"Wings are made to stretch," she seems to say cheerfully, and with a kind glance of her round eye she welcomes the wanderer and the outcast.

She even tended for a time the offspring of an absent-minded, light-headed pheasant who flew over a four-foot wall and left her young behind her to starve; it was not a New Pheasant, either; for the most conservative and old-fashioned of her tribe occasionally commits domestic solecisms of this sort.
{An orphan asylum: p30.jpg} There is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct will assert itself.

Among our Thornycroft cats is a certain Mrs.Greyskin.

She had not been seen for many days, and Mrs.Heaven concluded that she had hidden herself somewhere with a family of kittens; but as the supply of that article with us more than equals the demand, we had not searched for her with especial zeal.
{Phoebe and I followed her stealthily: p31.jpg} The other day Mrs.Greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and when she had been fed Phoebe and I followed her stealthily, from a distance.

She walked slowly about as if her mind were quite free from harassing care, and finally approached a deserted cow-house where there was a great mound of straw.