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Page 4
"For it is clean dirt," she laughingly said, when Miss Dorothy
playfully scolded her for it. "This kind of dirt is healthful, and it
isn't going to hurt me if a few dusty twigs or a bit of dried grass or
weeds should cling to my gown. You must remember, Sister Dorothy,
there are different kinds of dirt. I haven't any respect for grease
spots or for clothes soiled from wearing them too long. I don't like
that kind of dirt, but to get close to dear old mother earth, and have
a scent of her fresh soil once in a while is what I enjoy. It is
delightful. I like nature too well to stand on ceremony with her."
"You like butterflies too, don't you, aunty?" asked little Marian.
"To be sure I do, dear. I love all the pretty things that fly."
"And the birdies too?" asked the child.
"Yes, indeed; I love the birds the best of all."
"And the old cat was awful naughty when he caught the baby robin the
other day and ate it up. Wasn't he, aunty?"
"Yes. Tom is a cruel, bad, bad cat," responded Miss Katie, as she
squeezed Marian's little pink hand between her own palms. "That
naughty puss gets plenty to eat in the house and there are lots of nice
fat mice in the barn, and yet he slips slyly out to the orchard and
takes the life of a poor, innocent little bird."
"And it made the mamma-bird cry because her little one was dead," added
Miss Dorothy, who had drawn near.
Little Marian heaved a deep sigh and her rosy lips trembled
suspiciously. "Poor mamma-bird! It can never have its baby bird any
more," she said, with a sob of sympathy. "Don't you feel sorry for it,
Aunt Dorothy?"
"Yes, dear. I feel very sorry for it."
"And I expect the poor mamma-bird cries and cries and weeps and grieves
when she comes home to supper and finds out her little children are
gone forever and ever." And with her bright eyes dimmed with tears of
pity, Marian, clasping a hand of each of the young ladies, walked
slowly to the house still bewailing the fate of the robin.
My heart warmed toward these sweet young girls for their tender
sympathy. I almost wished I were a carrier pigeon, that I might devote
myself hereafter to their service by bearing loving messages from them
to their friends.
But, alas! I was to have a rude awakening from this pleasant thought.
As we flew that evening to our roosting-place, I observed to my mother
that if there were no cats in the world what a delightful time we birds
might have.
"You have a greater enemy than the cat," she responded sadly. "It is
true the cat is cruel and tries to kill us, but it knows no better."
"If not the cat, what enemy is it?" I asked in surprise. "I thought
the cat was the most bloodthirsty foe the birds had."
My mother dipped her wings more slowly and poised her body gracefully a
moment. Then she said impressively, "Our greatest enemy is man. No,"
suddenly correcting herself, "not man, but women, women and children."
"Women and dear little children our enemies?" said I, in astonishment.
"The pretty ladies who speak so sweet and kind! The pretty ladies who
gather roses in the garden! Would they deprive us of life?"
My mother nodded.
"Yes," she answered, "the pretty ladies, the wicked ladies."
CHAPTER II
DICKEY DOWNY'S MEDITATION
It hath the excuse of youth.
--_Shakespeare._
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