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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I always let the birdies sing, I never throw a stone, I always give a hungry dog A nice, fat, meaty bone. "I wouldn't drive a bob-tailed horse, Nor hurry up a cow, I" Then he forgot the rest. The boys and girls were so sorry.
And some day soon, now, Broxton will be comin' home." "Wal, don't ye worry. If Broxton is makin' money like he says he is so's he kin give that gal a thousand dollars to throw to the birdies like she's done why should we worry? I ain't sayin' but what she's been a lot of help to us." "In more ways than one," whispered his wife. "Right, by jinks!" admitted the farmer.
So Uncle Wiggily did this, and as soon as the birds had their hungry little mouths filled, sound to sleep they went. And in a little while Mrs. Wren came back from the store with her basket filled, and Mr. Wren flew home to say that he had a nice position in a feather factory, and how he did admire his birdies! He hugged and kissed them like anything.
So he sang this song: "Hush, birdies, hush, Please don't cry; Mamma'll be back By and by. "Nestle down close Under my fur, I'm not your mother, but I'm helping her." But this didn't seem to satisfy the birdies and they cried "cheep-cheep" harder than ever. "Oh, dear! I believe I must get them something to eat," said Uncle Wiggily.
Wren feed her little birdies he found himself traveling along a lonely road through a big forest of tall trees. Oh, it was a very lonesome place, and not even an automobile was to be seen, and there wasn't the smell of gasoline, and no "honk-honks" to waken the baby from her sleep. "Hum, I don't believe I'll find any fortune along here," thought Uncle Wiggily as he tramped on.
Not back to the five-room flat all day, and the little back bedroom, and nothingness. In his mind there rang a childish old song they used to sing at school. A silly song: Where do all the birdies go? I know. I know. But he didn't know. He was terror-stricken. October came and went. With the first of November the Park became impossible, even at noon, and with two overcoats and the sweater.
T. A. shrugged impotent shoulders. He plunged into another fathom of gloom. "Another year like this and we're done for." Emma McChesney came over and put one firm hand on T. A. Buck's drooping shoulder. It was a strange little act for a woman the sort of thing a man does when he would hearten another man. "Wake up!" she said, lightly. "Wake up, and listen to the birdies sing.
When any dismissing was to be done, it was usually he who did it. "Yes, sir. As soon as anything definite is known. Good morning!" But to Christopher he reached out a detaining hand. "You've done uncommonly well, sonny," he whispered. "Don't worry because you didn't land the chaps. I'm only thankful you didn't give them the chance to shoot you. We'll have the birdies yet."
An' whole lots of little birdies is comin' in my tarridge an' sing songs to me, an' you can come too if you want to, an' we'll have ICE-cream an' 'trawberries, an' see 'ittle fishes swimmin' down in ze water, an' we'll get a g'eat big house that's all p'itty on the outshide an' all p'itty on the inshide, and it'll all be ours and we'll do just evvyfing we want to." "Toddy, you're an idealist."
See he's battin' his eyes and working his hands around. He sure heard the birdies sing!" "The rest of you boys had just as well go on down to the shack," directed the sheriff. "Creagan and Joe and me will take care of Foy till he's able to move or be moved, and bring him into camp. You just lead up our three horses and an extra one for Foy up as far as you can fetch 'em.
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