They had come into the main street of the village and were heading for
the road which led to the Hudson when they came upon a little group of
people looking amusedly up into an elm tree on the lawn of a stately
residence. A little girl was standing beneath the tree in evident
distress, occasionally wringing her hands as she looked fearfully up
into the branches. Whatever was happening there was no joke to her,
however funny it might be to the other onlookers.
"What's the matter?" Tom asked.
"Bird up there," briefly answered the nearest bystander.
"She'll never get it," said another.
"Oh, now he's going away," cried the little girl in despair.
The contrast between her anxiety and the amusement of the others was
marked. Every time she called to the bird it flitted to another limb,
and every time the bird flitted she wrung her hands and cried. An empty
cage upon a lawn bench told the story.
"What's the matter?" said Pee-wee, going to the child and seeking his
information first-hand.
"Oh, I'll never get him," she sobbed. "He'll fly away in a minute and
I'll never see him again."
Pee-wee looked up into the branches and after some difficulty succeeded
in locating a little bird somewhat smaller than a robin and as green as
the foliage amid which it was so heedlessly disporting.
"I see him," said Pee-wee. "Gee, don't you cry; we'll get him some way.
We're scouts, we are, and we'll get him for you."
His reassuring words did not seem to comfort the girl.
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