The Judge looked gratified by Berty’s praise of Titus; then, leading the way to the nest boxes, he pointed to some young pigeons to her.
“O, the darling things!” exclaimed Berty, looking in at the downy creatures, “and all in twos. Do they always have two young ones at a time? My pigeons never nested.”
“Usually, sometimes only one. Of course, these pigeons are not allowed to lay during the cold weather. They are just beginning, now that winter is thinking of yielding to spring.”
“Just look at them trying to hiss at me, Judge. Do they know that I am a stranger?”
“Certainly—try these homers.”
Berty put her slim hand in between two young homers, who promptly beat it with their unfledged wings.
“Naughty little squabs,” said Berty, caressingly. “I suppose Titus will fly these homers when they grow up. Are they workers?”
“Yes, the parents have a record of five hundred miles, but they were not bred in this loft, so he can’t let them out. These young ones would come back.”
“Training homing pigeons must be great sport,” said Berty, enthusiastically.
“It is. Even Dallas is interested in that. He has been reading that country doctors use homing pigeons extensively in their practice, and he may have to start in the country. By the way, speaking of doctors, some one said Mafferty is ill; is he?”