"Aha!" said the sparrow, with a satisfied little nod; "I begin to smell a mice. Somebody's been here, that's certain; but whether these tracks were made by a bird or a chicken or—" and he brought his bright little eyes nearer the ground. Yes, he was pretty sure now. The soft earth was marked by the traces of little feet, but so close together that he couldn't make out the exact form; but just beyond were several larger ones, and he thought he knew to whose feet they belonged. "I guess I know whose foot that shoe will fit," he said to himself.
Next he looked up towards the nest. A nasturtium vine was trained against the pillar, and pieces of twine formed a trellis for it to cling to. The sparrow ran his eye carefully over it. "I thought so," he said to himself; "'twas he."
The delicate leaves of the plant were broken in several places, and hanging to the
