A child's perambulator--a very shabby, rickety concern--had been pushed against the fence, and its occupant, a girl, evidently a cripple, was throwing corn to the eager winged creatures.

Two or three, more fearless than the others, had flown on to the perambulator and were pecking out of the child's hands.
Presently she caught one and hugged it to her thin little bosom.

"Oh dad, look here--oh daddy, see, its dear little head is all green and purple.

I want to kiss it--I do--I love it so." "Better put it down, Kit--the poor thing is scared," returned the man, and the child reluctantly let it fly.

It made straight for the distant roofs behind them, but the rest of the pigeons still strutted and pecked round the perambulator with tiny mincing steps, like court ladies practising the minuet.