, in Germany for example, a true
sportsman would no more think of shooting a linnet than he would of
killing and eating his daughter's dearest canary.

To the migrating bird, the approach to northern Italy, either going or
returning, is not through a land of plenty. The sheltering forests have
mostly been swept away, and safe shelters for small birds are very rare.
In the open, there are owls and hawks; and the only refuge from either
is the thick-leafed grove, into which linnets and pipits can dive at the
approach of danger and quickly hide.

A linnet from the North after days of dangerous travel finally reached
Lake Como, southward bound. The country was much too open for safety,
and its first impulse was to look about for safe shelter. The low bushes
that sparsely covered the steep hillsides were too thin for refuge in
times of sudden danger.

Ah! Upon a hilltop is a little grove of trees, green and inviting. In
the grove a bird is calling, calling, insistently. The trees are very
small; but they seem to stand thickly together, and their foliage should
afford a haven from both hawk and gunner. To it joyously flits the tired
linnet. As it perches aloft upon a convenient whip-like wand, it notices
for the first time a queer, square brick tower of small dimensions,
rising in the center of a court-yard surrounded by trees. The tower is
like an old and dingy turret that has been shorn from a castle, and set
on the hilltop without apparent reason. It is two stories in height,
with one window, dingy and uninviting. A door opens into its base.

Several birds that seem very near, but are invisible, frequently call
and chirp, as if seeking answering calls and companionship. Surely the
grove must be a safe place for birds, or they would not be here.

Hark! A whirring, whistling sound fills the air, like the air tone of a
flying hawk's wings. A hawk! A hawk!

Down plunges the scared linnet, blindly, frantically, into the space
sheltered by the grove!

Horrors! What is this?

Threads! Invisible, interlacing threads; tangled and full of pockets,
treacherously spanning the open space. It is a fowler's net! The linnet
is entangled. It flutters frantically but helplessly, and hangs there,
caught. Its alarm cry is frantically answered by the two strange,
invisible bird voices that come from the top of the tower!

The grove and the tower are A ROCCOLO! A huge, permanent, merciless,
deadly _trap_, for the wholesale capture of