“So do I,” said Chummy grimly. “I forgive
him so heartily that I am going to make an earnest effort to reform him myself.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked anxiously.
He smiled his funny little sparrow smile. “Wait and see—I will just tell you this much: I am going to pass him on to a higher court than ours.”
I did not know what he meant, but I listened eagerly as he said to some of the older sparrows who, seeing that he was looking after me, were leaving the roof and going back to their various occupations, “Friends, I am going up to North Hill. Just keep an eye on the grackles, will you? They are showing a liking for the trees in this neighborhood, and we don’t want them too near. If they bother you, call for help from Susan and Slow-Boy and drive them away. Don’t go too near them, just swarm at them and squawk loudly. They hate fussing from other birds, though they do enough of it themselves, gracious knows.”
Then he turned to me. “Shall I fly beside you, down to your window, Dicky-Dick? You had better go in and have a rest.”
“If you please, Chummy,” I said weakly. “I don’t know when anything has upset me like this.”
“You have lost some blood,” he said. “Those little feathers of yours must have been deeply rooted.”
He flew beside me quite kindly, till I got to my window. On arriving there, I begged him to come inside and have a little lunch before setting out on his long fly up to North Hill.
He was delighted to do this, especially as we found in my cage a good-sized piece of corn bread that Hester had just baked and Mrs. Martin had put in for me.