so given they
despised. Only stolen fruit is sweet. After much deliberation and
consultation, they would stealthily steal out and skurry about the
floor like rats for a while, hunting for bugs and worms. When it became
evident that our rugs did not furnish such refreshment, they would
cuddle up together in Taka's cage and spoon. Koma would tuck his
shining wee head down on Taka's shoulder, and Taka would gently peck
him all over from the tip of his bill to his claws. Then, more often
than not, they would bristle and square for the fun of a fight. At this
point we would try to catch Koma and put him back into his own safe
cage, but even when his little coxcomb was so bloody that I had to wash
it off under the faucet, he was the top of ingratitude, gasping and
clattering with fury. All the while Taka, who had cut that poor pate
open, would be trilling abuse. A pugnacious pair of fairy Japanese
pirates they were!

We kept those midgets, a daily trouble and amusement, through the
winter. They sang like angels when it pleased them and in the intervals
conversed exclusively with each other in a harsh, metallic chatter that
filled the house. But one sad June morning we found Taka in the bottom
of the cage, on his back, the uplifted claws pathetically curled, the
wee body stiff and cold.

"The bird is dead
That we have made so much on."

Koma knew what had happened and bewailed his loss in such a shrill,
incessant keening that when, a few days later, an east wind gave him a
swiftly fatal chill, we could only be glad to have that pitiful piping
hushed.

Little aliens! We had never known them.

WARBLER WEATHER

The oak-leaves yet are doubting
Between the pink and green;
Half smiling and half pouting
Our shy New England May
Touches each happy spray,
And at her call the runaway
Warbler tribes convene.

The gold-flecked Myrtle flitters,
The Redstart dives and spins,
The gay Magnolia glitters,
The little Rubycrown
Twinkles up and down;
The fairy folk have come to town
With all their violins.

Our garden party sparkles
With varied warbler wear,
The olive suit that darkles
To umber, russet crest,
Blue tippet, crocus vest;
New fashions come with every guest,
Winged jewels of the air.

Their treetop conversation
Is sweetest of the sweet,
With flashes of flirtation
As gallants bow and