92 STORIES FROM DAUDET

ing-season, about which our mothers
began to talk together in low voices.
An old bird in our covey used to say
to me about it:

‘Don’t be afraid, Rufus’—they
called me Rufus because of my red
beak and claws—‘don’t be afraid,
Rufus, I will take you with me on the
opening day, and Iam sure no harm
will happen to you.’

He was an old cock bird, very sly
and still lively, although he had already
the marks of the horse-shoe on his
breast and some snowy feathers here
and there. When he was quite young
a shot had been fired into his wing,
and as that made him rather heavy, he
looked twice before he flew, took his
time, and kept out of the way of scrapes. °
He would often take me with him to
the entry of the wood. Just there
stood a curious little house, nestled
under the chestnuts, silent as an empty
barn, and always closed.

‘Take a good look at that house,