fond mother was now brooding over her darlings with every demonstration
of maternal affection. She was a beautiful creature with her graceful
movement, her train of plumes, and her long neck gracefully curved.

The quick sharp boom, boom of the guns had been echoing through the
swamp for some time, and the men were now coming nearer. The efforts
of the poor mother to shield her babies were piteous, but the hunters
did not want them. Their scant plumage is worthless for millinery
purposes. Possibly the mother might have escaped had she been willing
to leave her dear ones; but she would not desert them, and was shot in
the breast as the reward of her devotion. The nestlings were left to
starve.

Would you think the woman who wore that bunch of feathers on her bonnet
could take much pleasure in it?




CHAPTER VIII

THE PRISON

Like a long-caged bird
Thou beat'st thy bars with broken wing
And flutterest, feebly echoing
The far-off music thou hast heard,
--_Arthur Eaton._