ng in the weeds, finished him at a snap. He made a
morsel so fat, sweet, and juicy that the pickerel lingered close for a
week, waiting to see if there would be any more accidents.

The Cardinal, hunting grubs in the corn field, heard the frightened
cries of his mate, and dashed to the sumac in time to see the poor
little ball of brightly tinted feathers disappear in the water and to
hear the splash of the fish. He called in helpless panic and fluttered
over the spot. He watched and waited until there was no hope of the
nestling coming up, then he went to the sumac to try to comfort his
mate. She could not be convinced that her young one was gone, and for
the remainder of the day filled the air with alarm cries and notes of
wailing.

The two that remained were surely the envy of Birdland. The male baby
was a perfect copy of his big crimson father, only his little coat was
gray; but it was so highly tinged with red that it was brilliant, and
his beak and feet were really red; and how his crest did flare, and how
proud and important he felt, when he found he could raise and lower it
at will. His sister was not nearly so bright as he, and she was almost
as greedy as the lost brother. With his father's chivalry he allowed
her to crowd in and take the most of the seeds and berries, so that she
continually appeared as if she could swallow no more, yet she was
constantly calling for food.

She took the first flight, being so greedy she forgot to be afraid, and
actually flew to a neighbouring thorn tree to meet the Cardinal, coming
with food, before she realized what she had done. For once gluttony
had its proper reward. She not only missed the bite, but she got her
little self mightily well scared. With popping eyes and fear-flattened
crest, she clung to the thorn limb, shivering at the depths below; and
it was the greatest comfort when her brother plucked up courage and
came sailing across to her. But, of course, she could not be expected
to admit that. When she saw how easily he did it, she flared her
crest, turned her head indifferently, and inquired if he did not find
flying a very easy matter, once he mustered courage to try it; and she
made him very much ashamed indeed because he had allowed her to be the
first to leave the nest. From the thorn tree they worked their way to
the dead sycamore; but there the lack of foliage made them so
conspicuous that their mother almost went into spasms from fright, and