Ignorant of all fear they became my constant companions from room to room, from house to garden and orchard, when wild birds looked down in wonder, coming from the higher branches to peer and question, Peepsy answering politely, fluttering the brown velvet wings in unavailing winningness, while Robert silently ignored their inquisitive ways. During the intense heat of midsummer I saw less of the twins than usual, the house being darkened as much as possible to exclude the heat. Opening my door I heard the patter of little feet as they crossed the hall; Peepsy stood upon the threshold and, with a welcoming chirp, flew towards me, coaxing and nestling against my cheek with many evidences of gladness. The heat of the day was waning; the sun had withdrawn from the valley; the heights were radiant still, the peaks of the mountain range dazzlingly lit with golden light. I carried the bird out-of-doors and across the way where children were playing, the tiny guest enjoying the call thoroughly, lunching upon raspberries, exploring the rooms, "trying on" each nook and corner, and regarding with astonished interest a huge feather duster that lay upon the carpet. Advancing and retreating before the huge monster, ruffling his feathers in rage, he hopped around it several times before his courage was equal to an attack. Then, with wide-spread wings he charged upon the savage enemy, striking it with his beak, trampling upon and biting the feathers. When we returned Robert's indignation knew no bounds; he was furious. He might have been jealous that Peepsy went abroad while he stayed at home; anyway, he pounced upon his brother in angry passion, caught his foot and jerked him off the perch, pulled out his feathers and tumbled him over upon the floor, when I interfered promptly. As it was past their bedtime I saw them safely asleep, both little heads laid snugly against their wings, and thought by morning the quarrel would be forgotten. When I saw them next poor little Peepsy lay dead upon the cage floor. I strongly suspect that Robert rose early to help him out of the world; at least there was no appearance of suicide! The remaining twin sang freely for a few hours; he had vanquished an imaginary foe and was singing the song of him who overcometh. After that he seemed preyed upon by remorse, nor was he ever himself again, refusing food and pining away gradually through the few remaining weeks of his short life, when, in spite of all his faults, he died, as the storybooks say, much loved and lamented. [Illustration: FROM COL. F. NUSSBAUMER & SON. A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO. COW BIRD. 1/2 Life-size. COPYRIGHT 1899, By NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.] THE COWBIRD. (_Molothrus ater._) C. C. M.