"The keyhole!" cried Tim loudly, and at the same moment a huge
blackbird flew out of the shrubberies behind them, and flashed across
the open space toward the orchard on the other side. It whistled a
long, shrill scream of warning. It was bigger by far than any ordinary
blackbird.
"Home! Quick! Run for your lives!" cried some one, as they dashed for
the safety of the elm tree. Even Maria ran. They scrambled on to the
slippery, fallen trunk and gasped for breath as they stood balancing
in an uneasy row, all holding hands.
"It was bigger than a hen," exclaimed Judy inconsequently. "It
couldn't have come through any keyhole." She stared with inquiring,
startled eyes at her brother. The bird and the keyhole were somehow
lumped together in her mind.
"They've stopped," observed Maria, and sat down in the comfortable
niche between the lopped branch and the trunk. It was true. The
wallflowers were as motionless now as painted outlines on a nursery
saucer.
"Because we're safe," said Uncle Felix. "It was a warning."
And then all turned their attention to Tim's discovery of the keyhole.
For the stuffing had been removed.
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