In my Indian Garden.
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ground, and, rising with slow flight, winged his burdened way to the nearest resting-place — the roof of the staging-house. But his exploit had been watched, and hardly had his feet touched the welcome tiles before a shower of sticks and stones rained round him. One pebble struck him, and, rising hastily at the affront, his prey escaped his talons and, rolling over and over down the roof, fell into the arms of the exultant cook ! But the scream of the baffled eagle drowned the death-cry of the fowl.
