could feel at liberty without the temptation to sink her beak in the surrounding furniture. Fortunately, she took to this arrangement, and spent most of her time in absorbed contemplation of the moving world about her, or in irascible commands that her wants receive immediate attention.
In summer we placed her out under the trees—cautiously at first—where she would stand hour after hour watching in a curious, hypnotic sort of gaze, the flight of birds to freedom born. What dim stirring of racial memory lay under that imperturbable gaze? What emotion was evoked in that dormant intelligence by the vision of wings? Strange, cautionary sounds gave the only clue to her feelings, and these belonged to a world we could not penetrate or interpret. If nightfall found her still under the pine and her clamorous calls for transference to the house remained unheeded, she would sometimes essay transit herself, flopping heavily into the veranda, the cries of uneasiness changing to exultation if she achieved a successful landing.
At dusk she always sought the refuge of her cage calling for the protecting blanket to be adjusted, and when this rite had been com-
