sure there were several birds in the room. When he got to the rear the notes of the feathered songster seemed more distinct than ever. The man climbed up on a chair to peer behind the window curtain, and, as he did so, John, whose vocal abilities were not alone limited to birds, let out a croak like a big frog.
"That's no bird!" exclaimed the man in disgust, as the crowd broke into a laugh at him. "Am I dreaming or what's the matter? Is this place haunted?"
Then he caught sight of John, who was just puckering up his lips to again imitate a bird.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" the man exclaimed. "Well you're a good one, all right, to fool me. I used to live in the woods and I know birds pretty well."
"That's where I learned to imitate 'em; in the woods," said John, glad of a chance to rest, for his lips and mouth were aching from the strain.
"Can you whistle tunes?" the man asked him.
"A little."
"Give us some music then. I like a good jolly song; and we'll join in the chorus."
Then John poured forth his melody in a series of popular songs, for he was a good whistler, aside from his power to mimic, and, for half an
