News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1921-04-06
CHAPTER ONE
Which Introduces the Shepherd Of
the Birds

mp Main street hand in hand with it is
mot yet forgotten. Their little journey
produced an effect on the nerves and
fhe remote future history of Bingville
They rushed at a group Of citizens
who We're watching them, scattered it
hither and thither, broke down a sec
zion of Mrs. Rlsley's picket fence and
van over small Boy. At the end of
Their brief Eisalliahce, Gasoline Power
seemed to express its opinion of Mr..
Sink by hurting him against a tele-
graph pole and running wild in the
park until it cooled its passion in the
fountain pool. In the language of Hi
nam Blenkinsop, the place was badly
~'smiXed up" Yet Mr.. Sink was the
object of unmerited criticism. He was
alike many other men in that quiet viii
Sage-siow, deliberate. harmless and
gOOd-natured. The action Of hisn i'm
tellect was not at all like that of a
gasoline engine. Between the swift
ness of the one and the sloWness of
the other, there, was wide zone full
of possibilities. The engine had ac-
complished many things while 4 Mr..
Sinks intellect was getting ready to
begin to act i.,, n,Gi... ..-v i...,.'
In speaking of this adventure, Hi
ram BlenkinsOp made, a wise remark:
'MUmarried life learnt me one thing"
said he IF you are thinkin' of hitchin'
ZIP a wild horse with a tame one, be
careful that the tame one is the stout
.eest or it will do him no good" a,m
The event had it's tragic side and
whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other
citizens of questionable taste may
: have said of it, the historian has no
intention of treating it lightly. Mr..
Sink and his neighbours fence could
he repaired, but not the small boy
Robert Emmett Moran, six years old,
the son of the Widow Moran who
took in washing, He was in the ma
ture of sacrifice to the new god. He
became beloved cripple, known as
the Shepherd of the Birds and alto
gether the most cheerful person in the
village. His world was a little room
on the second floor of his mothers
cottage overlooking the big flower gar
den of Judge CrOOker--hiS father hav-
ing been the gardener and coachman
of the judge. There were in this room
an old pine bureau, four-pOst bed i
stead, an armchair by the window, q
small round nickel clock that sat on
the bureau, a rubber tree and very
laxative little old tin soldier of the
name Of BlOggS who stood erect on
shelf with gun in his hand and was
always looking out of the window. The
day, of the tin soldiers arrival the boy
had named him Mr. Bloggs and dis
covered his unusual qualities of mind
and heart He was a wise old soldier,
1t would seem, for he had some sort |
tons of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob |
knew, he mad seen and suffered much,
having travelled to Europe and back !
with the judges family and been sunk !
for a year in frog pond and been !
in a jug of molasses, but !
through it all had kept his look of
ineXtinguishable courage; The lonely |
lad talked, now and then, with the |
round nickel clock or the rubber tree |
or the pine bureau. but mostly gave
his condolences to the wise and genial !
Mr. Bloggs. When" the spring ar /
rived the garden, with its birds and |
flowers, became a source of joy and
companionship for the little lad Sit |
ting by the open window. he used to
talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting
the ground ready, for sowing. Later |
the slow procession of the flowers
greeted him with its fragrance and i
color.
But his most intimate friends were |
the birds. Robins in the elm tree just
beyond the window woke him every
morning When he made his
way to the easement with the aid of
two ropes which spanned his room,
they came to him, lighting on his
wrists and hands and clamoring for
the seeds and crumbs which he was
wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bob
Moran soon learned the pretty lingo |
of every feathered tribe that camped
In tie garden. He could sound the !
pan pipe of the robin the fairy flute
of tie oriole, the noisy guitar of the :,
bohenk and the little pioeolo Of the
song >pnrrow. Many of these dear
friends Of his came into the room and
plored the rubber tree and sang in
branches. A colony of barn swal-
+ ,ws lived under the caves of the old
weathered shed on the far side of the
garden. There were many windows,
each with a saucy head. looking out
of It. Suddenly half dozen of these
merry people would rush into the air
and fill it with their frolc. They were
like lot of laughing sehoolboys skat-
ing over invisible hills and hollows.
With a pair of field glasses, which
Mrs. Croker had loaned to him., Bob
Moran had learned the; nest habits of
the whole summer colony in that woh-
dergnl garden. All day he sat by the
open window with his work, an air