Pop had gone to our house to get one of our battery radios so Mrs. Till could hear a good Christian program, and she was feeling a lot better. Pop also had told us that Bob had come home while Mom was taking care of Mrs. Till but he had gone away again. "Did he have any pigeons?" Little red-haired Tom asked, when Pop started to get out and go in with Tom and get Mom.
"About a dozen," Pop told him. "He put them in the pigeon cage out in the woodshed."
Right away I spoke up and said, "Were there any white ones?" remembering the beautiful white pigeon with pink eyes which had her nest up in the cupola of our barn, and whose big beautiful brown husband was so proud of her and always was cooing to her when they were on the roof of our barn and was always strutting around so very proud, with his neck all puffed out like he was very important.
"I don't know," Pop said, and I said, "Can I go and look, Tom?" and Tom said, "Sure, I'll go with you."
"Let me hold Charlotte Ann," Little Jim said, he liking to hold babies on his small lap, anyway.
Pop went in to get Mom, and Tom and I went into their woodshed to look through the chicken-yard wire cage at about fifteen very pretty pigeons.
All of a sudden, while I was looking, I got a hot feeling all inside of me, 'cause right there in front of my eyes with the other different colored pigeons, was a beautiful albino one—the prettiest snow white one I ever saw with pretty pink eyes, and I knew right
away it was my favorite pigeon, old Snow-white herself, who had her nest in the cupola of our barn.
"There's my pigeon!" I cried to Little Tom, and when he asked me which one and I told him, he said, "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive," I said. "See that little brown spot just below the left pink eye. I'm going to get her out, and take her home."