Once upon a time, perhaps this summer, perhaps last, four reckless young sparrows lived in Central Park. Of course there were very many more of their kind there, but these four had formed a sort of club by themselves, and all the staid, respectable sparrows were really shocked by the way in which these youngsters behaved.

They would fly in on to the paths, picking up crumbs almost from beneath the feet of the visitors, and then fly back among the bushes, as if they believed they had displayed a wonderful amount of bravery. They twittered and chirped around the heads of the sacred cattle, and darted back and forth past the ostriches, until it was a wonder they were not killed.

Now these young sparrows never would take the advice of their elders, but continued in their wild ways, with a twitter that was very like a laugh whenever any of their relatives lectured them on the folly of recklessness and foolish daring.

Finally the time came when they felt they needed a change, and one of them proposed, while they were making an early breakfast from a fat worm that had come in their way just in time, that they all go down to the city for a regular lark.

With such a party as that, the idea was a good one, for it not only promised plenty of sport and adventure, but would show younger or more sedate sparrows what could be done by fellows who had the proper amount of courage.

At the risk of indigestion the worm was eaten hastily, and stopping only long enough to use a blade of grass as a napkin, they started on their journey, just a trifle confused by the noise and bustle, but determined that no one should know they had never been around the town before.

The busy sparrows in the streets, who were obliged to work industriously all day in order to get sufficient food, had very little to say to these young fellows who assumed so many foolish airs and graces, flying about first this way and then that, as if they had taken leave of their senses.

They flew down the streets among the horses, until they came near getting run over two or three times; darted around among the boys, until one came so near being caught that he lost two of his tail feathers in the struggle; and then the party seated themselves on the roof of a house to decide what was best to be done.

In a window almost opposite where they were sitting was a stuffed sparrow, mounted so skillfully that it looked as if it was alive.

It was not many moments before the party from the Park saw the motionless bird, and without a thought that it was dead, proposed to have some sport with the stranger.

"He's a terribly glum-looking fellow," said the youngest of the party. "Let's go over and wake him up."

"He sits there as if he owned the whole city," said another, "and it will do him good to let him know that there are some in town who amount to as much as he does."

"Let's all fly down at once, and scare him," proposed the third; and no sooner was the idea suggested than it was carried into execution.

Down the four flew with a rush, directly past the solemn bird; but instead of showing signs of fear, he never winked.

Then the visitors perched on the ledge of the window, daring the stranger to come out and knock them off, and making use of a great many unsparrowly remarks; but no reply was made.

"I'll go up and flirt my wings in his face," said the most reckless one of the party; "and if that don't make him speak, I'm mistaken."

Full of the idea that he was about to do some brave thing in thus attacking one poor lone bird, this impudent sparrow did as he had said he would, and great was the surprise of all four when the stranger tumbled over as stiff as a poker.

At first the party were afraid they had carried their sport too far, and committed murder. For a moment they were so frightened that their only thought was of flight; and then they noticed that the stranger had not moved a muscle since he had been struck, but lay with raised wings just as he had been sitting.

There was something strange about it all, for it surely did not seem as if a little blow like the one given could have killed the bird, and they ventured in to examine the supposed victim. So intent were they upon the examination that they did not notice that any one had entered the room, until they heard a low voice say, "Oh, Nellie, get some salt quick, and we can catch them all."

Their recklessness was gone as they looked up, and saw a little boy and girl coming directly toward them. How their hearts beat, and how frightened they were! They had heard their mother say that if they got salt on their tails they would surely be caught, and fastened in a cage, and they dashed around the room wildly in their efforts to escape, too much excited to fly directly out of the window at first.

They did manage to get out after a time, however, and when they went back home they were anything but a jaunty-looking party. One had scraped his wing against the wall until it bled, two others had lost nearly the whole of their tails, while the youngest had his feathers firmly glued down by syrup from the bread the little girl had in her hand.

It was a hard lesson for them, but it did them good; and to-day, if it were possible to find those young sparrows, they would tell you, if they could, that they had decided to listen to the experience of their parents rather than bear the possible suffering by trying to find out for themselves.