be a disgrace to the neighborhood,” I said angrily, “and he didn’t see why the nice people about here didn’t go and inspect the old rickety building. It was bad for human beings, for there was an unwholesome odor about it. It was full of holes, and last winter a poor pony kept there almost died of the cold. His owner was a simple old creature who needed some one to tell him how to take care of animals. He had a cow there too, but she died. He bought a poor quality of hay and did not give the pony enough water to drink, so he was having a terribly hard time when something beautiful happened to him.”
I stopped a minute, for Billie was heaving a long, heavy dog sigh. “I know something about unhappy horses and cows,” she said. “There are plenty of them in New York. Of course, human beings should take care of us