This did not suit my plans at all. I had no desire for a further acquaintance with Black Thomas, so I promptly flew between the bars of the cage, and, lighting on a near-by shrub, favored the children with one of my best songs.
They were delighted, and old Thomas, who had been watching the whole performance from some hole or corner, came out on the front doorstep, and said, “Meow! Meow!” a great many times.
Of course the children did not understand him, but I did. He was saying to me, “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, to fool the children in my house? Hold on, I’ll get you some day.”
At this, Billie who had been fussing about on her snowbank in great anxiety, came forward. “If you ever touch that little bird, or even frighten him, Black Thomas, I’ll choke you to death.”
Thomas made a terrible face and began to spit at her, and I called out, “Serves you right, you old murderer! We’ll both attend your funeral. What is that behind you?”
He looked over his shoulder, then he ran away. It was the dead body of Johnny White-Tail,
one of Chummy’s sparrow friends. He had been ailing for some time, and probably Thomas had sprung on him while he sat moping and killed him.
Chummy gave a cry of dismay and flew to the steps. This attracted the children’s attention and, seeing the dead bird, they exclaimed, “Oh, poor birdie, poor birdie—let’s bury him!”
“I’ll go in the house and get some grave clothes out of my trunk,” said the little girl whose name was Beatrice.
“And I’ll be the parson and go borrow a book,” said the boy.