Had his words reached Miss Harper’s ears she might have replied that sensible and humane “wimmen folks” regarded the fearful slaughter of birds as little less than a crime; but unfortunately she did not hear this and resumed: 

“Yet you hunt out these harmless and beautiful creatures and wantonly destroy them.  Nearly every boy gives way to this savage, brutal impulse to kill something.  He couldn’t tell why if you were to ask him.  Children, do you know there is a society whose members pledge themselves to protect the birds?  I wish we might organize one here to-day.  I am sure, from a spirit of kindness, you would like to unite in a promise not to willfully harm any of these wonderful creatures that God has placed around us.”

When Alice Glenn drove home that evening she carried with her a glad heart, for in her pocket was a copy of the rules and by-laws of the “Anti-Cruelty Society, of Mount Airy School,” which Miss Harper had organized that afternoon.  And it was signed not only by the girls and all the smaller boys, but by big Jim Stubbs and the boy who winked with his nose.

CHAPTER XV

POLLY’S FAREWELL

  Happy little maiden,
  Give, oh, give to me
  The highness of your courage,
  The sweetness of your grace,
  To speak a large word in a little place.
          —­E.  S. Phelps-Ward.

Closing the volume, Polly laid it in her lap.

“That was a good story,” observed Miss Kathy, as the child paused.  The little girl did not immediately reply, but leaned forward and looked wistfully in her companion’s face for a moment.

“Do you think it is so very wicked to keep—­that is, to—­to deprive a bird of its liberty?” she asked timidly.

“Oh, I don’t know that it could be called wicked.  A canary bird, born in a cage, that never knew any other home, would be apt to die if it were turned loose to shift for itself and get its own living.  It possibly could not stand the exposure to the weather,” replied Miss Katharine.

“But supposing it wasn’t a canary,” said Polly hesitatingly; “supposing it might be a redbird, or a wren, or—­or——­”

“Or a bobolink?” Miss Kathy smiled as she supplied the word.

“Well—­yes, a bobolink, for instance.”  And Polly glanced toward me.

“Any captured bird certainly feels very bad to be shut up in a cage all its life, though I have seen robins in captivity that grew to be as tame as canaries.  My aunt had one that lived twelve years in a cage.  It would peck her cheek, and pretend to kiss her, and do all sorts of sweet little tricks.  His cage door stood open, and he went in and out as it suited him, but he never thought of flying away.  However, it is only natural to suppose that hopping about in a narrow space would be dreadful to a bird accustomed to spreading its wings and soaring up through the sky whenever and wherever it pleased.”