ggy to herself, "though
I don't believe anybody was ever so silly as to want to take a wolf
across the river." But, looking up, she beheld the approach of Sam
Bedell, a six-foot tunnelman of the "Blue Cement Lead," and, hailing
him, begged him to hold one of her captives. The giant, loathing the
little mouse-like ball of fur, chose the shrike. "Hold him by the feet,
for he bites AWFUL," said Peggy, as the bird regarded Sam with the
diabolically intense frown of his species. Then, dropping the gopher
unconcernedly in her pocket, she proceeded to rearrange her toilet. The
tunnelman waited patiently until Peggy had secured the nankeen sunbonnet
around her fresh but freckled cheeks, and, with a reckless display
of yellow flannel petticoat and stockings like peppermint sticks, had
double-knotted her shoestrings viciously when he ventured to speak.

"Same old game, Peggy? Thought you'd got rather discouraged with your
'happy family,' arter that new owl o' yours had gathered 'em in."

Peggy's cheek flushed slightly at this ungracious allusion to a former
collection of hers, which had totally disappeared one evening after the
introduction of a new member in the shape of a singularly venerable and
peaceful-looking horned owl.

"I could have tamed HIM, too," said Peggy indignantly, "if Ned Myers,
who gave him to me, hadn't been training him to ketch things, and never
let on anything about it to me. He was a reg'lar game owl!"

"And wot are ye goin' to do with the Colonel here?" said Sam, indicating
under that gallant title the infant shrike, who, with his claws deeply
imbedded in Sam's finger, was squatting like a malignant hunchback, and
resisting his transfer to Peggy. "Won't HE make it rather lively for the
others? He looks pow'ful discontented for one so young."

"That's his nater," said Peggy promptly. "Jess wait till I tame him.
Ef he'd been left along o' his folks, he'd grow up like 'em. He's a
'butcher bird'--wot they call a 'nine-killer '--kills nine birds a day!
Yes! True ez you live! Sticks 'em up on thorns outside his nest, jest
like a butcher's shop, till he gets hungry. I've seen 'em!"

"And how do you kalkilate to tame him?" asked Sam.

"By being good to him and lovin' him," said Peggy, stroking the head of
the bird with infinite gentleness.

"That means YOU'VE got to do all the butchering for him?" said the
cynical Sam.

Peggy shook her head, disdaining a verbal reply.

"Ye can't bring him up on sugar a