It was trimmed with white, there being a white
stripe near the end of the coat-tail, a big, fine, V-shaped white place
under his chin that had something the look of a necktie, and a bar of
white reaching nearly across the middle of each wing.

These bars would have made you notice his long, pointed wings if he had
been near you, and they were well worth noticing; for besides just
flying with them,--which was wonderful enough, as he was a talented
flier,--he used them in a sort of gymnastic stunt he was fond of
performing in the springtime.

Perhaps he did it to show off. I do not know. Certainly he had as good a
right to be proud of his accomplishments as a turkey or a peacock that
spreads its tail, or a boy who walks on his hands. Maybe a better right,
for they have solid earth to strut upon and run no risks, while Mis did
his whole trick in the air. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, though he
had no gymnasium with bars or rings or tight rope, and there was no
canvas stretched to catch him if he fell. A circus, with tents, and a
gate-keeper to take your ticket, would have been lucky if it could have
hired Mis to show his skill for money.

But Mis couldn't be hired. Not he! He was a free, wild clown, performing
only under Mother Nature's tent of wide-arched sky. If you wanted to see
him, you could--ticket or no ticket. That was nothing to him; for Mis,
the wild clown of the air, had no thought either of money or fame among
people.

Far, far up, he flew, hither and yon, in a matter-of-fact-enough way;
and then of a sudden, with wings half-closed, he dropped toward the
earth. Could he stop such speed, or must he strike and kill himself in
his fall? Down, down he plunged; and then, at last, he made a sound as
if he groaned a loud, deep "boom."

[Illustration: _The Flying Clown._]

But just at the moment of this sound he was turning, and then, the first
anyone knew, he was flying up gayly, quite gayly. Then it wasn't a groan
of fear? Mis afraid! Why the rascal had but to move his wings this way
and that, and go up instead of down. He might be within a second of
dashing himself to death against the ground, but so sure were his wings
and so strong his muscles, that a second was time and to spare for him
to stop and turn and rise again toward the safe height from which he
dived. A fine trick that! The fun of the plunge, and then the quick jerk
at the end that sent the wind groaning against and between the feathers
of his