Nobody really loves them much, but me. They're fond of me too." The boy gave a low call and a soft rush of wings was heard in every direction. Pigeons flew from tree-top, tower, parapet and gable, alighting on his head and arms until he looked like a little pigeon-tree in full bloom. "Some of them are voyageurs," he said, strewing salted pease for the strutting, cooing, softly crowding birds.
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