The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-05-18
A CHURCHMAN'S son.
SHORT TALE FOR BOYS BOTH TALL AND
SHORT.

Once there was clergyman's son who
was good marksman with stone or
slingshot, or bow and arrow, or CROSS
bow, or an airgun, or anything he took
aim with. So he went about all day
aiming at everything he came near.
Even at his meals he would think about
good shots at the clock, or the cat, or the
flies on the wall, or anything he CHANGED
to see.
Near where he lived there lived little
bird that had a nest and five young
birds. So many large mouths in small
heads, always open wide for food, kept
her hard at work. From dawn to dark
she few here and there, over fields and
woods and roads, getting worms and
flies and bugs and seeds and such things
as she knew were good for her young
birds. 1t was great wonder what lots
Of food those five small things could eat.
What she brought each day would have
filled that nest full up to the top, yet
they ate it all and asked for more before
daylight next morning. Though it was
such hard work she was glad to do it,
and went on day after day, always flying
off with gay chirp, and back with bit
of some kind of food; and though she
did not eat much herself, except what
stuck to her bill after she had fed them,
yet she never let them want, not even
the smallest and the weakest of them.
The little fellow could not ask as loudly
as the others, yet she always fed him
first. One day, when she had picked up
a worm, and perched minute on the
wall before flying to her nest, the good
marksman saw her, and of course aimed
at her, and hit her in the side. She was
much hurt and in great pain. yet she
futtered and limped and dragged herself
to the foot of the tree where her nest
was. but she could not fly up to her nest
for her wing was broken. She chirped
little and the young ones heard her,
and as they we're hungry they chirped
back loudly, and she knew all their
voices, even the weak note of the small
est of all; but she could not come up to
them, nor even tell them why she did
not come. And when she heard the call
OF the small ones she tried again to rise,
but only one of her wings would move,
and that just turned her over on the side
OF the broken wing. All the rest of that
day the little mother lay there, and when
she chirped her children answered, and
when they chirped she answered. only
when the good marksman CHANGED to
pass by; then she kept quite still. But
her voice grew fainter and weaker, and
late in the day the young ones could not
hear it any more. but she could still hear
them. Some time in the night the moth
er-bird, died, and in the morning she lay
there quite cold and stiff with her dim
eyes still turned up to the nest where
her young ones were dying Of hunger.
But they did not die so soon. All day
long they slept until their hunger walked
them up, and then called until they
we're SO tired they fell asleep again. And
the next night was very cold and they
missed their mothers warm breast. and
before day dawn they all died, one after
the other, excepting the smallest, which
was lowest down in the nest, and in the
morning he pushed up his head and
opened his yellow bill to be fed; but
there was no one to feed him, and so he
died. too. at last, with his mouth wide
open and empty. And SO the good
marksman had killed six birds with one
shot-the mother and her five young
ones.
Do you not think he must be proud
boy? Should you not like to do the
same? II you know him, please read
this little tale to him. He may like to