The lindens which fringed the wood were now in full leafage, adorned with their delicate ball-like tassels, and hosts of birds flitted among them daily. Many of them were of the kind frequently known as indigo birds, smaller than the ordinary bluebird. In color they were of the metallic cast of blue which has a sheen distinct from the rich shade seen on the jay's wings or the brilliance of the bluebird. Flashing in and out among the hanging blossoms their beautiful blue coats made them an easy target for the boys who attended the neighborhood country school. [Illustration: The Indigo Bird.] To bring down a sweet songster with a shower of stones, panting and bleeding to the ground, they thought was the best sport in the world, and the woods rang and echoed with their whoops and cheers as each poor bird fell to the earth. A mere glimpse of one of the blue beauties as he hid among the leaves seemed to fire these cruel children with a wish to kill it. One half-grown boy, who went by the name of Big Bill, was noticeable for his brutality. He encouraged the others in cruelties which they might not have thought of, for such is the force of evil example and companionship. A distinguishing mark was a large scar on his cheek, probably inflicted by some enraged animal while being tortured by him. I always felt sure Big Bill would come to some bad end. My mother said that a cruel childhood was often a training school for the gallows, and the boy who killed defenseless birds and bugs deadened his sensibilities and destroyed his moral nature so that it was easy to commit greater crimes. So dreadful became the persecutions of the schoolboys that the indigo birds finally held a council and determined to leave that part of the country and settle far from the habitations of men, where they might live unmolested and free from persecutions. CHAPTER III THE RULER WITH THE IRON HAND But evil is wrought by want of thought As well as want of heart. --_Hood._ One morning as we flew across the open space which lay between the wood and the wheat fields, we noticed two gentlemen in the orchard who were carefully examining the trees, peering curiously into the cracks of the rough bark or unfolding the curled leaves. As we came nearer we discovered that one of them was the owner of the place, the father of Miss Dorothy and Miss Katie. The other was a thin gentleman in spectacles, who held a magnifying glass through which he intently looked at a twig which he had broken off. After a few minutes' inspection he said: "Colonel, your orchard is somewhat affected. This is a specimen of the _chionaspis furfuris_." "Is it anything like the scurfy-bark louse?" inquired the colonel. "The same thing exactly. It occurs more commonly in the apple, but it infects the pear and peach trees. You will find it on the mountain ash, and sometimes on the currant bushes," he answered.