bright eyes in the direction of my outstretched hand. In all the troubles
and trials through which that proud Mr. G. Bird and I went hand in hand, or
rather wing in hand, in which I was at times hard and cold and
disappointed in him, I have never forgotten that he turned in his tracks
and walked majestically back to my side and peered into the outstretched
hand with a trustful and inquiring peck. Some kind fortune had brought it
to pass that I held the package of tea biscuits in my other hand, and in a
few breathless seconds he was pecking at one and calling to the foolish,
faithless lot of huddled hens in the bushes to come to him immediately.
First he called invitingly while I held my breath, and then he commanded as
he scratched for lost crumbs in the white dust of the Riverfield ribbon,
but the foolish creatures only huddled and squeaked, and at a few cautious
steps I took in their direction, they showed a decided threat of vanishing
forever into the woods.

"Oh, what will I do, Mr. G. Bird?" I asked in despair, with a real sob in
my throat as I looked toward the family coach, from which I could hear a
happy and animated discussion of Plato's Republic going on between the two
old gentlemen who had thirty years' arrears in argument and conversation to
make up. I could see that no help would come from that direction. "I can't
lose them forever," I said again, and this time there was the real sob
arising unmistakably in my voice.

"Just stand still, and I'll call them to you," came a soft, deep voice out
of the forest behind me, and behold, a man stood at my side!

The man's name is Adam.

"Now give me a cracker and watch 'em come," he said, as he came close to my
side and took a biscuit from my surprised and nerveless hand. "Ah, but you