wanted to fill Balaam's water-bottle."

"All right," I said resignedly, "I'll come. Was Balaam the man or the
ass? I forget. And while we're at it why should you call the bird Balaam
at all?"

Eileen was in no mood for foolish questionings.

"Get up!" she ordered. "I call him Balaam because he's not a proper
canary--he's a mule."

"Then I am not at all sure," I began hopefully, "that I can countenance
the keeping of mules in birdcages! Should the Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals get to hear of it, they would certainly----"

"There he is!" interrupted Eileen shrilly as something yellowish flew
jerkily across a neighbouring cabbage bed. "That's Balaam! Take the
cage. I'll wait here in case he comes back!"

By the time I had reached the further end of the cabbage bed I was just
in time to see a tawny bird vanish over a hedge, flop tantalisingly
across the road and disappear among the branches of an apple-tree on the
other side.

What I now see to have been a mistaken idea of my duty towards Eileen
led me painfully through two hedges to the foot of the tree in whose
branches Balaam the Mule was possibly enjoying the first-fruits of his
liberty.

In vain I produced vocal effects calculated to charm away the love of
travel from the breast of any canary; then, as Balaam persistently
refused to come to me, I proceeded slowly but surely, and accompanied by
the cage, to make my way to him.

Whether tree-climbing shares the same age limit as that assigned to
recruits, or whether the cage was too severe a handicap, I don't know,
but halfway up I somehow found myself marooned on an obviously
inadequate branch.

For several minutes I balanced uncertainly. Then someone began to pass
along the road beyond the hedge. As it seemed probable that their owner
might prove of use to me, I hailed the footsteps with a shout.

The footsteps stopped and I shouted again.

This time there was a faint scream in answer and a mauve-and-white
bonnet bobbed agitatedly up the road.

After a few more minutes of delicate and masterly balancing I was
relieved to hear the approach of quite a number of people from the other
side of the orchard.

Evidently the mauve-and-white bonnet had thoroughly realized my perilous
position, for my rescuers seemed to include almost the entire village.
Even the Vicar was there, armed with an assegai--no doubt a missionary
trophy. It was thoughtful of them to have turned out in such numbers