ercy,
all gentleness and pity, never can I believe she is our enemy." And
resolving to ask my mother to more fully explain her unjust assertion I
fell asleep.

But a source of fresh anxiety arose which for a time caused me to
forget the matter.

The lindens which fringed the wood were now in full leafage, adorned
with their delicate ball-like tassels, and hosts of birds flitted among
them daily. Many of them were of the kind frequently known as indigo
birds, smaller than the ordinary bluebird. In color they were of the
metallic cast of blue which has a sheen distinct from the rich shade
seen on the jay's wings or the brilliance of the bluebird. Flashing in
and out among the hanging blossoms their beautiful blue coats made them
an easy target for the boys who attended the neighborhood country
school.

[Illustration: The Indigo Bird.]

To bring down a sweet songster with a shower of stones, panting and
bleeding to the ground, they thought was the best sport in the world,
and the woods rang and echoed with their whoops and cheers as each poor
bird fell to the earth. A mere glimpse of one of the blue beauties as
he hid among the leaves seemed to fire these cruel children with a wish
to kill it.

One half-grown boy, who went by the name of Big Bill, was noticeable
for his brutality. He encouraged the others in cruelties which they
might not have thought of, for such is the force of evil example and
companionship. A distinguishing mark was a large scar on his cheek,
probably inflicted by some enraged animal while being tortured by him.
I always felt sure Big Bill would come to some bad end. My mother said
that a cruel childhood was often a training school for the gallows, and
the boy who killed defenseless birds and bugs deadened his
sensibilities and destroyed his moral nature so that it was easy to
commit greater crimes.

So dreadful became the persecutions of the schoolboys that the indigo
birds finally held a council and determined to leave that part of the
country and settle far from the habitations of men, where they might
live unmolested and free from persecutions.

CHAPTER III

THE RULER WITH THE IRON HAND

But evil is wrought by want of thought
As well as want of heart.
--_Hood._

One morning as we flew across the open space which lay between the wood
and the wheat fields, we noticed two gentlemen in the orchard who were
carefully examining the trees, peering curiously in