What was it that seemed so familiar to his Yorkshire ears, bringing up mental visions of long rambles over bracing moors? Softly as a cat the Poet stole downstairs again, replaced the gun on the table, and returned swiftly with a field-glass, which now showed him, as he expected, the grey-black plumage and white crescent of a Ring-ousel. Little did that wandering stranger, so happy in the discovery, here in the far south, of its beloved northern berries, imagine that its voice had saved the Poet’s hands from bloodshed, and his mind from a lifelong remorse! He knelt long at the window, watching the berries disappear without demur, dreaming of rushing streams and purple heather, and welcoming in his heart the stranger to the feast. Then rousing himself he fetched his wife to share his pleasure, and told her of his boyhood among the moors, and of the Ring-ousel’s nest found in the gorsebush as he was fishing in the tumbling beck. And then he told her of the air-gun—and she told him of the conspiracy. From that moment peace returned to the garden and to the Poet’s mind. All day long they heard and saw the Ring-ousel, who could not find it in his heart to leave the berries, and delayed his journey southward for a whole day to enjoy them. Joseph Bates looked at him with indifference when the Poet pointed him out. “The thieves are welcome to anything they can get there,” he said, pointing to the tree: “that fruit’s no mortal use to no one. But they’ve had a lot more than their share this year of what’s good for us poor men and women,” he added; “and if I may make so bold, Sir, I would throw it out as that kind of thing should not happen next year.” The Parson came up the garden walk and joined the group: the news of the Ring-ousel had reached him. “There he is,” said the Poet “and there they all are, taking my berries as they’ve taken my fruit. And as far as I’m concerned they may have it every bit; but for my wife’s sake I must consent to a compromise, if there is one.” “Well,” said the Parson, “give them a tithe of all you have. Give them every tenth fruit tree, and a corner of the strawberry bed. As for the rowan-berries, you must let them go.” “And welcome,” said the Poet; and Bessie and old Joseph made no objection. Next year the Parson’s compromise was carried out; and Man successfully asserted his right to share in the Blackbirds’ feast. THE END RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY. WORKS BY W. WARDE FOWLER, M.A. _With Illustrations by_ Bryan Hook TALES OF THE BIRDS _Uniform Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. Prize Library Editions. Crown 8vo. Ornamental Cloth, 2s. 6d. Cloth elegant, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. School Edition. Globe 8vo. 1s. 6d._