of thing."

"I wish you could have managed it," he said, "I shall have no one to
talk to. The A-----s are coming, and they bore me to death."

"Why do you ask him?" I suggested.

"Upon my word, I really don't know," he replied.

But to return to our rooks. We were speaking of their social instincts.
Some dozen of them--the "scallywags" and bachelors of the community,
I judge them to be--have started a Club. For a month past I have been
trying to understand what the affair was. Now I know: it is a Club.

And for their Club House they have chosen, of course, the tree nearest
my bedroom window. I can guess how that came about; it was my own fault,
I never thought of it. About two months ago, a single rook--suffering
from indigestion or an unhappy marriage, I know not--chose this tree one
night for purposes of reflection. He woke me up: I felt angry. I opened
the window, and threw an empty soda-water bottle at him. Of course it
did not hit him, and finding nothing else to throw, I shouted at him,
thinking to frighten him away. He took no notice, but went on talking
to himself. I shouted louder, and woke up my own dog. The dog barked
furiously, and woke up most things within a quarter of a mile. I had to
go down with a boot-jack--the only thing I could find handy--to soothe
the dog. Two hours later I fell asleep from exhaustion. I left the rook
still cawing.

The next night he came again. I should say he was a bird with a sense of
humour. Thinking this might happen, I had, however, taken the precaution
to have a few stones ready. I opened the window wide, and fired them one
after another into the tree. After I had closed the window, he hopped
down nearer, and cawed louder than ever. I think he wanted me to throw
more stones at him: he appeared to regard the whole proceeding as a
game. On the third night, as I heard nothing of him, I flattered myself
that, in spite of his bravado, I had discouraged him. I might have known
rooks better.

What happened when the Club was being formed, I take it, was this:

"Where shall we fix upon for our Club House?" said the secretary, all
other points having been disposed of. One suggested this tree, another
suggested that. Then up spoke this particular rook:

"I'll tell you where," said he, "in the yew tree opposite the porch. And
I'll tell you for why. Just about an hour before dawn a man comes to the
window over the porch, dressed in the most comical costume you ever set
eyes upo