And now nearly all the migratory
birds were at home. The curlews' hooked bills peeped out from the reeds.
The grebes glided about with new feather-collars around the neck; and
the jack-snipes were gathering straws for their nests.
The farm-hand got into a scow, laid Jarro in the bottom of the boat, and
began to pole himself out on the lake. Jarro, who had now accustomed
himself to expect only good of human beings, said to Caesar, who was
also in the party, that he was very grateful toward the farm-hand for
taking him out on the lake. But there was no need to keep him so closely
guarded, for he did not intend to fly away. To this Caesar made no
reply. He was very close-mouthed that morning.
The only thing which struck Jarro as being a bit peculiar was that the
farm-hand had taken his gun along. He couldn't believe that any of the
good folk in the cottage would want to shoot birds. And, beside, Caesar
had told him that the people didn't hunt at this time of the year. "It
is a prohibited time," he had said, "although this doesn't concern me,
of course."
The farm-hand went over to one of the little reed-enclosed mud-islets.
There he stepped from the boat, gathered some old reeds into a pile,
and lay down behind it. Jarro was permitted to wander around on the
ground, with the halter over his wings, and tethered to the boat, with a
long string.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296