ly
struggling and its free foot clawing the air. The feathers of its
wings and tail were singed. Great beads of sweat rolled from its
forehead into a puddle on the ground below. The snared foot was blue
and swollen.

"Get me down," gasped the Phoenix weakly.

David took a running leap at the sapling, which broke under the sudden
increase of weight, and the two of them crashed to the ground. He
unfastened the noose and dragged the Phoenix to the shadiest, softest
spot on the ledge.

"Hoist with my own petard," said the Phoenix bitterly. "Rub my foot,
will you? Oh dear oh dear oh dear! Hurts."

"What happened?" David asked as he rubbed the swollen foot. "How long
have you been caught?"

"Missed my way in the dark," said the Phoenix, wiping its brow.
"Thought I was on the other side of the ledge, and landed right on
that fool trap. Hung there all night and all morning. Thought you
would never come, my boy. Oh dear, oh dear, what a horrible
experience! My tail was still on fire when I landed, too. I fully
expected to be burned to a crisp." A large tear rolled down the
Phoenix's beak.

David murmured soothing words and continued to chafe the Phoenix's
foot. "Does it feel any better now?"

"The feeling is coming back, my boy," said the Phoenix, gritting its
beak. "Ouch! All pins and needles." It flexed its toes gingerly. "Rub
a bit more, please. Gently."

The swelling began to go down. With a handful of damp grass David
soothed the marks left by the noose.

"That stupid Electric Company!" the Phoenix suddenly burst out.
"Putting everyone in danger with a short-circuited power line! Let
this be a lesson to you, my boy. Anything worth doing is worth doing
well. They will hear from us, believe me! We shall write them a stiff
complaint!"

"Well, Phoenix," said David hopefully, "we can set the snare again if
we can find another good sapling; and we still have the other one, so
we're pretty well protected. And why couldn't we meet every night by
the hedge, the way we did last night? The bell was a good idea, but
we _could_ get along without it."

The Phoenix sighed. "I suppose you are right, my boy. There is no use
crying over spilt milk. One must set one's jaw and--good heavens, my
boy! _Duck!_"

The Phoenix threw itself to the ground and wildly motioned to David to
do the same. He flattened himself out beside the bird and said, "What
is it, Phoenix?"

"Down the mountainside," whispered the Phoenix. "Look! Do n