It
fell, just inside the line, with its head up, and my gatherer pounced
upon it like a cat. The decision of the referee was prompt, but even
so, it was almost lost in the sudden stir and murmur which arose behind
us.
Some one came pushing through the crowd, evidently having sprung down
from one of the carriages. I turned to see a young girl, clad in white
lawn, a thin silver-gray veil drawn tight under her chin, who now pushed
forward through the men, and ran up to the black boy who stood with the
bird in his hand, hanging by one wing. She caught it from him, and held
it against her breast, where its blood drabbled her gown and hands. I
remember I saw one drop of blood at its beak, and remember how glad I
was that the bird was in effect dead, so that a trying scene would soon
be ended.
"Stop this at once!" cried the girl, raising an imperative hand. "Aren't
you ashamed, all of you? Look, look at this!" She held out the dying
bird in her hand. "Judge Reeves," she cried, "what are you doing there?"
Our decisive referee grew suddenly abashed. "Ah--ah, my dear young
lady--my very dear young lady," he began.
"Captain Stevenson," exclaimed the girl, whirling suddenly on my second,
"stop this at once! I'm ashamed of you.
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