Mrs. Barringer, being a woman of noble heart, decided, not long ago, to give the bird her freedom. William, the man servant, was instructed to turn her out and see that no enemy harmed her. We all believed that she would be glad to leave the place for good at the first opportunity, for she did not seem to care for or even trust any one but her mistress, to whom she would go when called or notice when spoken to. But we had reckoned wrong. She did not desire to depart from us. Her hours are whiled away in such cozy nooks and corners as she elects to occupy in the back yard. She is growing fat and familiar with mankind and beast. But, with liberty, protection and free-lunch, Minerva is not permitted to be contented and happy. She has a swarm of unrelenting feathered enemies that make her life a burden. The blue jay, the red-headed peckerwood, the harsh catbird, and the cruel English sparrow are her fiercest foes. They annoyed her no little while confined in the chicken pen, by railing at her through the wire, but now they dare to pluck feathers from her back and puncture her body with sharp bills. The mischievous old jay lands in the morning before the servants come or the occupants of the house begin to stir, delivers an inflammatory speech and urges his hearers to fight for their rights, their homes, their wives and their little ones. It was my fortune, good or bad, to see one of these crowds assembled, to hear one of the addresses and witness an onslaught, one fine Sunday morning, several weeks ago. I had retired early the night before and slept well. The first call of Mr. Blue Jay waked me. I sat up in bed and looked on through the window blinds. The jay, feigning great indignation, sat in the top of an elm tree, not ten feet from the window. His voice rang out loud and shrill through the light morning air. It was harkened to by all the winged kind for several blocks. The red-headed woodpecker quit his hammering on the steeple of the Lutheran church across the street, and flew in all haste to join in the outcry with his rasping voice. The catbird sailed out from a neighboring fig bush and came tumbling and screaming across the garden. English sparrows poured in by the score from all directions until the tree was alive with their nervous little bodies.