During a storm I saw an English sparrow fluttering just above the soft snow, trying to raise with his beak something that had fallen there.
Wishing to see what the bird was attempting to do, I waded through the snowdrift, and found a little sparrow who had fallen head foremost into the light snow, and his companion was endeavoring to extricate him from his perilous position.
I raised the little fellow, but his head dropped, and I thought he was dead; but the warmth of my hand soon revived him, and I was glad to see him fly up and rest on the branch of a tree.
I admired the courage of the assisting sparrow, for it was at a great risk of his life that he helped his companion, the snow affording him no footing.
When all was over, I asked myself these questions: Have not those little birds minds and souls, with heroism, love, and sympathy inciting them to deeds of noble daring? Do we not arrogate too much to ourselves, when we deny to all except human intelligence a continued existence?
