But Pee-wee, like a true artist, neither saw nor heard his audience. He
was playing the bird with this line of water as an angler plays a fish.
And never was moth lured by a flame more irresistibly than this little
green fugitive was lured by the splashing of that stream.
"Oh, can you catch him? Can you catch him?" pleaded the girl as she
clutched Pee-wee's arm.
"Let go a minute," said Pee-wee. "Now, all stand back, here goes!"
He shot the stream suddenly down at the base of the tree, holding the
nozzle close so that the plashing was loud and the spray diffused. And
as an arrow goes to its mark the bird came swooping down plunk into the
middle of the spray and puddle. Still playing the stream with one hand,
Pee-wee reached carefully and with his other gently encircled the little
drenched body.
"Quite an adventure, wasn't it, Greenie?" he said. "Where'd you think
you were? In the tropics?---- If you ever want to take hold of a bird,"
he added, turning to the girl, "hold it this way; make a ring out of
your thumb and first finger, and let his stomach rest on the palm of
your hand. Be sure your hand isn't cold, though. Here you are--that's
right."
The girl could hardly speak. She stood with her dwarf parrot in her
hand, looking at the stream of water which was now shooting silently
through the grass and at the puddle which it had made, and she felt that
a miracle had been performed before her eyes. Roy, hardly less pleased
than she, stepped forward and turned off the water.
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