Mr. Thompson stretched out his hand to feel of it.
"Ouch! you tickle!" screamed the bird, and flew away. At the same moment Mr. Thompson felt some one grasp his shoulder, and a familiar voice remarked,
"Wa'al, now, I reckon you've ketched a powerful cold, sleepin' here." It was 'Lisha, one of the farm hands.
Mr. Thompson insists that he did not go to sleep; but his fellow-boarders are rather inclined to believe 'Lisha's statement, to the effect that "Mr. Thompson was a-sneezin' and a-snorin', and a-snorin' and a-sneezin'; and ef I hadn't waked him up, he'd 'a ketched his death."
Certain it is that Mr. Thompson has suffered with a tremendous cold in the head ever since.
"WINTER."—From a Painting by Laura Alma Tadema.