“Now that you know real birds--your Archangels, you can see how it feels,” commented Nat. “We fellows have the same regard for woodcock or snipe. But just suppose some one should shoot those pretty pigeons, and give the feathers to a girl for her hat. She’ll wear them, of course. They were beautiful birds,” and he walked off toward the cage where only the day previous he had so admired the birds that were now strangely missing.
“Said you did,” pouted Tavia, before Nat had a chance to finish the sentence.
“And I still think. It’s a habit I have. And, by the way, little girl,” (Nat always called Tavia “little g-ir-l” when he wanted to tease) “it’s a great thing to think. Try it some time.”
“Well, if I ever get at it, I’ll begin on you,” and Tavia’s Psyche knot almost fell over on her left ear in sheer indignation.
“Do. I shall be de-lighted. But to be exact,” and he drew from the pocket of his sweater two feathers, one white and the other copper color. “Do you recognize these?” and he held the little quills out to the girls.
“That white one is from a fantail,” declared Tavia promptly.
“And the other--that is certainly from an Archangel,” exclaimed Dorothy, taking the pretty bit of fluff in her hand, and examining it closely.
With a gait that betokened indolence, and her entire appearance bearing out that suggestion, a girl with a bright-colored handkerchief on her head, sauntered along the path in the direction of the little party, who had been conferring in the “enclosure.” Her feet seemed weighed down with shoes many sizes beyond her real need, and her dress was so long that she looked as if she might have been playing grandmother up in some attic, and had forgotten to leave the things behind after the game.
“Well, Urania,” began Dorothy, smiling, “you are out early, aren’t you?”
“Haven’t been in yet,” drawled the girl. “So much fussin’ around the camp last night I just left the wagon to little Tommie, and made a bed out under the pines.”
“Fussing?” inquired Nat, showing keen interest in the girl’s remarks.
“Yes, comin’ and goin’ and--” She shot a quick glance at the boy who was listening so intently to her words. Then she peered through the wire cage over to the dove cote. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Your birds sick?”