Don't rob the birds of their eggs, boys,
'Tis cruel and heartless and wrong;
And remember, by breaking an egg, boys,
We may lose a bird with a song.

When careworn, weary, and lonely,
Some day as you're passing along,
You'll rejoice that the egg wasn't broken
That gave you the bird with its song.
ANON.

A GOOD SHOT

There was once a boy whose eye was so true, and whose hand was so steady, that he became a very good marksman. If he threw a stone, or fired at anything with his air-gun, he usually hit what he aimed at. He took such pride and pleasure in his skill that he was always looking for good shots.

Near his house lived a bird. Five young ones were in her nest. So many mouths, always wide open for food, kept the little mother busy. From morning till night she flew over fields and woods, getting worms and bugs and seeds for her babies to eat. Every day she flew off chirping gayly, and came back as soon as she could with a bit of food. The smallest bird had been hurt in some way and could not cry so loudly as the others. The mother always gave him his breakfast first.

One day when she had picked up a worm and was resting a moment, the good marksman saw her.

"What a fine shot!" he said, and fired his air-gun. The bird felt a sharp, stinging pain in her side, and when she tried to fly she found that she could not lift herself from the ground.

Fluttering and limping, she dragged herself along to the foot of the tree where her nest was. Her broken wing hurt her very much, but she chirped a little, in as cheerful a way as she could, so that her babies should not be frightened. They chirped back loudly, because they were hungry, and they could not understand why she did not come to them. She knew all their voices, and when she heard the plaintive note of the smallest, she tried again and again to fly. At last she fell in such a way that she could not move her wings again.

All day she lay there, and when her children called, she answered with her old, brave chirp. But as the hours went by, her voice grew fainter and fainter, until at last it was still.

In the morning she was dead. The little ones called now in vain. They cried until they were so tired that they fell asleep; but soon their hunger waked them and they cried again.

The next night was cold, and they crowded together, hoping to get warm. How they missed their mother's warm, soft feathers! It grew colder and colder. Before dawn they all died, one after the other. Would the boy have been so proud of his good shot if he had known the whole story?

Adapted

"Be kind to animals," as a motto for every schoolroom in the United States conspicuously and constantly displayed by teachers upon wall or blackboard, will go far and help greatly towards inculcating a spirit of kindness to animals and educating humanely the boys and girls who are to be future citizens of this great country.