“From his commanding position, Dick surveyed the scene, and thought it a fitting occasion to raise his voice.  He stretched himself to the full height of his few inches, flapped his wings, and crowed—­not once or twice, but continually.  Over the waste of waters came his shrill ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ All the cocks along the shore answered his call; all the turkeys gobbled, and the geese cackled.  His vessel struck the heavy timber of a broken bridge, and lurched and dipped, threatening every moment to go to pieces.  The waves splashed and drenched them, and the swift current carried them faster and faster down to the sea.  It was all Dick and his little company could do to keep their footing, and still the plucky little fellow stood and crowed.

“A neighbor who was out in his boat gathering drift-wood, recognizing Dick’s peculiar voice, went to the rescue, and, taking this strange craft in tow, brought the little company, with their gallant leader, drenched and draggled but still crowing lustily, safe to land.

“And that is all I can tell you about Dick, for it is five o’clock, and time to put up our work.”

“I like every kind of bird,” said Florence Austin at the next meeting of the Society, “except the English sparrows.  They are a perfect nuisance!”

“Why, what harm do they do?” Nellie asked.

“Harm!” said Florence; “you don’t know any thing about it here in the country.  We had to cut down a beautiful wisteria-vine that climbed over one side of our house because the sparrows would build their nests in it, and made such a dreadful noise in the morning that nobody on that side of the house could sleep.  And they drive away all the other birds.  We used to have robins hopping over our lawn, and dear little yellow-birds used to build their nests in the pear-trees; but since the sparrows have got so thick, they have stopped coming.  My father says the English sparrow is the most impudent bird that ever was hatched.  He actually saw one snatch away a worm a robin had just dug up.  I believe I hate sparrows!”

“I don’t,” said Nellie.  “I have fed them all winter.  They came to the dining-room window every morning, and waited for their breakfast; and a funny little woodpecker, blind of one eye, came with them sometimes.”

“They do lots of good in our gardens,” said Mollie, “digging up grubs and beetles.  Papa told us so.”

“There’s nobody in this world so bad,” said Susie, sagely, “but that you can find something good to say about them.”  At which kindly speech Aunt Ruth smiled approval.

“I think,” she said, “this will be a good time to tell you a story about an English sparrow and a canary-bird I will call it

TUFTY AND THE SPARROW.

“One morning in April a young canary-bird whose name was Tufty escaped through an open window carelessly left open while he was out of his cage, and suddenly found himself, for the first time in his life, in the open air.  He alighted first on an apple-tree in the yard, and then made a grand flight half-way to the top of the elm-tree.