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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bird Stories, by Edith M. Patch
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bird Stories
+
+Author: Edith M. Patch
+
+Illustrator: Robert J. Sim
+
+Release Date: May 26, 2008 [EBook #25600]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Josephine Paolucci
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BIRD STORIES
+
+[Illustration: _Chick, D.D. in his pulpit._]
+
+
+
+
+_LITTLE GATEWAYS TO SCIENCE_
+
+BIRD STORIES
+
+BY EDITH M. PATCH
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+
+ROBERT J. SIM
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BOSTON
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+1926
+
+Copyright, 1921, by
+
+THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS
+
+First Impression, May, 1921
+Second Impression, May, 1922
+Third Impression, March, 1926
+
+THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS PUBLICATIONS
+
+ARE PUBLISHED BY
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+
+IN ASSOCIATION WITH
+
+THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY
+
+
+_Printed in the United States of America_
+
+TO
+
+JUNIOR AUDUBON CLASSES
+
+AND TO
+
+ALL OTHER BOYS AND GIRLS THROUGHOUT THE
+LAND WHO ARE FRIENDLY TO BIRDS
+
+
+
+
+ACKNOWLEDGMENT
+
+
+For help in planning this book, for sharing his bird-notes with the
+writer, and for a critical reading of the manuscript, acknowledgment
+should be made to Mr. Robert J. Sim. Certain events in the lives of Eve
+and Petro and little Solomon Otus are told with reference to his
+observations of eave-swallows and screech owls; his trip to an island
+off the Maine coast for gull-sketches added greatly to an acquaintance
+with Larie; and but for his six-weeks' visit with the loons of "Immer
+Lake," much of the story of Gavia could not have been told. Since Mr.
+Sim contributed not only the pictures to the book, but many items of
+interest to the narrative, it gives the writer pleasure to acknowledge
+his coöperation, both as artist and as field-naturalist.
+
+EDITH M. PATCH
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+I. CHICK, D.D.                     1
+
+II. THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE      18
+
+III. PETER PIPER                  33
+
+IV. GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE           49
+
+V. EVE AND PETRO                  66
+
+VI. UNCLE SAM                     86
+
+VII. CORBIE                      100
+
+VIII. ARDEA'S SOLDIER            121
+
+IX. THE FLYING CLOWN             133
+
+X. THE LOST DOVE                 150
+
+XI. LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS          163
+
+XII. BOB, THE VAGABOND           180
+
+NOTES
+
+CONSERVATION                     198
+
+NOTES TO THE STORIES             199
+
+A BOOK LIST                      208
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+_Chick, D.D. in his pulpit_            _Frontispiece_
+
+_Firs that pointed to the sky_                       2
+
+_"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm"_                4
+
+_Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds_         25
+
+_Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to
+whom he talked pleasantly_                          28
+
+_After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into
+the air and then drop it_                           30
+
+_It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate
+lived that spring_                                  31
+
+_One was named Peter, for his father_               34
+
+_The spot she teetered to most of all_              43
+
+_Dallying happily along the river-edge_             47
+
+_Immer Lake_                                        51
+
+_Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells,
+hidden among the rushes_                            53
+
+_While their children were napping, Gavia and
+Father Loon went to a party_                        61
+
+_At Work in the Plaster Pit_                        72
+
+_The Hunting Flight_                                74
+
+_They always chatted a bit and then went on with
+their work, placing their plaster carefully_        77
+
+_Quaint Clay Pottery_                               81
+
+_A Famous Landmark_                                 85
+
+_Above all other creatures of this great land he had
+been honored_                                       87
+
+_The Yankee-Doodle Twins_                           90
+
+_In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs_            101
+
+_"Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to
+sun-down_                                          109
+
+_Corbie slipped off and amused himself_            116
+
+_She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes
+of rare beauty_                                    122
+
+_Near Ardea's Home_                                124
+
+_That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear
+home, and they both guarded it_                    127
+
+_The Flying Clown_                                 135
+
+_Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding
+days_                                              141
+
+_The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage_                                        144
+
+_Suppose you should find just one pair_            153
+
+_Through all the lonesome woods there is not
+one dove_                                          158
+
+_Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their
+wings was like the sound of thunder_               161
+
+_Oh, the wise, wise look of him_                   165
+
+_Solomon knew the runways of the mice_             168
+
+_Those five adorable babies of Solomon_            171
+
+_He passed the brightest hours dozing_             174
+
+_It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds_       185
+
+_Something south of the Amazon kept calling to
+him_                                               189
+
+_Nature has kept faith with him and brought him
+safely back to his meadow_                         195
+
+
+
+
+BIRD STORIES
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+CHICK, D.D.
+
+
+Right in the very heart of Christmas-tree Land there was a forest of
+firs that pointed to the sky as straight as steeples. A hush lay over
+the forest, as if there were something very wonderful there, that might
+be meant for you if you were quiet and waited for it to come. Perhaps
+you have felt like that when you walked down the aisle of a church, with
+the sun shining through the lovely glass in the windows. Men have often
+called the woods "temples"; so there is, after all, nothing so very
+strange in having a preacher live in the midst of the fir forest that
+grew in Christmas-tree Land.
+
+And the sermon itself was not very strange, for it was about peace and
+good-will and love and helping the world and being happy--all very
+proper things to hear about while the bells in the city churches, way,
+way off, were ringing their glad messages from the steeples.
+
+But the minister was a queer one, and his very first words would have
+made you smile. Not that you would have laughed at him, you know. You
+would have smiled just because he had a way of making you feel happy
+from the minute he began.
+
+He sat on a small branch, and looked down from his pulpit with a dear
+nod of his little head, which would have made you want to cuddle him in
+the hollow of your two hands.
+
+[Illustration: _Firs that pointed to the sky._]
+
+His robe was of gray and white and buff-colored feathers, and he wore a
+black-feather cap and bib.
+
+He began by singing his name. "Chick, D.D.," he called. Now, when a
+person has "D.D." written after his name, we have a right to think that
+he is trying to live so wisely that he can teach us how to be happier,
+too. Of course Minister Chick had not earned those letters by studying
+in college, like most parsons; but he had learned the secret of a happy
+heart in his school in the woods.
+
+Yes, he began his service by singing his name; but the real sermon he
+preached by the deeds he did and the life he lived. So, while we listen
+to his happy song, we can watch his busy hours, until we are acquainted
+with the little black-capped minister who called himself "Chick, D.D."
+
+Chick's Christmas-trees were decorated, and no house in the whole world
+had one lovelier that morning than the hundreds that were all about him
+as far as he could see. The dark-green branches of the pines and cedars
+had held themselves out like arms waiting to be filled, and the snow had
+been dropped on them in fluffy masses, by a quiet, windless storm. It
+had been very soft and lovely that way--a world all white and green
+below, with a sky of wonderful blue that the firs pointed to like
+steeples. Then, as if that were not decoration enough, another storm had
+come, and had put on the glitter that was brightest at the edge of the
+forest where the sun shone on it. The second storm had covered the soft
+white with dazzling ice. It had swept across the white-barked birch
+trees and their purple-brown branches, and had left them shining all
+over. It had dripped icicles from the tips of all the twigs that now
+shone in the sunlight brighter than candles, and tinkled like little
+bells, when the breezes clicked them together, in a tune that is called,
+"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm."
+
+[Illustration: "_Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm._"]
+
+That is the tune that played all about the black-capped bird as he
+flitted out of the forest, singing, "Chick, D.D.," as he came. The
+clear cold air and the exercise of flying after his night's sleep had
+given Chick a good healthy appetite, and he had come out for his
+breakfast.
+
+He liked eggs very well, and there were, as he knew, plenty of them on
+the birch trees, for many a time he had breakfasted there. Eggs with
+shiny black shells, not so big as the head of a pin; so wee, indeed,
+that it took a hundred of them or more to make a meal for even little
+Chick.
+
+But he wasn't lazy. He didn't have to have eggs cooked and brought to
+his table. He loved to hunt for them, and they were never too cold for
+him to relish; so out he came to the birch trees, with a cheery "Chick,
+D.D.," as if he were saying grace for the good food tucked here and
+there along the branches.
+
+When he alighted, though, it wasn't the bark he found, but a hard, thick
+coating of ice. The branches rattled together as he moved among them and
+the icicles that dangled down rang and clicked as they struck one
+another. The ice-storm had locked in Chick's breakfast eggs, and, try as
+he would with his little beak, he couldn't get through to find them.
+
+So Chick's Christmas Day began with hardship: for, though he sang gayly
+through the coldest weather, he needed food to keep him strong and warm.
+He was not foolish enough to spend his morning searching through the
+icy birch trees, for he had a wise little brain in his head and soon
+found out that it was no use to stay there. But he didn't go back to the
+forest and mope about it. Oh, no. Off he flew, down the short hill
+slope, seeking here and there as he went.
+
+Where the soil was rocky under the snow, some sumachs grew, and their
+branches of red berries looked like gay Christmas decorations. The snow
+that had settled heavily on them had partly melted, and the soaked
+berries had stained it so that it looked like delicious pink ice-cream.
+Some of the stain had dripped to the snow below, so there were places
+that looked like pink ice-cream there, too. Then the ice-storm had
+crusted it over, and now it was a beautiful bit of bright color in the
+midst of the white-and-green-and-blue Christmas.
+
+Chick stopped hopefully at the sumach bushes, not because he knew
+anything about ice-cream or cared a great deal about the berries; but
+sometimes there were plump little morsels hidden among them, that he
+liked to pull out and eat. If there was anything there that morning,
+though, it was locked in under the ice; and Chick flew on to the willows
+that showed where the brook ran in summer.
+
+Ah, the willow cones! Surely they would not fail him! He would put his
+bill in at the tip and down the very middle, and find a good tasty bit
+to start with, and then he would feel about in other parts of the cone
+for small insects, which often creep into such places for the winter.
+The flight to the willows was full of courage. Surely there would be a
+breakfast there for a hungry Chick!
+
+But the ice was so heavy on the willows that it had bent them down till
+the tips lay frozen into the crust below.
+
+So from pantry to pantry Chick flew that morning, and every single one
+of them had been locked tight with an icy key. The day was very cold.
+Soon after the ice-storm, the mercury in the thermometer over at the
+Farm-House had dropped way down below the zero mark, and the wind was in
+the north. But the cold did not matter if Chick could find food. His
+feet were bare; but that did not matter, either, if he could eat.
+Nothing mattered to the brave little black-capped fellow, except that he
+was hungry, oh, so hungry! and he had heard no call from anywhere to
+tell him that any other bird had found a breakfast, either.
+
+No, the birds were all quiet, and the distant church-bells had stopped
+their chimes, and the world was still. Still, except for the click of
+the icicles on the twigs when Chick or the wind shook them.
+
+Then, suddenly, there was a sound so big and deep that it seemed to fill
+all the space from the white earth below to the blue sky above. A
+roaring BOOOOOOOM, which was something like the waves rushing against a
+rocky shore, and something like distant thunder, and something like the
+noise of a great tree crashing to the earth after it has been cut, and
+something like the sound that comes before an earthquake.
+
+It is not strange that Chick did not know that sound. No one ever hears
+anything just like it, unless he is out where the snow is very light and
+very deep and covered with a crust.
+
+Then, if the crust is broken suddenly in one place, it may settle like
+the top of a puffed-up pie that is pricked; and the air that has been
+prisoned under the crust is pushed out with a strange and mighty sound.
+
+So that big BOOOOOOOM meant that something had broken the icy crust
+which, a moment before, had lain over the soft snow, all whole, for a
+mile one way and a mile another way, and half a mile to the Farm-House.
+
+Yes, there was the Farmer Boy coming across the field, to the orchard
+that stood on the sandy hillside near the fir forest. He was walking on
+snowshoes, which cracked the crust now and then; and twice on the way to
+the orchard he heard a deep BOOOOOOOM, which he loved just as much as he
+loved the silence of the field when he stopped to listen now and then.
+For the winter sounds were so dear to the Farmer Boy who lived at the
+edge of Christmas-tree Land, that he would never forget them even when
+he should become a man. He would always remember the snowshoe tramps
+across the meadow; and in after years, when his shoulders held burdens
+he could not see, he would remember the bulky load he carried that
+morning without minding the weight a bit; for it was a big bag full of
+Christmas gifts, and the more heavily it pressed against his shoulder,
+the lighter his heart felt.
+
+When he reached the orchard, he dropped the bag on the snow and opened
+it. Part of the gifts he spilled in a heap near the foot of a tree, and
+the rest he tied here and there to the branches. Then he stood still and
+whistled a clear sweet note that sounded like "Fee-bee."
+
+Now, Chick, over by the willows had not known what BOOOOOOOM meant, for
+that was not in his language. But he understood "Fee-bee" in a minute,
+although it was not nearly so loud. For those were words he often used
+himself. They meant, perhaps, many things; but always something
+pleasant. "Fee-bee" was a call he recognized as surely as one boy
+recognizes the signal whistle of his chum.
+
+So, of course, Chick flew to the orchard as quickly as he could and
+found his present tied fast to a branch. The smell of it, the feel of
+it, the taste of it, set him wild with joy. He picked at it with his
+head up, and sang "Chick, D.D." He picked at it with his head down and
+called, "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.D.D., Chick, D.D." He flew here and there, too
+gay with happiness to stay long anywhere, and found presents tied to
+other branches, too. At each one he sang "Chick, D.D., Chick, D.D.D. Dee
+Deee Deeee." It was, "indeed" the song of a hungry bird who had found
+good rich suet to nibble.
+
+The Farmer Boy smiled when he heard it, and waited, for he thought
+others would hear it, too. And they did. Two birds with black-feather
+cap and bib heard it and came; and before they had had time to go
+frantic with delight and song, three others just like them came, and
+then eight more, and by that time there was such a "Chick"-ing and
+"D.D."-ing and such a whisking to and fro of black caps and black bibs,
+that no one paid much attention when Minister Chick, D.D., himself,
+perched on a branch for a minute, and gave the sweetest little warble
+that was ever heard on a winter's day. Then he whistled "Fee-bee" very
+clearly, and went to eating again, heeding the Farmer Boy no more than
+if he were not there at all.
+
+And he wasn't there very long; for he was hungry, too; and that made him
+think about the good whiff he had smelled when he went through the
+kitchen with the snowshoes under his arm, just before he strapped them
+over his moccasins outside the door.
+
+Yes, that was the Farmer Boy going away with a clatter
+over the snow-crust; but who were these coming through
+the air, with jerky flight, and with a jerky note something like
+"Twitterty-twit-twitterty-twit-twitterty-twitterty-twitterty-twit"? They
+flew like goldfinches, and they sounded like goldfinches, both in the
+twitterty song of their flight and their "Tweeet" as they called one
+another. But they were not goldfinches. Oh, my, no! For they were
+dressed in gray, with darker gray stripes at their sides; and when they
+scrambled twittering down low enough to show their heads in the
+sunlight, they could be seen to be wearing the loveliest of crimson
+caps, and some of them had rosy breasts.
+
+The redpolls had come! And they found on top of the snow a pile of dusty
+sweepings from the hay-mow, with grass-seeds in it and some cracked corn
+and crumbs. And there were squash-seeds, and sunflower-seeds, and seedy
+apple-cores that had been broken up in the grinder used to crunch bones
+for the chickens; and there were prune-pits that had been cracked with a
+hammer.
+
+The joy-songs of the birds over the suet and seeds seemed a signal
+through the countryside; and before long others came, too.
+
+Among them there was a black-and-white one, with a patch of scarlet on
+the back of his head, who called, "Ping," as if he were speaking through
+his nose. There was one with slender bill and bobbed-off tail, black
+cap and white breast, grunting, "Yank yank," softly, as he ate.
+
+But there was none to come who was braver or happier than Chick, D.D.,
+and none who sang so gayly. After that good Christmas feast he and his
+flock returned each day; and when, in due time, the ice melted from the
+branches, it wasn't just suet they ate. It was other things, too.
+
+That is how it happened that when, early in the spring, the Farmer Boy
+examined the apple-twigs, to see whether he should put on a nicotine
+spray for the aphids and an arsenical spray for the tent caterpillars,
+he couldn't find enough aphids to spray or enough caterpillars, either.
+Chick, D.D. and his flock had eaten their eggs.
+
+Again, late in the summer, when it was time for the yellow-necked
+caterpillars, the red-humped caterpillars, the tiger caterpillars, and
+the rest of the hungry crew, to strip the leaves from the orchard, the
+Farmer Boy walked among the rows, to see how much poison he would need
+to buy for the August spray. And again he found that he needn't buy a
+single pound. Chick, D.D. and his family were tending his orchard!
+
+Yes, Minister Chick was a servant in the good world he lived in. He
+saved leaves for the trees, he saved rosy apples for city girls and
+boys to eat, and he saved many dollars in time and spray-money for the
+Farmer Boy.
+
+And all he charged was a living wage: enough suet in winter to tide him
+over the icy spells, and free house-rent in the old hollow post the
+Farmer Boy had nailed to the trunk of one of the apple trees.
+
+That old hollow post was a wonderful home. Chick, D.D. had crept into it
+for the first time Christmas afternoon, when he had eaten until dusk
+overtook him before he had time to fly back to the shelter of the fir
+forest. He found that he liked that post. Its walls were thick and they
+kept out the wind; and, besides, was it not handy by the suet?
+
+In the spring he liked it for another reason, too--the best reason in
+the world. It gave great happiness to Mrs. Chick. "Fee-bee?" he had
+asked her as he called her attention to it; and "Fee-bee," she had
+replied on looking it over. So he said, "Chick, D.D." in delight, and
+then perched near by, while he warbled cosily a brief song jumbled full
+of joy.
+
+Chick and his mate had indeed chosen well, for it is a poor wall that
+will not work both ways. If the sides of the hollow post had been thick
+enough to keep out the coldest of the winter cold, they were also thick
+enough to keep out the hottest of the summer heat. If they kept out the
+wet of the driving storm, they held enough of the old-wood moisture
+within so that the room did not get too dry. Of course, it needed a
+little repair. But, then, what greater fun than putting improvements
+into a home? Especially when it can be done by the family, without
+expense!
+
+So Mr. and Mrs. Chick fell to work right cheerily, and dug the hole
+deeper with their beaks. They didn't leave the chips on the ground
+before their doorway, either. They took them off to some distance, and
+had no heap near by, as a sign to say, "A bird lives here." For,
+sociable as they were all winter, they wanted quiet and seclusion within
+the walls of their own home.
+
+And such a home it was! After it had been hollowed to a suitable depth,
+Chick had brought in a tuft of white hair that a rabbit had left among
+the brambles. Mrs. Chick had found some last year's thistle-down and
+some this year's poplar cotton, and a horse-hair from the lane. Then
+Chick had picked up a gay feather that had floated down from a scarlet
+bird that sang in the tree-tops, and tore off silk from a cocoon. So,
+bit by bit, they gathered their treasures, until many a woodland and
+meadow creature and plant had had a share in the softness of a nest
+worthy of eight dear white eggs with reddish-brown spots upon them. It
+was such a soft nest, in fact, with such dear eggs in it, that Chick
+brooded there cosily himself part of the time, and was happy to bring
+food to his mate when she took her turn.
+
+In eleven or twelve days from the time the eggs were laid, there were
+ten birds in that home instead of two. The fortnight that followed was
+too busy for song. Chick and his mate looked the orchard over even more
+thoroughly than the Farmer Boy did; and before those eight hungry babies
+of theirs were ready to leave the nest, it began to seem as if Chick had
+eaten too many insect eggs in the spring, there were so few caterpillars
+hatching out. But the fewer there were, the harder they hunted; and the
+harder they hunted, the scarcer became the caterpillars. So when Dee,
+Chee, Fee, Wee, Lee, Bee, Mee, and Zee were two weeks old, and came out
+of the hollow post to seek their own living, the whole family had to
+take to the birches until a new crop of insect eggs had been laid in the
+orchard. This was no hardship. It only added the zest of travel and
+adventure to the pleasure of the days. Besides, it isn't just orchards
+that Chick, D.D. and his kind take care of. It is forests and
+shade-trees, too.
+
+Hither and yon they hopped and flitted, picking the weevils out of the
+dead tips of the growing pine trees, serving the beech trees such a good
+turn that the beechnut crop was the heavier for their visit, doing a bit
+for the maple-sugar trees, and so on through the woodland.
+
+Not only did they mount midget guard over the mighty trees, but they
+acted as pilots to hungry birds less skillful than themselves in finding
+the best feeding-places. "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.," they called in
+thanksgiving, as they found great plenty; and warblers and kinglets and
+creepers and many a bird beside knew the sound, and gathered there to
+share the bountiful feast that Chick, D.D. had discovered.
+
+The gorgeous autumn came, the brighter, by the way, for the leaves that
+Chick had saved. The Bob-o-links, in traveling suits, had already left
+for the prairies of Brazil and Paraguay, by way of Florida and Jamaica.
+The strange honk of geese floated down from V-shaped flocks, as if they
+were calling, "Southward Ho!" The red-winged blackbirds gave a wonderful
+farewell chorus. Flock by flock and kind by kind, the migrating birds
+departed.
+
+_WHY?_
+
+Well, never ask Chick, D.D. The north with its snows is good enough for
+him. Warblers may go and nuthatches may come. 'Tis all one to Chick. He
+is not a bird to follow fashions others set.
+
+This bird-of-the-happy-heart has courage to meet the coldest day with a
+joyous note of welcome. The winter is cheerier for his song. And, as you
+have guessed, it is not by word alone that he renders service. The trees
+of the north are the healthier for his presence. Because of him, the
+purse of man is fatter, and his larder better stocked. He has done no
+harm as harm is counted in the world he lives in. It is written in books
+that, in all the years, not one crime, not even one bad habit, is known
+of any bird who has called himself "Chick, D.D."
+
+Because the world is always better for his living in it; and because no
+one can watch the black-capped sprite without catching, for a moment at
+least, a message of cheer and courage and service, does he not name
+himself rightly a minister?
+
+Yes, surely, the little parson who dwells in the heart of Christmas-tree
+Land has a right to his "D.D.," even though he did not earn it in a
+college of men.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE
+
+
+Larie was all alone in a little world. He had lived there many days, and
+had spent the time, minute by minute and hour by hour, doing nothing at
+all but growing. That one thing he had done well. There is no doubt
+about that; for he had grown from a one-celled little beginning of life
+into a creature so big that he filled the whole of his world crammed
+full. It was smooth, and it was hard, and its sides were curved around
+and about him so tightly that he could not even stretch his legs. There
+was no door. Larie was a prisoner. The prison-walls of his world held
+him so fast that he could not budge. That is, he could not budge
+anything but his head. He could move that a little.
+
+Now, that is what we might call being in a fairly tight place. But you
+don't know Larie if you think he could not get out of it. There are few
+places so tight that we can't get out of them if we go about it the
+right way, and make the best of what power we have. That is just what
+Larie did. He had power to move his head enough to tap, with his beak,
+against the wall of his world that had become his prison. So he kept
+tapping with his beak. On the end of it was a queer little knob. With
+this he knocked against the hard smooth wall.
+
+"Tap! tip tip!" went Larie's knob. Then he would rest, for it is not
+easy work hammering and pounding, all squeezed in so tight. But he kept
+at it again and again and again. And then at last he cracked his
+prison-wall; and lo, it was not a very thick wall after all! No thicker
+than an eggshell!
+
+That is the way with many difficulties. They seem so very hard at first,
+and so very hopeless, and then end by being only a way to something
+very, very pleasant.
+
+So here was Larie in his second world. Its thin, soft floor and its
+thick, soft sides were made of fine bright-green grass, which had turned
+yellowish in drying. It had no roof. The sun shone in at the top. The
+wind blew over. There had been no sun or wind in his eggshell world. It
+was comfortable to have them now. They dried his down and made it
+fluffy. There was plenty of room for its fluffiness. He could stretch
+his legs, too, and could wiggle his wings against his sides. This felt
+good. And he could move his head all he cared to. But he did not begin
+thumping the sides of his new world with it. He tucked it down between
+two warm little things close by, and went to sleep. The two warm little
+things were his sister and brother, for Larie was not alone in his
+nest-world.
+
+The sun went down and the wind blew cold and the rain beat hard from the
+east; but Larie knew nothing of all this. A roof had settled down over
+his world while he napped. It was white as sea foam, and soft and dry
+and, oh, so very cosy, as it spread over him. The roof to Larie's second
+world was his mother's breast.
+
+The storm and the night passed, and the sun and the fresh spring breeze
+again came in at the top of the nest. Then something very big stood near
+and made a shadow, and Larie heard a strange sound. The something very
+big was his mother, and the strange sound was her first call to
+breakfast. When Larie heard that, he opened his mouth. But nothing went
+into it. His brother and sister were being fed. He had never had any
+food in his mouth in all the days of his life. To be sure, his egg-world
+was filled with nourishment that he had taken into his body and had used
+in growing; but he had never done anything with his beak except to knock
+with the knob at the end of it against the shell when he pipped his way
+out. What a handy little knob that had been--just right for tapping.
+But, now that there was no hard wall about him to break, what should he
+use it for? Well, nothing at all; for the joke of it is, there was no
+knob there. It had dropped off, and he could never have another.
+
+Never mind: he could open his beak just as well without it; and
+by-and-by his mother came again with a second call for breakfast, and
+that time Larie got his share. After that, there were calls for luncheon
+and for dinner, and luncheon again between that and supper; and part of
+the calls were from Mother and part from Father Gull.
+
+Larie's second world, it seems, was a place where he and his brother and
+sister were hungry and were fed. This is a world in which dwell, for a
+time, all babies, whether they have two legs, like you and Larie, or
+four, like a pig with a curly tail, or six, like Nata who lived in
+Shanty Creek.[1] An important world it is, too; for health and strength
+and growing up, all depend upon it.
+
+There was, however, only a rim of soft fine dry grass to show where
+Larie's nest-world left off and his third world began. So it is not
+surprising that, as soon as their legs were strong enough, Larie and his
+brother and sister stepped abroad; for what baby does not creep out of
+his crib as soon as ever he can?
+
+They could not, for all this show of bravery, feed themselves like the
+sons of Peter Pan, or swim the waters like Gavia's two Olairs at Immer
+Lake. However grown up the three youngsters may have felt when they
+began to walk, Father and Mother Gull made no mistake about the matter,
+but fed them breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, and stuffed them so full
+of luncheons between meals, that the greedy little things just had to
+grow, so as to be able to swallow all that was brought them.
+
+There were times, certainly, when Larie still felt very much a baby,
+even though he ran about nimbly enough. For instance, when he made a
+mistake and asked some gull, that was not his father or mother, for
+food, and got a rough beating instead of what he begged for!
+
+Oh, then he felt like a forlorn little baby, indeed; for it was not
+pleasant to be whipped, and that sometimes cruelly, when he didn't know
+any better; for all the big gulls looked alike, with their foam-white
+bodies and their pearl-gray capes, and they were all bringing food; so
+how could he know who were and who were not his Father and Mother Gull?
+Well, he must learn to be careful, that was all, and stay where his very
+own could find and feed him; for gulls can waste no time on the young of
+other gulls--their own keep them busy enough, the little greedies!
+
+Again, Larie must have felt very wee and helpless whenever a big man
+walked that way, shaking the ground with his heavy step and making a
+dark shadow as he came. Then, oh, then, Larie was a baby, and hid near a
+tuft of grass or between two stones, tucking his head out of sight, and
+keeping quite still as an ostrich does, or,--yes,--as perhaps a shy
+young human does, who hides his head in the folds of his mother's skirt
+when a stranger asks him to shake hands.
+
+But few men trod upon Larie's island-world, and no man came to do him
+harm; for _the regulations under the Migratory-Bird Treaty Act prohibit
+throughout the United States the killing of gulls at any time_. That
+means that the laws of our country protect the gull, as of course you
+will understand, though Larie knew nothing about the matter.
+
+Yes, think of it! There was a law, made at Washington in the District of
+Columbia, which helped take care of little downy Larie way off in the
+north on a rocky island.
+
+I said "helped take care of"; for no law, however good it may be, can
+more than help make matters right. There has to be, besides, some sort
+of policeman to stand by the law and see that it is obeyed.
+
+So Larie, although he never knew that, either, had a policeman; and the
+law and the policeman together kept him quite safe from the dangers
+which not many years ago most threatened the gulls on our coast islands.
+In those days, before there were gull-laws and gull-policemen, people
+came to the nests and took their eggs, which are larger than hens' eggs
+and good to eat; and people came, too, and killed these birds for their
+feathers. Then it was that the beautiful stiff wing-feathers, which
+should have been spread in flight, were worn upon the hats of women; and
+the soft white breast-feathers, which should have been brooding brownish
+eggs all spattered over with pretty marks, were stuffed into
+feather-beds for people to sleep on.
+
+Well it was for Larie that he lived when he did; for his third world was
+a wonderful place and it was right that he should enjoy it in safety.
+When Larie first left his nest and went out to walk, he stepped upon a
+shelf of reddish rock, and the whole wall from which his shelf stuck out
+was reddish rock, too. Beyond, the rocks were greenish, and beyond that
+they were gray. Oh! the reddish and greenish and grayish rocks were
+beautiful to see when the fog lifted and the sun shone on them.
+
+But Larie's island-world was not all rock of different colors: for over
+there, not too far away to see, was a dark-green spruce tree. Because
+rough winds had swept over this while it was growing, its branches were
+scraggly and twisted. They could not grow straight and even, like a tree
+in a quiet forest. But never think, for all of that, that Larie's spruce
+was not good to look upon. There is something splendid about a tree
+which, though bending to the will of the mighty winds that work their
+force upon it, grows sturdy and strong in spite of all. Such trees are
+somehow like boys and girls, who meet hardships with such courage when
+they are young, that they grow strong and sturdy of spirit, and warm of
+heart, with the sort of mind that can understand trouble in the world,
+and so think of ways to help it.
+
+[Illustration: _Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds._]
+
+Yes, perhaps Larie's tree was an emblem of courage. However that may be,
+it was a favorite spot on the island. Often it could be seen, that dark,
+rugged tree, which had battled with winds from its seedling days and
+grown victoriously, with three white gulls resting on its squarish
+top--birds, too, that had lived in rough winds and had grown strong in
+their midst.
+
+There was more on the island than rocks and trees. Over much of it lay a
+carpet of grass. Soft and fine and vivid green it was, of the kind that
+had been gathered for Larie's nest and had turned yellowish in drying.
+Under the carpet, in underground lanes as long as a man's long arm,
+lived Larie's young neighbor-folk--little petrels, sometimes called
+"Mother Carey's Chickens."
+
+There was even more on the island yet: for high on the rocks stood a
+lighthouse; and the man who kept the signal lights in order was no other
+than Larie's policeman himself. A useful life he lived, saving ships of
+the sea by the power of light, and birds of the sea by the power of law.
+
+So that was Larie's third world--an island with a soft rug of
+bright-green grass, and big shelfy rocks of red and green and gray, and
+rugged dark-green trees, with white gulls resting on the branches, and a
+lighthouse with its signal.
+
+All around and about that island lay Larie's fourth world--the sea.
+When his great day for swimming came, he slipped off into the water; and
+after that it was his, whenever he wished--his to swim or float upon,
+the wide-away ocean reaching as far as any gull need care to swim or
+float.
+
+All over and above the sea stretched Larie's fifth world--the air. When
+his great day for flying came, he rose against the breeze, and his wings
+took him into that high-away kingdom that lifted as far as any gull need
+care to fly.
+
+Now that Larie could both swim and fly, he was large, and acted in many
+ways like an old gull; but the feathers of his body were not white, and
+he did not wear over his back and the top of his spread wings a
+pearl-gray mantle.
+
+Nor was he given the garb of his father and mother for a traveling suit,
+that winter when he went south with the others, to a place where the
+Gulf Stream warmed the water whereon he swam and the air wherein he
+flew.
+
+But there came a time when Larie had put off the clothes of his youth
+and donned the robe of a grown gull. And as he sailed in the breezes of
+his fifth world, which blew over the cold sea, and across the island
+with a carpet of green and rocks of red and green and gray,--for he was
+again in the North,--he was beautiful to behold, the flight of a gull
+being so wonderful that the heart of him who sees quickens with joy.
+
+Larie was not alone. There were so many with him that, when they flew
+together in the distance, they looked as thick as snowflakes in the air;
+and when they screamed together, the din was so great that people who
+were not used to hearing them put their hands over their ears.
+
+And more than that, Larie was not alone; for there sailed near him in
+the air and floated beside him in the sea another gull, at whom he did
+not scream, but to whom he talked pleasantly, saying, "me-you," in a
+musical tone that she understood.
+
+[Illustration: _Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to whom he
+talked pleasantly._]
+
+Larie and his mate found much to do that spring. One game that never
+failed to interest them was meeting the ships many, many waves out at
+sea, and following them far on their way. For on the ships were men who
+threw away food they could not use, and the gulls gathered in flocks to
+scramble and fight for this. Children on board the ships laughed merrily
+to see them, and tossed crackers and biscuits out for the fun of
+watching the hungry-birds come close, to feed.
+
+Many a feast, too, the fishermen gave the gulls, when they sorted the
+contents of their nets and threw aside what they did not want.
+
+Besides this, Larie and his mate and their comrades picnicked in high
+glee at certain harbors where garbage was left; for gulls are thrifty
+folk and do not waste the food of the world.
+
+From their feeding habits you will know that these beautiful birds are
+scavengers, eating things which, if left on the sea or shore, would make
+the water foul and the air impure. Thus it is that Nature gives to a
+scavenger the duty of service to all living creatures; and the freshness
+of the ocean and the cleanness of the sands of the shore are in part a
+gift of the gulls, for which we should thank and protect them.
+
+Relish as they might musty bread and mouldy meat, Larie and his mate
+enjoyed, too, the sport of catching fresh food; and many a clam hunt
+they had in true gull style. They would fly above the water near the
+shore, and when they were twenty or thirty feet high, would plunge down
+head-first. Then they would poke around for a clam, with their heads and
+necks under water and their wings out and partly unfolded, but not
+flopping; and a comical sight they were!
+
+[Illustration: _After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air
+a hundred feet or so, and then drop it._]
+
+[Illustration: _It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived
+that spring._]
+
+After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air a hundred feet
+or so above the rocks, and then, stretching way up with his head, drop
+the clam from his beak. Easily, with wings fluttering slightly, Larie
+would follow the clam, floating gracefully, though quickly, down to
+where it had cracked upon the rocks. The morsel in its broken shell was
+now ready to eat, for Larie and his mate did not bake their sea-food or
+make it into chowder. Cold salad flavored with sea-salt was all they
+needed.
+
+Exciting as were these hunts with the flocks of screaming gulls, it was
+not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived that spring. For under
+the blue of the airy sky there was an ocean, and in that ocean there was
+an island, and on that island there was a nest, and in that nest there
+was an egg--the first that the mate of Larie had ever laid. And in that
+egg was a growing gull, their eldest son--a baby Larie, alone inside his
+very first world.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 1: _Hexapod Stories_, page 80.]
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+PETER PIPER
+
+
+One was named Sandy, because Sandy is a Scotch name and there were
+blue-bells growing on the rocks; so it seemed right that one of them
+should have a Scotch name, and what could be better, after all, than
+Sandy for a sandpiper? One was named Pan, because he piped sweetly among
+the reeds by the river. One, who came out of his eggshell before his
+brothers, was named Peter, for his father.
+
+But Mother Piper never called her children Sandy and Pan and Peter. She
+called them all "Pete." She was so used to calling her mate "Pete," that
+that name was easier than any other for her to say.
+
+The three of them played by the river all day long. Each amused himself
+in his own way and did not bother his brothers, although they did not
+stray too far apart to talk to one another. This they did by saying,
+"Peep," now and then.
+
+About once an hour, and sometimes oftener, Mother Piper came flying over
+from Faraway Island, crying, "Pete, Pete, Pete," as if she were worried.
+It is no wonder that she was anxious about Sandy and Peter and Pan, for,
+to begin with, she had had four fine children, and the very first night
+they were out of their nest, the darlings, a terrible prowling animal
+named Tom or Tabby had killed one of her babies.
+
+[Illustration: _One was named Peter, for his father._]
+
+But Peter and Pan and Sandy were too young to know much about being
+afraid. So they played by the river all day long, care-free and happy.
+Their sweet little voices sounded contented as they said, "Peep," one
+to another. Their queer little tails looked frisky as they went
+bob-bob-bob-bing up and down every time they stepped, and sometimes when
+they didn't. Their dear little heads went forward and back in a merry
+sort of jerk. There were so many things to do, and every one of them a
+pleasure!
+
+Oh! here was Sandy clambering up the rocky bank, so steep that there was
+roothold only for the blue-bells, with stems so slender that one name
+for them is "hair-bell." But Sandy did not fall. He tripped lightly up
+and about, with sure feet; and where the walking was too hard, he
+fluttered his wings and flew to an easier place. Once he reached the top
+of the bank, where the wild roses were blossoming. And wherever he went,
+and wherever he came, he found good tasty insects to eat; so he had
+picnic-luncheons all along the way.
+
+Ho! here was Pan wandering where the river lapped the rocky shore. His
+long slender legs were just right for wading, and his toes felt
+comfortable in the cool water. There was a pleasing scent from the
+sweet-gale bushes, which grew almost near enough to the river to go
+wading, too; and there was a spicy smell when he brushed against the
+mint, which wore its blossoms in pale purple tufts just above the leaves
+along the stem. And every now and then, whether he looked at the top of
+the water or at the rocks on the shore-edge, he found tempting bits of
+insect game to eat as he waded along.
+
+Oho! here was Peter on an island as big as an umbrella, with a
+scooped-out place at one side as deep as the hollow in the palm of a
+man's hand. This was shaped exactly right for Peter's bathtub, and as
+luck would have it, it was filled to the brim with water. Such a cool
+splashing--once, twice, thrice, with a long delightful flutter; and then
+out into the warm sunshine, where the feathers could be puffed out and
+dried! These were the very first real feathers he had ever had, and he
+hadn't had them very long; and my, oh, my! but it was fun running his
+beak among them, and fixing them all fine, like a grown-up bird. And
+when he was bathed and dried, there was a snack to eat near by floating
+toward him on the water.
+
+Oh! Ho! and Oho! it was a day to be gay in, with so many new amusements
+wherever three brave, fearless little sandpipers might stray.
+
+Then came sundown; and in the pleasant twilight Peter and Pan and Sandy
+somehow found themselves near each other on the bank, still walking
+forth so brave and bold, and yet each close enough to his brothers to
+hear a "Peep," were it ever so softly whispered.
+
+Did it just happen that about that time Mother Piper came flying low
+over the water from Faraway Island to Nearby Island, calling, "Pete,
+Pete, Pete," in a different tone, a sort of sundown voice?
+
+Was that the way to speak to three big, 'most-grown-up sandpiper sons,
+who had wandered about so free of will the livelong day?
+
+Ah, but where were the 'most-grown-up sons? Gone with the sun at
+sundown; and, instead, there were three cosy little birds, with their
+heads still rumpled over with down that was not yet pushed off the ends
+of their real feathers, and a tassel of down still dangling from the tip
+of each funny tail.
+
+And three dear, sweet, little voices answered, "Peep," every time Mother
+Piper called, "Pete"; and three little sons tagged obediently after her
+as she called them from place to place all round and all about Nearby
+Island, teaching them, perhaps, to make sure there was no Tabby and no
+Tommy on their camping-ground.
+
+So it was that, after twilight, when darkness was at hand and the curfew
+sounded for human children to be at home, Peter and Pan and Sandy
+settled down near each other and near Mother Piper for the night.
+
+And where was Peter Piper, who had been abroad the day long, paying
+little attention to his family? He, too, at nightfall, had come flying
+low from Faraway Island; and now, with his head tucked behind his wing,
+was asleep not a rod away from Mother Piper and their three sons.
+
+Somehow it was very pleasant to know that they were near together
+through the starlight--the five of them who had wandered forth alone by
+sunlight.
+
+But not for long was the snug little Nearby Island to serve for a night
+camp. Mother Piper had other plans. Like the wise person she was, she
+let her children find out many things for themselves, though she kept in
+touch with them from time to time during the day, to satisfy herself
+that they were safe. And at night she found that they were willing
+enough to mind what they were told to do, never seeming to bother their
+heads over the fact that every now and then she led them to a strange
+camp-ground.
+
+So they did not seem surprised or troubled when, one night soon, Mother
+Piper, instead of calling them to Nearby Island, as had been her wont,
+rested patiently in plain sight on a stump near the shore and, with
+never a word, waited for the sunset hour to reach the time of dusk. Then
+she flew to the log where Peter Piper had been teetering up and down,
+and what she said to him I do not know. But a minute later, back she
+flew, this time rather high overhead, and swooped down toward the little
+ones with a quick "Pete-weet." After her came Peter Piper flying, also
+rather high overhead, and swooping down toward his young. Then Mother
+and Peter Piper went in low, slow flight to Faraway Island.
+
+Were they saying good-night to their babies? Were their sons to be left
+on the bank by themselves, now that they had shaken the last fringe of
+down from their tails and lost the fluff from their heads? Did they need
+no older company, now that they looked like grown-up sandpipers except
+that their vests had no big polka dots splashed over them?
+
+Ah, no! At Mother Piper's "Pete-weet," Peter answered, "Peep," lifted
+his wings, and flew right past Nearby Island and landed on a rock on
+Faraway Island. And, "Peep," called Sandy, fluttering after. And,
+"Peep," said Pan, stopping himself in the midst of his teetering, and
+flying over Nearby Island on his way to the new camp-ground.
+
+That is how it happened that they had their last luncheon on the shore
+of Faraway Island before snuggling down to sleep that night.
+
+One of the haunts of Peter and Pan and Sandy was Cardinal-Flower Path.
+This lovely place was along the marshy shore not far from Nearby Island.
+It was almost white with the fine blooms of water-parsnip, an
+interesting plant from the top of its blossom head to the lowest of its
+queer under-water leaves. And here and there, among the lacy white, a
+stalk of a different sort grew, with red blossoms of a shade so rich
+that it is called the cardinal flower. Every now and then a
+ruby-throated hummingbird darted quickly above the water-parsnips
+straight to the cardinal throat of the other flower, and found
+refreshment served in frail blossom-ware of the glorious color he loved
+best of all.
+
+And it would be well for all children of men to know that, although
+three bright active children of sandpipers ran teetering about
+Cardinal-Flower Path many and many a day, the place was as lovely to
+look upon at sundown as at sunrise, for not one wonderful spray had been
+broken from its stem. So it happened, because the children who played
+there were Sandy and Peter and Pan, that the cardinal flowers lived
+their life as it was given them by Nature, serving refreshments for
+hummingbirds through the summer day, and setting seeds according to
+their kind for other cardinal flowers and other hummingbirds another
+year.
+
+But even the charms of Cardinal-Flower Path did not hold Pan and Peter
+and Sandy many weeks. They seemed to be a sort of gypsy folk, with the
+love of wandering in their hearts; and it is pleasant to know that, as
+soon as they were grown enough, there was nothing to prevent their
+journeying forth with Peter and Mother Piper.
+
+Of all the strange and wonderful plants and birds and insects they met
+upon the way I cannot tell you, for, in all my life, I have not traveled
+so far as these three children went long before they were one year old.
+They went, in fact, way to the land where the insects live that are so
+hard and beautiful and gemlike that people sometimes use them for
+jewels. These are called "Brazilian beetles," and you can tell by that
+name where the Pipers spent the winter, though it may seem a very far
+way for a young bird to go, with neither train nor boat to give him a
+lift.
+
+Not even tired they were, from all accounts, those little feather-folk;
+and why, indeed, should they be tired? A jaunt from a northern country
+to Brazil was not too much for a healthy bird, with its sure breath and
+pure rich blood. There was food enough along the trail--they chose their
+route wisely enough for that, you may be sure; and they were in no great
+haste either going or coming.
+
+"Coming," did I say? Why, surely! You didn't think those sandpipers
+_stayed_ in Brazil? What did they care for green gem-like beetles, after
+all? The only decorations they ever wore were big dark polka dots on
+their vests. Perhaps they were all pleased with them, when their old
+travel-worn feathers dropped out and new ones came in. Who can tell?
+They had a way of running their bills through their plumage after a
+bath, as if they liked to comb their pretty feathers.
+
+Be that as it may, there was something beneath their feathers that
+quickened like the heart of a journeying gypsy when, with nodding heads
+and teetering tails, they started again for the north.
+
+Did they dream of a bank where the blue-bells grew, and a shore spiced
+with the fragrance of wild mint?
+
+No one will ever know just how Nature whispers to the bird, "Northward
+ho!" But we know they come in the springtime, and right glad are we to
+hear their voices.
+
+So Peter Piper, Junior, came back again to the shore of Nearby Island.
+And do you think Sandy and Pan walked behind him for company, calling,
+"Peep," one to another? And do you think Mother Piper and Father Peter
+showed him the way to Faraway Island at sun-down, and guarded him o'
+nights? Not they! They were busy, every one, with their own affairs, and
+Peter would just have to get along without them.
+
+Well, Peter could--Peter and Dot. For of course he was a grown-up
+sandpiper now, with a mate of his own, nodding her wise little head the
+livelong day, and teetering for joy all over the rocks where the red
+columbine grew.
+
+[Illustration: _The spot she teetered to most of all._]
+
+The spot she teetered to most of all was a little cup-shaped hollow high
+up on the border of the ledge, where the sumachs were big as small trees
+and where the sweet fern scented the air. The hollow was lined tidily
+and softly with dried grass, and made a comfortable place to sit, no
+doubt. At least, Dot liked it; and Peter must have had some fondness for
+it, too, for he slipped on when Dot was not there herself. It just
+fitted their little bodies, and there were four eggs in it of which any
+sandpiper might well have been proud; for they were much, much bigger
+than most birds the size of Dot could ever lay. In fact, her little body
+could hardly have covered them snugly enough to keep them warm if they
+had not been packed just so, with the pointed ends pushed down into the
+middle of the rather deep nest.
+
+The eggs were creamy white, with brown spots splashed over them--the
+proper sort of eggs (if only they had been smaller) to tuck beneath a
+warm breast decorated with pretty polka dots. But still, they must have
+been her very own, or Dot could not have taken such good care of them.
+
+Because of this care, day by day the little body inside each shell grew
+from the wonderful single cell it started life with, to a many-celled
+creature, all fitted out with lungs and a heart and rich warm blood, and
+very slender legs, and very dear heads with very bright eyes, and all
+the other parts it takes to make a bird. When the birds were all made,
+they broke the shells and pushed aside the pieces. And four more capable
+little rascals never were hatched.
+
+Why, almost before one would think they had had time to dry their down
+and stretch their legs and get used to being outside of shells instead
+of inside, those little babies walked way to the edge of the river, and
+from that time forth never needed their nest.
+
+And look! the fluffy, cunning little dears are nodding their heads and
+teetering their tails! Yes, that proves that they must be sandpipers,
+even if we did have doubts of those eggs. Ah! Dot knew what she was
+about all along. The size of her eggs might fool a person, but she had
+not worried. Why, indeed, should she be troubled? Those big shells had
+held food-material enough, so that her young, when hatched, were so
+strong and well-developed that they could go wandering forth at once.
+They did not lie huddled in their nest, helplessly begging Peter Piper
+and Mother Dot to bring them food. Not they! Out they toddled, teetering
+along the shore, having picnics from the first--the little gypsy babies!
+
+Tabby did not catch any of them, though one night she tried, and gave
+Dot an awful scare. It was while they were still tiny enough to be
+tucked under their mother's feathers after sundown, and before they
+could manage to get, stone by stone, to Nearby Island. So they were
+camped on the shore, and the prowling cat came very near. So near, in
+fact, that Mother Dot fluttered away from her young, calling back to
+them, in a language they understood, to scatter a bit, and then lie so
+still that not even the green eyes of the cat could see a motion. The
+four little Pipers obeyed. Not one of them questioned, "Why, Mother?" or
+whined, "I don't want to," or whimpered, "I'm frightened," or boasted,
+"Pooh, there's nothing here."
+
+Dot led the crouching enemy away by fluttering as if she had a broken
+wing, and she called for help with all the agony of her mother-love.
+"Pete," she cried, "Pete," and "Pete, Pete, Pete!"
+
+No one who hears the wail of a frightened sandpiper begging protection
+for her young can sit unmoved.
+
+Someone at the Ledge House heard Dot, and gave a low whistle and a quick
+command. Then there was a dashing rush through the bushes, that sounded
+as if a dog were chasing a cat. A few minutes later Dot's voice again
+called in the dark--this time, not in anguish of heart, but very cosily
+and gently. "Pete-weet?" she whispered; and four precious little babies
+murmured, "Peep," as they snuggled close to the spotted breast of their
+mother.
+
+So it happened that two sons and two daughters of Peter Piper, Junior,
+played and picnicked and bathed by the river. The one who had first
+pipped his eggshell was named Peter the Third, for his father and his
+grandfather, and a finer young sandpiper never shook the fluff of down
+from his head or the fringe from his tail, when his real feathers pushed
+into their places.
+
+What his brother and sisters were named, I never knew; and it didn't
+matter much, for their mother called them all "Pete."
+
+[Illustration: _Dallying happily along the river-edge._]
+
+Peter the Third and the others grew up as Pan and Peter and Sandy had
+grown, dallying happily along the river-edge, and as happily accepting
+the guidance of their mother, who made her slow flight from Faraway
+Island every now and then, usually so low that her spotted breast was
+reflected in the clear water as she came, the white markings in her
+wings showing above and below.
+
+Of course, as soon as the season came for their migration journey, the
+four of them started cheerfully off with Peter and Dot, for a leisurely
+little flight to Brazil and back--to fill the days, as it were, with
+pleasant wanderings, from the time the hummingbird fed at the feast of
+the cardinal flower in late summer, until he should be hovering over the
+columbine in the spring.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE
+
+
+Once upon a time, it was four millions of years ago. There were no
+people then all the way from Florida to Alaska. There was, indeed, in
+all this distance, no land to walk upon, except islands in the west
+where the Rocky Mountains are now. That is the only place where the
+country that is now the United States of America stuck up out of the
+water. Everywhere else were the waves of the sea. There were no people,
+even on the Rocky Mountain Islands. None at all.
+
+No, the creatures that visited those island shores in those old days
+were not people, but birds. Nearly as large as men they were, and they
+had teeth on their long slender jaws, and they had no wings. They came
+to the islands, perhaps, only at nesting-time; for their legs and feet
+were fitted for swimming and not walking, and they lived upon fish in
+the sea. So they dwelt, with no man to see them, on the water that
+stretched from sea to sea; and what their voices were like, no man
+knows.
+
+A million years, perhaps, passed by, and then another million, and maybe
+another million still; and the birds without wings and with teeth were
+no more. In their places were other birds, much smaller--birds with
+wings and no teeth; but something like them, for all that: for their
+feet also were fitted for swimming and not walking, and they, too,
+visited the shore little, if at all, except at nesting-time, and they
+lived upon fish in the water.
+
+And what their voices were like, all men may know who will go to the
+wilderness lakes and listen; for, wonderful as it may seem, these second
+birds have come down to us through perhaps a million years, and live
+to-day, giving a strange clear cry before a storm, and at other times
+calling weirdly in lone places, so that men who are within hearing
+always say, "The loons are laughing."
+
+Gavia was a loon who had spent the winter of 1919-1920 on the Atlantic
+Ocean. There had hardly been, perhaps, in a million years a handsomer
+loon afloat on any sea. Even in her winter coat she was beautiful; and
+when she put on her spring suit, she was lovelier still.
+
+She and her mate had enjoyed the sea-fishing and had joined a company of
+forty for swimming parties and other loon festivities; for life on the
+ocean waves has many interests, and there is never a lack of
+entertainment. The salt-water bathing, diving, and such other activities
+as the sea affords, were pleasant for them all. Then, too, the winter
+months made a chance for rest, a change from home-duties, and a freedom
+from looking out for the children, that gave the loons a care-free
+manner as they rode the waves far out at sea.
+
+[Illustration: Immer Lake.]
+
+Considering all this, it seems strange, does it not, that when the
+spring of 1920 had gone no further than to melt the ice in the northern
+lakes, Gavia and her mate left the sea and took strong flight inland.
+
+What made them go, I cannot explain. I do not understand it well enough.
+I do not really know what urges the salmon to leave the Atlantic Ocean
+in the spring and travel up the Penobscot or the St. John River. I never
+felt quite sure why Peter Piper left Brazil for the shore where the
+blue-bells nod. All I can tell you about it is that a feeling came over
+the loons that is called a migration instinct; and, almost before Gavia
+and her mate knew what was happening to them, they had flown far and far
+from the Ocean, and were laughing weirdly over the cold waters of Immer
+Lake.
+
+The shore was dark with the deep green of fir trees, whose straight
+trunks had blisters on them where drops of fragrant balsam lay hidden in
+the bark. And here and there trees with white slender trunks leaned out
+over the water, and the bark on these peeled up like pieces of thin and
+pretty paper. Three wonderful vines trailed through the woodland, and
+each in its season blossomed into pink and fragrant bells. But what
+these were, and how they looked, is not a part of this story, for Gavia
+never wandered among them. Her summer paths lay upon and under the water
+of the lake, as her winter trails had been upon and under the water of
+the sea.
+
+Ah, if she loved the water so, why did she suddenly begin to stay out of
+it? If she delighted so in swimming and diving and chasing wild
+wing-races over the surface, why did she spend the day quietly in one
+place?
+
+Of course you have guessed it! Gavia was on her nest. She had hidden her
+two babies among the bulrushes for safety, and must stay there herself
+to keep them warm. They were not yet out of their eggshells, so the only
+care they needed for many a long day and night was constant warmth
+enough for growth. They lay near each other, the two big eggs, of a
+color that some might call brown and some might call green, with
+dark-brown spots splashed over them.
+
+[Illustration: _Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells, hidden among
+the rushes._]
+
+The nest Gavia and her mate had prepared for them was a heap of old wet
+reeds and other dead water-plants, which they had piled up among the
+stems of the rushes until it reached six inches or more out of the
+water. They were really in the centre of a nest island, with water all
+about them. So, you see, Gavia was within splashing distance of her
+fishing-pool after all.
+
+She and her mate, indeed, were in the habit of making their nests here
+in the cove; though the two pairs of Neighbor Loons, who built year
+after year farther up the lake, chose places on the island near the
+water-line in the spring; and when the water sank lower later on, they
+were left high and dry where they had to flounder back and forth to and
+from the nest, as awkward on land as they were graceful in the water.
+
+Faithful to her unhatched young as Gavia was, it is not likely that she
+alone kept them warm for nearly thirty days and nights; for Father Loon
+remained close at hand, and would he not help her with this task?
+
+Gavia, sitting on her nest, did not look like herself of the early
+winter months when she had played among the ocean waves. For her head
+and neck were now a beautiful green, and she wore two white striped
+collars, while the back of her feather coat was neatly checked off with
+little white squarish spots. Father Loon wore the same style that she
+did. Summer and winter, they dressed alike.
+
+Yes, a handsome couple, indeed, waited that long month for the birth of
+their twins, growing all this time inside those two strong eggshells. At
+last, however, the nest held the two babies, all feathered with down
+from the very first, black on their backs and gray shading into white
+beneath.
+
+Did I say the nest held them? Well, so it did for a few hours. After
+that, they swam the waters of Immer Lake, and their nest was home no
+longer. Peter Piper's children themselves were not more quick to run
+than Gavia's twins were to swim and dive.
+
+I think, perhaps, they were named Olair; for Gavia often spoke in a very
+soft mellow tone, saying, "Olair"; and her voice, though a bit sad, had
+a pleasing sound. So we will call them the two Olairs.
+
+They were darlings, those baby loons, swimming about (though not very
+fast at first), and diving out of sight in the water every now and then
+(but not staying under very long at the beginning). Then, when they were
+tired or in a hurry, they would ride on the backs of Gavia and Father
+Loon: and they liked it fine, sailing over the water with no trouble at
+all, just as if they were in a boat, with someone else to do the rowing.
+
+Oh, yes, they were darlings! Had you seen one of them, you could hardly
+have helped wanting to cuddle him. But do you think you could catch one,
+even the youngest? Not a bit of it. If you had given chase in a boat,
+the wee-est loon would have sailed off faster yet on the back of his
+father; and when you grew tired and stopped, you would have heard, as if
+mocking you, the old bird give, in a laughing voice, the _Tremble Song:_
+
+    "O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--
+     O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--"
+
+If you had tried again a few days later, the young loon would have been
+able to dive and swim by himself out of sight under water, the old ones
+giving him warning of danger and telling him what to do.
+
+But no child chased the two Olairs and no lawbreaker fired a shot at
+Gavia or Father Loon. They had frights and narrow escapes in plenty
+without that; but those were of the sorts that loons get used to century
+after century, and not modern disasters, like guns, that people have
+recently brought into wild places. For the only man who dwelt on the
+shore of Immer Lake was a minister.
+
+Because he loved his fellow men, this minister of Immer Lake spent part
+of his days among them, doing such service to the weak of spirit as only
+a minister can do, who has faith that there is some good in every
+person. At such times he was a sort of servant to all who needed him.
+
+Because he loved, also, his fellow creatures who had lived in the
+beautiful wild places of this land much longer than any man whatsoever,
+he spent part of his days among them. At such times he was a sort of
+hermit.
+
+Then no handy trolley rumbled by to take him on his near way. No train
+shrieked its departure to distant places where he might go. There was no
+interesting roar of mill or factory making things to use. There was no
+sociable tread of feet upon the pavement, to give him a feeling of human
+companionship.
+
+But, for all that, it was not a silent world the minister found at Immer
+Lake. On sunny days the waves, touching the rocks on the shore, sang
+gently, "Bippo-bappo, bippo-bappo." The trees clapped their leaves
+together as the breezes bade them. The woodpeckers tapped tunes to each
+other on their hollow wooden drums. The squirrels chattered among the
+branches. At dawn and at dusk the thrushes made melodies everywhere
+about.
+
+On stormy nights the waves slapped loudly upon the rocks. The branches
+whacked against one another at the mighty will of the wind. The thunder
+roared applause at the fireworks the lightning made. And best of all,
+like the very spirit of the wild event, there rang the strange, sweet
+moaning _Storm Song of the Loon_:--
+
+    "A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u´ la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u´ la.
+     A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u´ la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u´ la."
+
+The minister of Immer Lake liked that song, and he liked the other
+music that they made. So it was that he sat before his door through many
+a summer twilight, and played on his violin until the loons answered
+with the _Tremble Song_:--
+
+    "O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!
+     O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"
+
+Then they would swim up and up, until they floated close to his cottage,
+feeding unafraid near by, while he played softly.
+
+Often, when Gavia and her mate were resting there or farther up the
+lake, some other loon would fly over; and then Father Loon would throw
+his head way forward and give another sort of song. "Oh-a-lee'!" he
+would begin, with his bill wide open; and then, nearly closing his
+mouth, he would sing, "Cleo´-pe´´-a-rit´." The "Oh" starts low and then
+rises in a long, drawn way. Perhaps in all the music of Immer Lake there
+is nothing queerer than the _Silly Song of Father Loon_:--
+
+    "Oh-a-lee´! Cleo´-p´´-a-rit´, cleo´-pe´´-a-rit´, cleo´-per´´-wer-wer!
+     Oh-a-lee´! Cleo´-p´´-a-rit´, cleo´-pe´´-a-rit´, cleo´-pe´´-wer-wer!"
+
+Such were the songs the two Olairs heard often and again, while they
+were growing up; and they must have added much to the interest of their
+first summer.
+
+Altogether they had endless pleasures, and were as much at ease in the
+water as if there were no more land near them than there had been near
+those other young birds that had teeth and no wings, four million years
+or so ago. Their own wings were still small and flipper-like when, about
+the first of August, they were spending the day, as they often did, in a
+small cove. They were now about two-thirds grown, and their feathers
+were white beneath and soft bright brown above, with bars of white spots
+at their shoulders. They had funny stiff little tails, which they stuck
+up out of the water or poked out of sight, as they wished. They swam
+about in circles, and preened their feathers with their bills, which
+were still small and gray, and not black like those of the old birds.
+
+After a time Gavia came swimming toward them, all under water except her
+head. Suddenly Father Loon joined her, and they both began diving and
+catching little fishes for the two Olairs. For the vegetable part of
+their dinner they had shreds of some waterplant, which Gavia brought
+them, dangling from her bill. Surely never a fresher meal was served
+than fish just caught and greens just pulled! No wonder it was that the
+young loons grew fast, and were well and strong. After the twins were
+fed, Gavia and Father Loon sank from sight under the water, heads and
+all, and the Olairs saw no more of them for two hours or so, though they
+heard them now and then singing, sometimes the _Tremble Song_ and
+sometimes the _Silly Song_.
+
+They were good children, and did not try to tag along or sulk because
+they were left behind. First they dabbled about and helped themselves,
+for dessert, to some plant growing under water, gulping down rather
+large mouthfuls of it. Then they grew drowsy; and what could have been
+pleasanter than going to sleep floating, with the whole cove for a
+cradle?
+
+You could never guess how those youngsters got ready for their nap. Just
+like a grown-up! Each Olair rolled over on one side, till the white
+under-part of his body showed above water. Then he waved the exposed leg
+in the air, and tucked it away, with a quick flip, under the feathers of
+his flank. Thus one foot was left in the water, for the bird to paddle
+with gently while he slept, so that he would not be drifted away by the
+wind. But that day one of the tired water-babies went so sound asleep
+that he didn't paddle enough, and the wind played a joke on him by
+shoving him along to the snaggy edge of the cove and bumping him against
+a log. That was a surprise, and he woke with a start and swam quickly
+back to the middle of the cove, where the other Olair was resting in the
+open water.
+
+While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon went to a
+party. On the way, they stopped for a bit of fishing by themselves.
+Gavia began by suddenly flapping around in a big circle, slapping the
+water with wing-tips and feet, and making much noise as she spattered
+the spray all about. Then she quickly poked her head under water, as if
+looking for fish. Father Loon, who had waited a little way off, dived a
+number of times, as if to see what Gavia had scared in his direction.
+
+[Illustration: _While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon
+went to a party._]
+
+Then they both dove deep, and swam under water until they came near the
+four Neighbor Loons, who had left their two families of young dozing,
+and had also come out for a good time.
+
+When Father Loon caught sight of his four neighbors, he sang the _Silly
+Song_, after which the six birds ran races on the water. They all
+started about the same time and went pell-mell in one direction, their
+feet and wings going as if they hardly knew whether to swim or fly, and
+ending by doing both at once. Then they would all stop, as suddenly as
+if one of them had given a signal, and turning, would dash in the
+opposite direction, racing to and fro again and again and again. Oh! it
+was a grand race, and there is no knowing how long they would have kept
+it up, had not something startled them so that they all stopped and sang
+the _Tremble Song_, which sounds like strange laughter. They opened
+their mouths quite wide and, wagging the lower jaw up and down with
+every "ha," they sang "O, ha-ha-ha, ho!" so many times that it seemed as
+if they would never get through. And, indeed, how could they tell when
+the song was ended, for every verse was like the one before?
+
+Then all at once they stopped singing and began some flying stunts. A
+stiff breeze was blowing, and, facing this, they pattered along, working
+busily with wings and feet, until they could get up speed enough to
+leave the water and take to flight. Though it was rather a hard matter
+to get started, when they were once under way they flew wonderfully
+well, and the different pairs seemed to enjoy setting their wings and
+sailing close together around a large curve. They went so fast part of
+the time that, when they came down to the surface of the water again,
+they plunged along with a splash and ploughed a furrow in the water
+before they could come to a stop.
+
+Of course, by that time they were hungry enough for refreshments! So
+Gavia went off to one side and stirred the water up as if she were
+trying to scare fish toward the others, who waited quietly. Then they
+all dived, and what their black sharp-pointed bills found under water
+tasted good to those hungry birds.
+
+After that the loon party broke up, and each pair went to their own home
+cove, where they had left their young. It had been a pleasant way to
+spend the time sociably together; and loons like society very much, if
+they can select their own friends and have their parties in a wilderness
+lake. But gay and happy as they had been at their merrymaking, Gavia and
+her mate were not sorry to return to the two Olairs, who had long since
+wakened from their naps and were glad to see their handsome father and
+mother again.
+
+By the time the two Olairs were full grown, Gavia had molted many of her
+prettiest feathers and was looking rather odd, as she had on part of her
+summer suit and part of her winter one. Father Loon had much the same
+appearance; for, of course, birds that live in the water cannot shed
+their feathers as many at a time as Corbie could, but must change their
+feather-wear gradually, so that they may always have enough on to keep
+their bodies dry. And summer and winter, you may be sure that a loon
+takes good care of his clothes, oiling them well to keep them
+waterproof.
+
+Fall grew into winter, and the nest where Gavia had brooded the spring
+before now held a mound of snow in its lap. The stranded log against
+which the little Olair had been bumped while he was napping, months ago,
+was glazed over with a sparkling crust. The water where Gavia and Father
+Loon had fished for their children, and had played games and run races
+with Neighbor Loons, was sealed tight with a heavy cover of ice.
+
+And it may be, if you should sail the seas this winter, that you will
+see the two Olairs far, far out upon the water. What made them leave the
+pleasures of Immer Lake just when they did, I cannot explain. I do not
+understand it well enough. I never felt quite sure why Peter Piper left
+the shore where the cardinal flowers glowed, for far Brazil. All I can
+tell you about it is that a feeling came over the loons that is called a
+migration instinct, and, almost before they knew what was happening to
+them, they were laughing weirdly through the ocean storms.
+
+If you see them, you will know that they are strange birds whose
+ancestors reach back and back through the ages, maybe a million years.
+You will think--as who would not?--that a loon is a wonderful gift that
+Nature has brought down through all the centuries; a living relic of a
+time of which we know very little except from fossils men find and guess
+about.
+
+It is small wonder their songs sound strange to our ears, for their
+voices have echoed through a world too old for us to know. It makes us a
+bit timid to think about all this, as it does the minister of Immer
+Lake, who sits before his door through many a summer twilight, playing
+on his violin until the loons answer him with their _Tremble Song_:--
+
+    "O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+EVE AND PETRO
+
+
+If swallows studied history, 1920 would have been an important date for
+Eve and Petro. It was the one hundredth anniversary of the year when a
+man named Long visited cliff swallows among the Rocky Mountains.
+
+The century between 1820 and 1920 had given what we call civilization a
+chance to make many changes in the wild world of birds. During that time
+lifeless hummingbirds had been made to perch upon the hats of
+fashionable women; herring gulls had been robbed of their eggs and
+killed for their feathers; shooting movements had been organized to kill
+crows with shotgun or rifle, in order that more gunpowder might be sold;
+the people of Alaska had been permitted to kill more than eight thousand
+eagles in the last great breeding-place left to our National Emblem;
+uncounted millions of Passenger Pigeons had been slaughtered, and these
+wonderful birds done away with forever; and the methods by which egrets
+had been murdered were too horrible to write about in books for children
+to read.
+
+But however shamefully civilization had treated, and had brought up
+children to treat, these and many other of their fellow creatures of the
+world, who had a right to the life that had been given them as surely
+as it had been given to men, the years since 1820 had been happy ones
+for the ancestors of Eve and Petro.
+
+Eve and Petro, themselves, were happy as any two swallows need be that
+spring of 1920, when they started forth to seek a cliff, just as their
+ancestors had done for the hundred years or so since man began to notice
+their habits, and no man knows for how many hundreds of years before
+that.
+
+Of course they found it as all cliff swallows must, for cliff-hunting is
+a part of their springtime work. It was very high and very straight. Its
+wall was of boards, and the gray shingled roof jutted out overhead just
+as if inviting Eve and Petro to its shelter.
+
+It was a good cliff, and mankind had been so busy building the same sort
+all across the country for the past hundred years that there was no lack
+of them anywhere, and swallows could now choose the ones that pleased
+them best. Yes, civilization had been kind to them and had made more
+cliffs than Nature had built for them; though perhaps it was Mother
+Nature, herself, who taught the birds that these structures men called
+barns and used inside for hay or cattle were, after all, only cliffs
+outside, and that people were harmless creatures who would not hurt the
+swallow kind.
+
+However all that may be, it is quite certain that Eve and Petro
+squeaked pleasantly for joy when they chose their building site,
+undisturbed by the ladder that was soon put near, and unafraid of the
+people who climbed up to watch them at their work. They were too happily
+busy to worry, and besides, there is a tradition that men folk and
+swallow folk are friendly, each to the other.
+
+How old this tradition is, we do not know; but we do know that swallows
+of one kind and another were welcomed in the Old World in the old days
+to heathen temples before there were Christian churches, and that to-day
+in the New World they play in and out of the dark arches in the great
+churches of far Brazil and flash across the gilding of the very
+tabernacle, reminding us of the passage in the Psalms where it is
+written that the swallow hath found a nest for herself, where she may
+lay her young--even thine altars, O Lord of Hosts!
+
+So it is not strange that far and wide over the world people have the
+idea that swallows bring luck to the house. I think so myself, don't
+you?--that it is very good fortune, indeed, to have these birds of
+friendly and confiding ways beneath our shelter.
+
+Of course the ancestors of cliff swallows had not known the walls and
+roofs of man so long as other kinds of swallows; but the associations of
+one short century had been pleasant enough to call forth many cheerful
+squeakings of joy, just like those of Eve and Petro that pleasant day
+in June when they started their nest under the roof near the top of the
+ladder.
+
+To be sure, they made no use of that ladder, even though they were
+masons and had their hods of plaster to carry way up near the top of
+their cliff. No, they needed no firmer ladder than the air, and their
+long wings were strong enough to climb it with.
+
+They lost little time in beginning, each coming with his first hod of
+plaster. How? Balanced on their heads as some people carry burdens? No.
+On their backs, then? No. In their claws? Oh, no, their feet were far
+too feeble for bearing loads. Do you remember what Corbie used for a
+berry-pail when he went out to pick fruit? Why, of course! the hod of
+the swallow mason is none other than his mouth, and it holds as much as
+half a thimbleful.
+
+First, Eve had to mark the place where the curved edge of the nest would
+be; and how could she mark it without any chalk, and how could she make
+a curve without any compasses? Well, she clung to the straight wall with
+her little feet, which she kept nearly in one place, and, swinging her
+body about, hitch by hitch, she struck out her curve with her beak and
+marked it with little dabs of plaster. Then she and Petro could tell
+where to build and, taking turns, first one and then the other, they
+began to lay the wall of their home.
+
+It was slow work, for it must be thick and strong, and the place where
+they gathered the plaster was not handy by, and it took a great great
+many trips, their hods being so small.
+
+At first, while the nest was shallow, only one could work at a time; and
+if Petro came back with his plaster before Eve had patted the last of
+hers into place, she would squeak at him in a fidgety though not fretful
+voice, as if saying, "Now, don't get in my way and bother me, dear." So
+he would have to fly about while he waited for her to go. The minute she
+was ready to be off, he would be slipping into her place; and this time
+she would give him a cosy little squeak of welcome, and he would reply,
+with his mouth full of plaster, in a quick and friendly way, as if he
+meant, "I'll build while you fetch more plaster, and we'd both better
+hurry, don't you think?"
+
+After worrying a bit about the best place to dump his hodful, he went to
+work. He opened his beak and, in the most matter-of-fact way, pushed out
+his lump of plaster with his tongue, on top of the nest wall. Then he
+braced his body firmly in the nest and began to use his trowel, which
+was his upper beak, pushing the fresh lump all smooth on the inside of
+the nest.
+
+Have you ever seen a dog poke with the top of his nose, until he got the
+dirt heaped over a bone which he had buried? Well, that's much the way
+Petro bunted his plaster smooth--rooted it into place with the top of
+his closed beak. He got his face dirty doing it, too, even the pretty
+pale feather crescent moon on his forehead. But that didn't matter.
+Trowels, if they do useful work, have to get dirty doing it, and Petro
+didn't stop because of that. If he had, his nest would have been as
+rough on the inside as it was outside, where a humpy little lump showed
+for each mouthful of plaster.
+
+Although Eve and Petro did not fly off to the plaster pit together, they
+did not go alone, for there was a whole colony of swallows building
+under the eaves of that same barn; and while some of them stayed and
+plastered, the rest flew forth for a fresh supply.
+
+They knew the place, every one of them; and swiftly over the meadow and
+over the marsh they flew, until they came to a pasture. There, near a
+spring where the cows had trampled the ground until it was oozy and the
+water stood in tiny pools in their hoof prints, the swallows stopped.
+They put down their beaks into the mud and gathered it in their mouths;
+and all the time they held their wings quivering up over their beautiful
+blue backs, like a flock of butterflies just alighting with their wings
+atremble.
+
+So their plaster pit was just a mud-puddle. Yes, that is all; only it
+had to be a particularly sticky kind of mud, which is called clay; for
+the walls of their homes were a sort of brick something like that the
+people made in Egypt years and years ago. And do you remember how the
+story goes that the folk in Pharaoh's day gathered straws to mix with
+the clay, so that their bricks would be stronger? Well, Eve and Petro
+didn't know that story, but they gathered fibres of slender roots and
+dead grass stems with their clay, which doubtless did their brick
+plaster no harm.
+
+[Illustration: _At Work in the Plaster Pit._]
+
+Men brick-makers nowadays bake their bricks in ovens called kilns,
+which are heated with fire. Eve and Petro let their brick bake, too, and
+the fire they used was the same one the Egyptians used in the days of
+Pharaoh--a fire that had never in all that time gone out, but had glowed
+steadily century after century, baking many bricks for folk and birds.
+Of course you know what fire that is, for you see it yourself every day
+that the sun shines.
+
+Every now and again Eve and Petro and all the rest of the swallow colony
+left off their brick-building and went on a hunting trip. They hunted
+high in the air and they hunted low over the meadow. They hunted afar
+off along the stream and they hunted near by in the barnyard. And all
+the game they caught they captured on the wing, and they ate it fresh at
+a gulp without pausing in their flight. As they sailed and swirled, they
+were good to watch, for a swallow's strong long wings bear him right
+gracefully.
+
+Why did they stop for the hunting flight? Perhaps they were hungry.
+Perhaps their mouths were tired of being hods for clay they could not
+eat. Perhaps the fresh plaster on the walls of their homes needed time
+to dry a bit before more was added.
+
+Be that as it may, they made the minutes count even while they rested
+from their building work. For they used this time getting their meals;
+and whenever they were doing that, they were working for the owner of
+the barn, paying their rent for the house-lot on the wall by catching
+grass insects over the meadow, and mosquitoes and horseflies and
+house-flies by the hundreds, and many another pest, too.
+
+[Illustration: _The Hunting Flight._]
+
+Ah, yes, there may be some reason for the belief that swallows bring
+good luck to men. I once heard of a farmer who said he didn't dare
+disturb these birds because of a superstition that, if he did, his cows
+wouldn't give so much milk. Well, maybe they wouldn't if all the flies
+a colony of swallows could catch were alive to pester his herd; for the
+happier and more comfortable these animals are, the healthier they are
+and the more milk they give.
+
+The hunting flights of Eve and Petro and their comrades lasted about
+fifteen minutes each time they took a recess from their building.
+
+After two days the nest was big enough, so that there was room for both
+swallows to build at once; and after that, Petro didn't have to fly
+around with his mouth full of plaster waiting for Eve to go if he
+chanced to come before she was through. They always chatted a bit and
+then went on with their work, placing their plaster carefully and
+bunting it smooth on the inside, modeling with clay a house as well
+suited to their needs as is the concrete mansion a human architect makes
+suited to the needs of man.
+
+And if you think it is a simple matter to make a nest of clay, just go
+to the wisest architect you know and ask him these questions. How many
+hodfuls of clay, each holding as much as half a thimble, would it take
+to build the wall of a room just the right shape for a swallow to sit in
+while she brooded her eggs? How large would it have to be inside, to
+hold four or five young swallows grown big enough for their first
+flight? How thick would the walls have to be to make it strong enough?
+What sort of curve would be best for its support against a perfectly
+straight wall? How much space would have to be allowed for lining the
+room, to make it warm and comfortable? How can the clay be handled so
+that the drying sun and wind will not crack the walls? What is the test
+for telling whether the clay is sticky enough to hold together? How much
+of the nest must be stuck to the cliff so that the weight of it will not
+make it fall?
+
+If the architect can answer all those questions, ask him one more: ask
+him if he could make such a nest with the same materials the birds used,
+and with no more tools?
+
+Well, Eve and Petro could and did. It was big enough and strong enough
+and shaped just right; and when it was nearly done and nearly ready for
+the soft warm lining, That Boy climbed the ladder and knocked it down
+with his hand.
+
+There it lay, Eve and Petro's wonderfully modeled nest of clay, broken
+to bits on the ground and spoiled, oh, quite spoiled. There is a saying
+that it brings bad luck to do harm to a swallow. What bad luck, then,
+had the hand of That Boy brought to the world that day?
+
+[Illustration: _They always chatted a bit and then went on with their
+work, placing their plaster carefully._]
+
+Bad luck it brought to Eve and Petro, who had toiled patiently and
+unafraid beside the ladder-top, with faith in those who climbed quietly
+to watch the little feathered masons at their work. But now the walls of
+their home were broken and crumbled, and their faith was broken and
+crumbled, too. In dismay they cried out when they saw what was
+happening, and in dismay their swallow comrades cried out with them.
+Fear and disappointment entered their quick hearts, which had been
+beating in confidence and hope. People who climbed ladders were not
+beings to trust, after all, but frightful and destroying creatures. This
+had the hand of That Boy brought to Eve and Petro, who looked at the
+empty place where their nest had been, and went away.
+
+Bad luck it brought to an artist who drew pictures of birds; and when he
+knew what had happened, a sudden light flamed in his eyes. The name of
+this light is anger--the kind that comes when harm has been ruthlessly
+done to the weak and helpless. For the artist had climbed the ladder
+many a time, and had laid his quiet hand upon the lower curve of the
+nest while Eve and Petro went on with their building at the upper edge.
+And he had seen the colors of their feathers and the shape of the pale
+crescent on their foreheads--the mark a man named Say had noticed many
+years before, when he named this swallow in Latin, _lunifrons_, because
+_luna_ means moon and _frons_ means front. And he had hoped to climb the
+ladder many a time again, and when there should be young in the nest, to
+see how they looked and watch what they did, so that he could draw
+pictures of the children of Eve and Petro.
+
+Bad luck it brought to a writer of bird stories; and when she knew what
+had happened, something like an ache in her throat seemed to choke her,
+something that is called anger--the kind that comes when harm is done to
+little folk we love. For she had climbed the ladder many a time, and had
+rested her head against the top while she watched Eve and Petro push the
+pellets of mud from their mouths with their tongues and bunt the wall of
+their clay nest smooth on the inside with the top of their closed beaks,
+not stopping even though they brushed their pretty chestnut-colored
+cheeks against the sticky mud, or got specks on the feathers of their
+dainty foreheads that bore a mark shaped like a pale new moon. And she
+had hoped to climb the ladder many a time again, and watch Eve and Petro
+feed their children when the nest was done and lined and the eggs were
+laid and hatched; for this nest could be looked into, as the top was
+left open because the barn roof sheltered it and it needed no other
+cover.
+
+Now Eve and Petro were gone, and no more sketches could be made near
+enough to show how little cliff swallows looked in their nest. And
+nothing more could be written about such affairs of these two birds as
+could only be learned close to them. Nor, indeed, was there any way to
+learn those things from the rest of the colony; for it so chanced that
+Eve and Petro were the only pair who had built where a ladder could be
+placed. So bad luck had come not only to Eve and Petro, but to the story
+of their lives.
+
+But, most of all, the breaking of their nest brought bad luck to That
+Boy, himself. For as he stood at the top of the ladder, he might have
+curved the hollow of his hand gently upon the rounded outside of the
+nest and, waiting quietly, have watched the building birds. He might
+have seen Eve come flitting home with her tiny load of clay, poking it
+out of her mouth with her tongue and bunting it smooth in her own
+cunning way. He might have laid his head against the ladder and heard
+their cosy voices as they squeaked pleasantly together over the
+home-building. He might have looked at the colors of their feathers, and
+seen where they were glossy black with a greenish sheen, where rich
+purply chestnut, and where grayish white. He might have looked well at
+the pale feather moon on their foreheads, which the man named Say had
+noticed one hundred years before. He might, oh, he might have become one
+of the brotherhood of men, whom swallows of one kind or another have
+trusted since the far-off years of Bible times when they built at the
+altars of the Lord of Hosts.
+
+All this good luck he held, That Boy, in the hollow of his hand, and he
+threw it away when he struck the nest; and it fell, crumbled, with the
+broken bits of clay.
+
+[Illustration: _Quaint Clay Pottery._]
+
+As for Eve and Petro, if fear and disappointment had driven trust from
+their hearts, they still had courage and patience and industry. They
+sought another and a different sort of cliff, and found one made of red
+brick and white stone. Near the very high top of this a large colony of
+swallows were building; and, because there was no closely protecting
+roof, these swallows were making the round part of their nest closed
+over at the top with a winding hallway to an outer doorway. They looked,
+indeed, like a row of quaint clay pottery, shaped like crook-necked
+gourds. For such were the nests these swallows built one hundred years
+ago on the wild rock cliffs, if they chose their house-lots where there
+was no overhanging shelter; and such are the nests they still build
+when there seems to be need of them.
+
+They were too far from the pleasant pasture to dig their clay out of the
+footprints of cows; but there was a track where the automobiles slushed
+through sticky mud, and they swirled down there and filled their little
+hods when the road was clear.
+
+Eve and Petro found a nook even higher up than the others, where a
+crook-necked jug of a nest did not seem to fit. When they had built
+their wall as high as need be, they closed it over with a little rounded
+dome, and at the side they left two doorways open, one facing the
+southwest and one facing the southeast. And some days after this was
+done, had you gone to the foot of their cliff and used a pair of
+field-glasses, you might have seen Eve's head sticking out of one door
+and Petro's at the other. Ah, they had, then, some good luck left them.
+They had had each other in their days of trouble, and now they rested
+from their building labors and sat happily together in their second
+home, each with a doorway to enjoy.
+
+And later on they had more good luck still. For there came a day when
+they spent no more time sitting at ease within doors, but flew hither
+and yon, and then, returning to the nest, clung outside with their tiny
+feet and stuck their heads in at the open doorway for a brief moment
+before they were off again. Their nest was too far up for anyone to hear
+or see what went on within; but there must have been some hungry little
+mouths yawning all day long, to keep Eve and Petro both so busy hunting
+the air for insects.
+
+Soon after this one of the doors was closed, sealed tight with clay.
+What had happened? Were the little ones inside crowding about too
+recklessly, so that there was danger of one falling out? Had Eve and
+Petro come upon an especially good mud-puddle and built a bit more just
+for the fun of it?
+
+It was not very many days after this that Eve and Petro and all their
+comrades ceased coming to the cliff where their curious nests were
+fastened. Their doorways knew them no more; but over the meadows from
+dawn till nearly dusk there flew beautiful old swallows bearing upon
+their foreheads the pale mark of a new moon, and with them were their
+young.
+
+At night they sought the marshes, where their little feet might cling to
+slender stems of bending reeds; and their numbers were very many.
+
+But winter would be coming, and if it still was a long way off, so were
+the hunting grounds of South America, where they must be flitting away
+the days when the northern marshes would be frozen over.
+
+So off they went, Eve and Petro and their young, looking so much like
+others of the swallow flock that we could not tell who they were, now
+that they had stopped coming to their nest with one open and one closed
+doorway.
+
+They would have far to travel, even if they took the direct over-water
+route, which many sorts of birds do. But what is distance to Petro,
+whose strong wings carry him lightly? A mile or a hundred or a thousand
+even are nothing if the hunting be good. Might just as well be flying
+south, as back and forth over the same meadow the livelong day, with now
+and then a rest on the roadside wires, which fit his little feet nearly
+as well as the reeds of the marsh. Some people think it is for the sake
+of the hunting that the route of the swallows lies overland, for they
+fly by day and catch their game all along the way.
+
+And as they journeyed, Eve and Petro and their flock, south and south
+and south, maybe the children, here and there, waved their hands to them
+and called, "Good hunting, little friends of the air, and _good luck_
+through all the winter till you come back to us again."
+
+[Illustration: _A Famous Landmark._]
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+UNCLE SAM
+
+
+Uncle Sam stood at the threshold of his home, with an air of dignity.
+There was enough to fill his breast with honest pride. His home had been
+a famous landmark for generations before he himself had fallen heir to
+it. It was the oldest one in the neighborhood. It had stood there
+seventy-five years before, when a white man had built a cabin within
+sight of it, for company. That cabin had been neglected and had fallen
+to bits years ago; but Uncle Sam's ancestors had taken care of their
+place, and had mended the weak spots each season, and had kept it in
+such repair that it was still as good as ever. It would last, indeed,
+with such treatment, as long as the post and the beams that supported it
+held. The post was the trunk of a tall old tree, and the beams were the
+branches, so near the top that it would be a very brave or a very
+foolish man who would try to climb so far; for there were no stairs.
+
+No stairs, and such a distance up! But Uncle Sam could find the path
+that led to it; for was he not a lord of the air, and could he not sail
+the roughest wind with those strong wings of his?
+
+[Illustration: _Above all other creatures of this great land he had been
+honored._]
+
+Perhaps it was the sure strength of his wings that gave him a stately
+poise of pride even as he rested. It could not have been the honor men
+had bestowed upon him; for, although that was very great, he knew
+nothing about it.
+
+Soldiers had gone into battle for freedom and right, bearing the picture
+of Uncle Sam on their banners. Veterans had walked in Memorial Day
+parades, while over their gray heads floated the symbol of Uncle Sam and
+the Stars and Stripes. Yes, the people of a great and noble land,
+reaching from a sea on the east to a sea on the west, had honored Uncle
+Sam by choosing him for the emblem of their country. His picture was
+stamped on their paper money, and ornamented one side of the coins that
+came from the mint, with the words, "In God We Trust," on the other
+side. Above all other creatures of this great land he had been honored;
+and could he have understood, he might well have been justly proud of
+this tribute.
+
+But as it was, perhaps his emotions were centred only on his family; for
+his home was shared by his mate and two young sons. He bent his white
+head to look down at his twins. They were such hungry rascals and needed
+such a deal of care! They had needed care, indeed, ever since the day
+their little bodies had begun to form in the two bluish white eggs their
+mother had laid in the nest. They had stayed inside those shells for a
+month; and they never could have lived and grown there if they had not
+been brooded and kept warm. Their mother had snuggled her feathers over
+them and kept them cosy; and, when she had needed a change and a rest,
+Uncle Sam had cuddled them close under his body; for a month is a long
+time to keep eggs from getting cold, and it was only fair that he should
+take his turn.
+
+He was no shirk in his family life. He had chosen his mate until death
+should part them; and whenever there were eggs in the nest, he was as
+patient about brooding them as she was; for did they not belong to both
+of them, and did they not contain two fine young eagles in the making?
+
+And never had they had finer children than the two who that moment were
+opening hungry mouths and begging for food. In answer to their teasing,
+Uncle Sam spread his great wings and took stately flight to the lake.
+For he was a fisherman. When a fish came to the surface, he would try to
+catch it in his strong claws, so that he might have food to take back to
+his waiting family. This was easy for him when the fish was wounded or
+weak and had come to the surface to die; but the quick fishes often
+escaped, because he was not so skillful at this sort of fishing as the
+osprey.
+
+Yes, the osprey was a wonderful fisherman, who could snatch a fish from
+the water in his sure claws. But for all that, he was not so wonderful
+as Uncle Sam, who could catch a fish in the air.
+
+[Illustration: _The Yankee-Doodle Twins._]
+
+Now, fishing in the air was a thrilling game that Uncle Sam loved. All
+the wild delight of a chase was in the sport. He used, sometimes, to sit
+high up on a cliff and watch the osprey swoop down to the water. Then,
+when the hawk mounted with the prize, Uncle Sam flew far above him and
+swept downward, commanding him to drop the fish. The smaller bird
+obeyed, and let the fish fall from his claws. But it never fell far.
+Uncle Sam closed his mighty wings and dropped with such speed that he
+caught the fish in mid-air; and the tree-tops swayed with the sudden
+wind his passing caused. Surely there was never a more exciting way of
+going fishing than this!
+
+And did the fish belong to the osprey or to Uncle Sam?
+
+What would you call a man who, by power of greater strength, took away
+the food another man had earned?
+
+Are we, then, to call Uncle Sam a thief and a bully?
+
+Ah, no; because it is not with an eagle as it is with a man.
+
+For the wild things of the world there is only one law, and that is the
+Law of Nature. They must live as they are made to live, and that is all
+that concerns them. There is nothing for bird or beast or blossom to
+learn about "right" or "wrong," as we learn about those things. All they
+need to do--any of them--is to live naturally.
+
+When we think about it that way, it is very easy to tell whether the
+fish belonged to the osprey or to Uncle Sam. Of course, to begin with,
+the fish belonged to itself as long as it could dive quickly enough or
+swim fast enough to keep itself free and safe. But the minute the osprey
+caught it, it belonged to the osprey, just as much as it would belong to
+you if you caught it with a net or a hook. Yes, the fish belonged to the
+osprey _more_ than it would belong to you; for ospreys hunted food for
+themselves and for their young in that lake centuries and centuries
+before a white man even saw it, and before nets and hooks were invented;
+and besides, in most places, the children of men can live and grow if
+they never eat a fish, while the children of the osprey would die
+without such food. So we admire Fisherman Osprey for his strength and
+swiftness and skill, and are glad for him when he flies off with the
+prize, which is his very own as long as he can keep it.
+
+But when he drops it, it is his no longer, but the eagle's, who fishes
+wonderfully in the air--a game depending on the keenness of his sight,
+his strength, his quickness, and his skill; and the fish that belonged
+first to itself, and then to the osprey, belonged in the end to the
+eagle; and all this is according to the Law of Nature.
+
+Uncle Sam was not selfish about that fish. He gave it to his twins, and
+they did enjoy their dinner very, very much, indeed. A fresh brook
+trout, browned just right, never tasted better to you. For they had been
+hungry, and the food was good for them.
+
+Uncle Sam and his mate, whom the children who lived within sight of
+their nest named Aunt Samantha, had many a hunting and fishing trip to
+take while the twins were growing; for the bigger the young eagles
+became, the bigger their appetites were, too. But at last the
+youngsters were old enough and strong enough and brave enough to take
+their first flight. Think of them, then, standing there on the outer
+porch of their great home in the air, and daring to leave it, when it
+was so very high and they would have so very far to fall if their wings
+did not work right!
+
+Nonsense, an eagle fall! Had they not been stretching and exercising
+their muscles for days? And surely the twins would succeed, with Uncle
+Sam and Aunt Samantha to encourage and urge them forth.
+
+The day Uncle Sam cheered his young sons in their baby flight was a
+great day for all the country round. For not only were the sons of
+eagles flying, but the sons of men were flying, too. Yes, it was
+practice day near the lake, and across the water airships rose from the
+camp and sailed through the air, like mighty birds meant for mighty
+deeds. For Uncle Sam's country was at war, and many brave and noble lads
+thrilled with pride because they were going to help win a battle for
+Right.
+
+The bravest and noblest and most fearless of all the camp caught sight
+of Uncle Sam and smiled. "Emblem of my country!" the young man said.
+"King of the air in your strong flight! Great deeds are to be done, O
+Eagle with the snow-white head, and your banner will be foremost in the
+fight."
+
+Uncle Sam made no reply. He was too far away to hear, and he could not
+have understood if he had been near. He saw the distant airships, so big
+and strong, and led his family away to quieter places, without knowing
+at all what the big birds were, or what they meant to do. There was so
+much happening in the country that honored him, that Uncle Sam could not
+understand!
+
+He did not even know that, far to the northwest, there was a part of the
+country called Alaska, where eagles had lived in safety and had brought
+up their young in peace long after their haunts in most parts of the
+land had been disturbed. He did not know that the government of Alaska
+was at that moment paying people fifty cents for every eagle they would
+kill, and that in two years about five thousand of these noble birds
+were to die in that manner. He did not know that, if such deeds kept on,
+before many years there would be no eagles flying proudly through the
+air: there would be only pictures of eagles on our money and banners. If
+he could have been told what was happening, and that there was danger
+that the country would be without a living emblem, and that there might
+be only stuffed emblems in museums, would he not have thought, "Surely
+the strong, wise men who go forth to fight for right and liberty will
+see that the bird of freedom has a home in their land!"
+
+No; Uncle Sam knew nothing about such matters, and so he busied his mind
+with the things he did know, and was not sad.
+
+He knew where the swamp was, and in the swamp the ducks were thick. They
+were good-tasting ducks, and there were so many of them that hunters
+with guns and dogs gathered there from all the country round. And the
+hunters wounded some birds that the dogs did not get, and these could
+not fly off at migrating time.
+
+Now, Uncle Sam and his family found the wounded ducks easy to catch, and
+they were nearly as well pleased with them for food as with fish. Of
+course their feathers had to be picked off first. No eagle would eat a
+duck with his feathers on, any more than you would. And Uncle Sam knew
+how to strip off the feathers as well as anyone.
+
+So it was interesting in the swamp, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha and
+the twins were satisfied with hunting there when they were not fishing
+in the lake.
+
+One day, when Uncle Sam went hunting, he flew near a field where there
+was a little lamb; and being a strong and powerful eagle, he was able to
+carry it away. Perhaps he felt very proud as he flew off with so much
+food at one time. Such strength is something to be pleased with when it
+is put to the right use, and getting food is as important for an eagle's
+life as it is for a man's.
+
+He lifted his burden high in the air, holding it in his strong talons;
+and he did not falter once in his steady flight, although the load
+weighed nearly as much as he did, and he carried it two miles without
+resting once.
+
+Yes, I think Uncle Sam was proud of that day's hunting and happy with
+what he had caught; and the tender meat tasted good to him and his
+family.
+
+But the man who had owned the lamb before Uncle Sam caught it was not
+pleased. He happened to be coming out of the woods just in time to see
+the capture; and an hour later the boy and the girl who lived within
+sight of Uncle Sam's nest met the man and saw that he carried a gun.
+
+"I'm after a white-headed sheep thief," he said; "do you know which way
+he flew, after he reached the cliff?"
+
+The boy's face turned white in a second, and he held his fists together
+very still and very tight. The girl looked at her younger brother and
+then at the man.
+
+"Yes, we know," she said, "and we will not tell."
+
+"Why?" asked the man. "He took the lamb I was going to roast when it was
+big enough."
+
+The girl chuckled a little merrily. "And Uncle Sam got ahead of you,"
+she said. "Never mind, I'll get the money to pay for his dinner. The
+eagles here usually eat fish from the lake, and sometimes game from the
+swamp; but once in a very, very long while they take a lamb. When that
+happens, the Junior Audubon Society at our school pays for their treat.
+I have the money, because I am treasurer."
+
+After the girl turned back to the house for the money, the boy looked
+hard at the gun. Then he swallowed to get rid of the lump that hurt his
+throat and said, "If you had shot Uncle Sam or Aunt Samantha or their
+young, the children for miles and miles NEVER would have liked you.
+Eagles have nested in that tree for more than seventy years, and nobody
+except a newcomer would think of shooting one."
+
+So they talked together for some time about eagles; and when the girl
+came back, the man did not charge so much for Uncle Sam's treat as we
+sometimes have to pay for our own lamb chops.
+
+And way off among the cliffs Uncle Sam ate in content, not knowing that
+his life had been in danger, and that he had been saved by a boy and a
+girl who were growing up "under the shadow of an eagle's wings," as they
+said to each other as they watched him sail the air in his journeys to
+and fro.
+
+That afternoon, when they heard him call, "Cac, cac, cac," they said,
+"Uncle Sam is laughing." And when his mate answered in her harsh voice,
+they said, "Aunt Samantha would be happy if she knew we saved their
+lives."
+
+Busy with the life Nature taught them to live, the twins grew up as
+Uncle Sam had grown before them.
+
+As they were hunters, there was nothing more interesting to them than
+seeking their food in wild, free places. They had no guns and dogs, but
+they caught game in the swamp. They had no cooks to prepare their ducks,
+so they picked off the feathers themselves. They had no fish-line and
+tackle, but they caught fish in the lake. And in time they caught fish
+in the air, too; which was even more thrilling, and a game they came to
+enjoy when they overtook the ospreys. Many times, too, they sought the
+fish that had been washed up on the lake shore, and so helped keep
+things sweet and clean. In this way they were scavengers; and it is
+always well to remember that a scavenger, whether he be a bird or beast
+or beetle, does great service in the world for all who need pure air to
+breathe.
+
+The first year they became bigger than their father, and bigger than
+they themselves would be when they were old. At first, too, their eyes
+were brown, and not yellow like their father's and mother's. And for two
+years their heads and tails were dark, so that they looked much more
+like "golden eagles" than they did like the old ones of their own kind.
+
+The soldiers at the training-camp caught sight of them now and then, and
+named them the "Yankee-Doodle Twins." When the twins were three years
+old, their molting season brought a remarkable change to them. The dark
+feathers of their heads and necks and tails dropped out, and in their
+places white feathers grew, so that by this time they looked like their
+own father and mother, who are what is called "bald eagles," though
+their heads are not bald at all, but well covered with feathers.
+
+These two birds that were hatched in the home that was more than seventy
+years old lived to see the end of the war the young soldiers were
+training for when they took their first flights together near the shore
+of the same lake. And perhaps they will live to a time when the people
+of their country learn to deal more and more justly with each other and
+with the great bird of freedom chosen by their forefathers to be the
+emblem of their proud land.
+
+Why, indeed, if the boys and girls of the neighborhood keep up a guard
+for the protection of Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha, should they not nest
+again, and yet again, in that tree-top home that has been so well taken
+care of for more than threescore years and ten; and bring up
+Yankee-Doodle Twins for their country in days of peace as they did in
+days of war?
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+CORBIE
+
+
+Corbie's great-great-grandfather ruled a large flock from his look-out
+throne on a tall pine stump, where he could see far and wide, and judge
+for his people where they should feed and when they should fly.
+
+His great-grandfather was famous for his collections of old china and
+other rare treasures, having lived in the woods near the town dump,
+where he picked up many a bright trinket, chief among which was an old
+gold-plated watch-chain, which he kept hidden in a doll's red tea-cup
+when he was not using it.
+
+His grandfather was a handsome fellow, so glistening that he looked
+rather purple when he walked in the sunshine; and he had a voice so
+sweet and mellow that any minstrel might have been proud of it, though
+he seldom sang, and it is possible that no one but Corbie's grandmother
+heard it at its best. He was, moreover, a merry soul, fond of a joke,
+and always ready to dance a jig, with a chuckle, when anything very
+funny happened in crowdom.
+
+As for the wisdom and beauty of his grandmothers all the way back, there
+is so much to be said that, if I once began to tell about them, there
+would be no space left for the story of Corbie himself.
+
+[Illustration: _In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs._]
+
+Of course, coming from a family like that, Corbie was sure to be
+remarkable; for there is no doubt at all that we inherit many traits of
+our ancestors.
+
+Corbie knew very little about his own father and mother, for he was
+adopted into a human family when he was ten days old, and a baby at that
+age does not remember much.
+
+Although he was too young to realize it, those first ten days after he
+had come out of his shell, and those before that, while he was growing
+inside his shell, were in some ways the most important of his life, for
+it was then that he needed the most tender and skillful care. Well, he
+had it; for the gentleness and skill of Father and Mother Crow left
+nothing to be desired. They had built the best possible nest for their
+needs by placing strong sticks criss-cross high up in an old pine tree.
+For a lining they had stripped soft stringy bark from a wild grapevine,
+and had finished off with a bit of still softer dried grass.
+
+In this Mother Crow had laid her five bluish-green eggs marked with
+brown; and she and Father Crow had shared, turn and turn about, the long
+task of keeping their babies inside those beautiful shells warm enough
+so that they could grow.
+
+And grow they did, into five as homely little objects as ever broke
+their way out of good-looking eggshells. There was not down on their
+bodies to make them fluffy and pretty, like Peter Piper's children. They
+were just sprawling little bits of crow-life, so helpless that it would
+have been quite pitiful if they had not had a good patient mother and a
+father who seemed never to get tired of hunting for food.
+
+Now, it takes a very great deal of food for five young crows, because
+each one on some days will eat more than half his own weight and beg for
+more. Dear, dear! how they did beg! Every time either Father or Mother
+Crow came back to the nest, those five beaks would open so wide that the
+babies seemed to be yawning way down to the end of their red throats.
+Oh, the food that got stuffed into them! Good and nourishing, every bit
+of it; for a proper diet is as important to a bird baby as to a human
+one. Juicy caterpillars--a lot of them: enough to eat up a whole
+berry-patch if the crows hadn't found them; nutty-flavored
+grasshoppers--a lot of them, too; so many, in fact, that it looked very
+much as if crows were the reason the grasshoppers were so nearly wiped
+out that year that they didn't have a chance to trouble the farmers'
+crops; and now and then a dainty egg was served them in the most
+tempting crow-fashion, that is, right from the beak of the parent.
+
+For, as you no doubt have heard, a crow thinks no more of helping
+himself to an egg of a wild bird than we do of visiting the nests of
+tame birds, such as hens and geese and turkeys, and taking the eggs they
+lay. Of course, it would not occur to a crow that he didn't have a
+perfect right to take such food for himself and his young as he could
+find in his day's hunting. Indeed, it is not unlikely that, if a crow
+did any real thinking about the matter, he might decide that robins and
+meadowlarks were his chickens anyway. So what the other birds would
+better do about it is to hide their nests as well as ever they can, and
+be quiet when they come and go.
+
+That is the way Father and Mother Crow did, themselves, when they built
+their home where the pine boughs hid it from climbers below and from
+fliers above. And, though you might hardly believe it of a crow, they
+were still as mice whenever they came near it, alighting first on trees
+close by, and slipping up carefully between the branches, to be sure no
+enemy was following their movements. Then they would greet their babies
+with a comforting low "Caw," which seemed to mean, "Never fear, little
+ones, we've brought you a very good treat." Yes, they were shy, those
+old crows, when they were near their home, and very quiet they kept
+their affairs until their young got into the habit of yelling, "Kah,
+kah, kah," at the top of their voices whenever they were hungry, and of
+mumbling loudly, "Gubble-gubble-gubble," whenever they were eating.
+
+After that time comes, there is very little quiet within the home of a
+crow; and all the world about may guess, without being a bit clever,
+where the nest is. A good thing it is for the noisy youngsters that by
+that time they are so large that it does not matter quite so much.
+
+But it was before the "kah-and-gubble" habit had much more than begun
+that Corbie was adopted; and the nestlings were really as still as could
+be when the father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl climbed
+way, way, way up that big tree and looked into the round little room up
+there. There was no furniture--none at all. Just one bare nursery, in
+which five babies were staying day and night. Yet it was a tidy room,
+fresh and sweet enough for anybody to live in; for a crow, young or old,
+is a clean sort of person.
+
+The father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl looked over the
+five homely, floundering little birds, and, choosing Corbie, put him
+into his hat and climbed down with him. He was a nimble sort of father,
+or he never could have done it, so tall a tree it was, with no branches
+near the ground.
+
+Corbie, even at ten days old, was not like the spry children of Peter
+Piper, who could run about at one day old, all ready for picnics and
+teetering along the shore. No, indeed! He was almost as helpless and
+quite as floppy as a human baby, and he needed as good care, too. He
+needed warmth enough and food enough and a clean nest to live in; and he
+needed to be kept safe from such prowling animals as will eat young
+birds, and from other enemies. All these things his father and mother
+had looked out for.
+
+Now the little Corbie was kidnaped--taken away from his home and the
+loving and patient care of his parents.
+
+But you need not be sorry for Corbie--not very. For the Brown-eyed Boy
+and the Blue-eyed Girl adopted the little chap, and gave him food enough
+and warmth enough and a chance to keep his new nest clean; and they did
+it all with love and patience, too.
+
+Corbie kept them busy, for they were quick to learn that, when he opened
+his beak and said, "Kah," it was meal-time, even if he had had luncheon
+only ten minutes before. His throat was very red and very hollow, and
+seemed ready to swallow no end of fresh raw egg and bits of raw beef and
+earthworms and bread soaked in milk. Not that he had to have much at a
+time, but he needed so very many meals a day. It was fun to feed the
+little fellow, because he grew so fast and because he was so comical
+when he called, "Kah."
+
+It was not long before his body looked as if he had a crop of
+paint-brushes growing all over it; for a feather, when it first comes,
+is protected by a little case, and the end of the feather, which sticks
+out of the tip of the case, does look very much like the soft hairs at
+the end of a paint-brush, the kind that has a hollow quill stem, you
+know. After they were once started, dear me, how those feathers grew! It
+seemed no time at all before they covered up the ear-holes in the side
+of his head, and no time at all before a little bristle fringe grew down
+over the nose-holes in his long horny beak.
+
+He was nearly twenty days old before he could stand up on his toes like
+a grown-up crow. Before that, when he stood up in his nest and "kahed"
+for food, he stood on his whole foot way back to the heel, which looks
+like a knee, only it bends the wrong way. When he was about three weeks
+old, however, he began standing way up on his toes, and stretching his
+leg till his heels came up straight. Then he would flap his wings and
+exercise them, too.
+
+Of course, you can guess what that meant. It meant--yes, it meant that
+Corbie was getting ready to leave his nest; and before the Brown-eyed
+Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl really knew what was happening, Corbie went
+for his first ramble. He stepped out of his nest-box, which had been
+placed on top of a flat, low shed, and strolled up the steep roof of the
+woodshed, which was within reach. There he stood on the ridge-pole, the
+little tike, and yelled, "Caw," in almost a grown-up way, as if he felt
+proud and happy. Perhaps he did for a while. It really was a trip to be
+proud of for one's very first walk in the world.
+
+But the exercise made him hungry, and he soon yelled, "Kah!" in a tone
+that meant, "Bring me my luncheon this minute or I'll beg till you do."
+
+The Brown-eyed Boy took a dish of bread and milk to the edge of the low
+roof, where the nest-box had been placed, and the Blue-eyed Girl called,
+"Come and get it, Corbie."
+
+Not Corbie! He had always had his meals brought to him. He liked
+service, that crow. And besides, maybe he _couldn't_ walk down the roof
+it had been so easy to run up. Anyway, his voice began to sound as if he
+were scared as well as hungry, and later as if he were more scared than
+hungry.
+
+Now it stood to reason that Corbie's meals could not be served him every
+fifteen minutes on the ridge-pole of a steep roof. So the long ladder
+had to be brought out, and the crow carried to the ground and advised to
+keep within easy reach until he could use his wings.
+
+It was only a few days until Corbie could fly down from anything he
+could climb up; and from that hour he never lacked for amusement. Of
+course, the greedy little month-old baby found most of his fun for a
+while in being fed. "Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to sun-down,
+keeping the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl busy digging
+earthworms and cutworms and white grubs, and soaking bread in milk for
+him. "Gubble-gubble-gubble," he said as he swallowed it--it was all so
+very good.
+
+[Illustration: _"Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to sun-down._]
+
+The joke of it was that Corbie, even then, had a secret--his first one.
+He had many later on. But the very first one seems the most wonderful,
+somehow. Yes, he could feed himself long before he let his foster
+brother and sister know it; and I think, had he been a wild crow instead
+of a tame one, he would have fooled his own father and mother the same
+way--the little rascal.
+
+No one would think, to see him with beak up and open, and with
+fluttering wings held out from his sides, that the little chap begging
+"Kah! kah! kah!" was old enough to do more than "gubble" the food that
+was poked into his big throat. But for all that, when the Brown-eyed Boy
+forgot the dish of earthworms and ran off to play, Corbie would listen
+until he could hear no one near, and then cock his bright eye down over
+the wriggling worms. Then, very slyly, he would pick one up with a jerk
+and catch it back into his mouth. One by one he would eat the worms,
+until he wanted no more; and then he would hide the rest by poking them
+into cracks or covering them with chips, crooning the while over his
+secret joke. "There-there-tuck-it-there," was what his croon sounded
+like; but if the Brown-eyed Boy or the Blue-eyed Girl came near, he
+would flutter out his wings at his sides and lift his open beak, his
+teasing "Kah" seeming to say, "Honest, I haven't had a bite to eat since
+you fed me last."
+
+When his body was grown so big with his stuffing that he was almost a
+full-sized crow, he stopped his constant begging for food. The days of
+his greed were only the days of his growth needs, and the world was too
+full of adventures to spend all his time just eating.
+
+It was now time for him to take pleasure in his sense of sight,
+and for a few, weeks he went nearly crazy with joy over yellow
+playthings. He strewed the vegetable garden with torn and tattered
+squash-blossoms--gorgeous bits of color that it was such fun to find
+hidden under the big green leaves! He strutted to the flower-garden, and
+pulled off all the yellow pansies, piling them in a heap. He jumped for
+the golden buttercups, nipping them from their stems. He danced for joy
+among the torn dandelion blooms he threw about the lawn. For Corbie was
+like a human baby in many ways. He must handle what he loved, and spoil
+it with his playing.
+
+Perhaps Corbie inherited his dancing from his grandfather. It may have
+come down to him with that old crow's merry spirit. Whether it was all
+his own or in part his grandfather's, it was a wonderful dance, so full
+of joy that the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl would leave their
+play to watch him, and would call the Grown-Ups of the household, that
+they, too, might see Corbie's "Happy Dance."
+
+If he was pleased with his cleverness in hiding some pretty beetle in a
+crack and covering it with a chip, he danced. If he spied the shiny
+nails in the tool-shed, he danced. If he found a gay ribbon to drag
+about the yard, he danced. But most and best he danced on a hot day when
+he was given a bright basin of water. Singing a lively chattering tune,
+he came to his bath. He cocked one bright eye and then the other over
+the ripples his beak made in the water. Plunging in, he splashed long,
+cooling flutters. Then he danced back and forth from the doorstep to
+his glistening pan, chattering his funny tune the while.
+
+Have you heard of a Highland Fling or a Sailor's Hornpipe? Well,
+Corbie's Happy Dance was as gay as both together, when he jigged in the
+dooryard to the tune of his own merry chatter. The Brown-eyed Boy and
+the Blue-eyed Girl laughed to see him, and the Grown-Ups laughed. And
+even as they laughed, their hearts danced with the little black crow--he
+made them feel so very glad about the bath. For he had been too warm and
+was now comfortable. The summer sun on his feathered body had tired him,
+and the cooling water brought relief. "Thanks be for the bath. O bird,
+be joyful for the bath!" he chattered in his own language, as he spread
+his wings and gave again and yet again his Happy Dance.
+
+But a basin, however bright, is not enough to keep a crow in the
+dooryard; for a crow is a bird of adventure.
+
+So it was that on a certain day Corbie flew over the cornfield and over
+the tree-tops to the river; and so quiet were his wings, that the
+Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl did not hear his coming, and they
+both jumped when he perched upon a tiny rock near by and screamed,
+"Caw," quite suddenly, as one child says, "Boo," to another, to surprise
+him. Then the bird sang his chatter tune, and found a shallow place near
+the bank, where he splashed and bathed. After that, the Blue-eyed Girl
+showed him a little water-snail. He turned it over in his beak and
+dropped it. It meant no more to him than a pebble. "I think you'll like
+to eat it, Corbie," said the Brown-eyed Boy, breaking the shell and
+giving it to him again; "even people eat snails, I've heard."
+
+Corbie took the morsel and swallowed it, and soon was cracking for
+himself all the snails his comrades gave him. But that was not enough,
+for their eyes were only the eyes of children and his bright bird eyes
+could find them twice as fast. So he waded in the river, playing "I spy"
+with his foster brother and sister, and beating them, too, at the game,
+though they had hunted snails as many summers as he had minutes.
+
+He enjoyed doing many of the same things the children did. It was that,
+and his sociable, merry ways, that made him such a good playfellow, and
+because he wanted them to be happy in his pleasure and to praise his
+clever tricks. Like other children, eating when he was hungry gave him
+joy, and at times he made a game of it that was fun for them all. Every
+now and then he would go off quietly by himself, and fill the hollow of
+his throat with berries from the bushes near the river-bank and, flying
+back to his friends, would spill out his fruit, uncrushed, in a little
+pile beside them while he crooned and chuckled about it. He seemed to
+have the same sort of good time picking berries in his throat cup and
+showing how many he had found that the children did in seeing which
+could first fill a tin cup before they sat down on the rocks to eat
+them.
+
+One day the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl were down by the
+river, hunting for pearls. A pearl-hunter had shown them how to open
+freshwater clamshells without killing the clams. Suddenly Corbie walked
+up and, taking one of these hard-shelled animals right out of their
+hands, he flew high overhead and dropped it down on the rocks near by.
+Of course that broke the shell and of course Corbie came down and ate
+the clam, without needing any vinegar or butter on it to make it taste
+good to him. How he learned to do this, the children never knew. Perhaps
+he found out by just happening to drop one he was carrying, or perhaps
+he saw the wild crows drop their clams to break the shells: for after
+nesting season they used often to come down from the mountainside to
+fish by the river for snails and clams and crayfish, when they were not
+helping the farmers by eating up insects in the fields.
+
+Corbie liked the crayfish, too, as well as people like lobsters and
+crabs, and he had many an exciting hunt, poking under the stones for
+them and pulling them out with his strong beak.
+
+There seemed to be no end of things Corbie could do with that beak of
+his. Sometimes it was a little crowbar for lifting stones or bits of
+wood when he wanted to see what was underneath; for as every outdoor
+child, either crow or human, knows, very, very interesting things live
+in such places. Sometimes it was a spade for digging in the dirt.
+Sometimes it was a pick for loosening up old wood in the hollow tree
+where he kept his best treasures. Sometimes it worked like a
+nut-cracker, sometimes like a pair of forceps, and sometimes--oh, you
+can think of a dozen tools that beak of Corbie's was like. He was as
+well off as if he had a whole carpenter's chest with him all the time.
+But mostly it served like a child's thumb and forefinger, to pick
+berries, or to untie the bright hair-ribbons of the Blue-eyed Girl or
+the shoe-laces of the Brown-eyed Boy. And once in a long, long while,
+when some stupid child or Grown-Up, who did not know how to be civil to
+a crow, used him roughly, his beak became a weapon with which to pinch
+and to strike until his enemy was black and blue. For Corbie learned, as
+every sturdy person must, in some way or other, how to protect himself
+when there was need.
+
+Yes, Corbie's beak was wonderful. Of course, lips are better on people
+in many ways than beaks would be; but we cannot do one tenth so many
+things with our mouths as Corbie could with his. To be sure, we do not
+need to, for we have hands to help us out. If our arms had grown into
+wings, though, as a bird's arms do, how should we ever get along in this
+world?
+
+[Illustration: _Corbie slipped off and amused himself._]
+
+The weeks passed by. A happy time for Corbie, whether he played with the
+children or slipped off and amused himself, as he had a way of doing now
+and then, after he grew old enough to feel independent. The world for
+him was full of adventure and joy. He never once asked, "What can I do
+now to amuse me?" Never once. His brain was so active that he could
+fill every place and every hour full to the brim of interest. He had a
+merry way about him, and a gay chatter that seemed to mean, "Oh, life to
+a crow is joy! JOY!" And because of all this, it was not only the
+Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl who loved him. He won the hearts
+of even the Grown-Ups, who had sometimes found it hard to be patient
+with him during the first noisy days, when he tired them with his
+frequent baby "kah-and-gubble," before he could feed himself.
+
+But, however bold and dashing he was during the day, whatever the sunny
+hours had held of mirth and dancing, whichever path he had trod or
+flown, whomever he had chummed with--when it was the time of dusk,
+little Corbie sought the one he loved best of all, the one who had been
+most gentle with him, and snuggling close to the side of the Blue-eyed
+Girl, tucked his head into her sleeve or under the hem of her skirt, and
+crooned his sleepy song which seemed to mean:--
+
+    Oh! soft and warm the crow in the nest
+    Finds the fluff of his mother's breast.
+    Oh! well he sleeps, for she folds him tight--
+    Safe from the owl that flies by night.
+
+    Oh! far her wings have fluttered away,
+    Nor does it matter in the day.
+    But keep me, pray, till again 't is light,
+    Safe from the owl that flies by night.
+
+Thus, long after he would have been weaned, for his own good, from such
+care, had he remained wild, Corbie, the tame crow, claimed protection
+with cunning, cuddling ways that taught the Blue-eyed Girl and her
+brother and the Grown-Ups, too, something about crows that many people
+never even guess. For all their rollicking care-free ways, there is,
+hidden beneath their black feathers, an affection very tender and
+lasting; and when they are given the friendship of humans, they find
+touching ways of showing how deep their trust can be.
+
+Before the summer was over, Corbie had as famous a collection as his
+great grandfather. The children knew where he kept it, and used
+sometimes to climb up to look at his playthings. They never disturbed
+them except to take out the knitting-needle, thimble, spoons, or things
+like that, which were needed in the house. The bright penny someone had
+given him, the shiny nails, the brass-headed tacks, the big white
+feather, the yellow marble, all the bits of colored glass, and an old
+watch, they left where he put them; for they thought that he loved his
+things, or he would not have hidden them together; and they thought, and
+so do I, that he had as much right to his treasures to look at and care
+for as the Brown-eyed Boy had to his collection of pretty stones and the
+Blue-eyed Girl to the flowers in her wild garden.
+
+After his feathers were grown, in the spring, Corbie had been really
+good-looking in his black suit; but by the first of September he was
+homely again. His little side-feather moustache dropped out at the top
+of his beak, so that his nostrils were uncovered as they had been when
+he was very young. The back of his head was nearly bald, and his neck
+and breast were ragged and tattered.
+
+Yes, Corbie was molting, and he had a very unfinished sort of look while
+the new crop of paint-brushes sprouted out all over him. But it was
+worth the discomforts of the molt to have the new feather coat, all
+shiny black; and Corbie was even handsomer than he had been during the
+summer, when cold days came, and he needed his warm thick suit.
+
+At this time all the wild crows that had nested in that part of the
+country flew every night from far and wide to the famous crow-roost, not
+far from a big peach orchard. They came down from the mountain that
+showed like a long blue ridge against the sky. They flew across a road
+that looked, on account of the color of the dirt, like a pinkish-red
+ribbon stretching off and away. They left the river-edge and the fields.
+Every night they gathered together, a thousand or more of them. Corbie's
+father and mother were among them, and Corbie's two brothers and two
+sisters. But Corbie was not with those thousand crows.
+
+No cage held him, and no one prevented his flying whither he wished;
+but Corbie stayed with the folk who had adopted him. A thousand wild
+crows might come and go, calling in their flight, but Corbie, though
+free, chose for his comrades the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl.
+
+I thought all along it would be so if they were good to him; and that is
+why I said, the day he was kidnaped, that you need not be sorry for
+Corbie--not very.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+ARDEA'S SOLDIER
+
+
+In years long gone by, soldiers called "knights" used to protect the
+rights of other people; and, when the weak were in danger, these
+soldiers went forth to fight for them. They were so brave, these knights
+of old, that there was nothing that could make them afraid. Dragons
+even, which looked like crocodiles, with leather wings and terrible
+snatching claws and fiery eyes and breath that smoked--dragons, even, so
+the stories go, could not turn a knight away from his path of duty.
+Mind, I am not telling you that there ever were creatures that looked
+like that; but certain it is that there were dangers dreadful to meet,
+and "dragon" is a very good name to call them by.
+
+You know, do you not, that there are soldiers, still, who protect the
+rights of others; and although we do not commonly call them "knights,"
+they still fight for the weak, and are so brave that dangers as fearsome
+as dragons, even, cannot scare them.
+
+There was such a soldier in Ardea's camp; and if he had lived in olden
+days, he would probably have been called "Knight of the Snowy Heron."
+
+Ardea was a bride that spring, and perhaps never was there one much
+lovelier. Her wedding garment was the purest white; and instead of a
+veil she wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of rare beauty,
+which reached to the bottom of her gown, where the dainty tips curled up
+a bit, then hung like the finest fringe.
+
+[Illustration: _She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of
+rare beauty._]
+
+The Soldier watched her as she stood alone at the edge of the water, so
+small and white and slender against the great cypress trees bearded with
+Spanish moss, and thought she made a picture he could never forget. And
+when her mate came out to her, in a white wedding-robe like her own,
+with its filmy cape of mist-fine plumes, Ardea's Soldier smiled gently,
+for he loved Heron Camp and shared, in his heart, the joys of their
+home-coming.
+
+Ardea and her mate took a pleasant trip, looking for a building place at
+the edge of a swamp. They did not object to neighbors; which was
+fortunate, as there were so many other herons in the camp that it would
+have been hard to find a very secret spot for their nest. After looking
+it over and talking about it a bit, they chose a mangrove bush for their
+very own. They had never built a house before, but they wasted no time
+in hunting for a carpenter or teacher, but went to work with a will,
+just as if they knew how. It was like playing a game of "five-six, pick
+up sticks"; only they did not lay them straight but in a scraggly
+criss-cross sort of platform, with big twigs twelve inches long at the
+bottom and smaller ones on top. Then, when it looked all ready for a
+nice soft lining, Ardea laid an egg right on the rough sticks. Rather
+lazy and shiftless, don't you think? or maybe they didn't know any
+better, poor young things who had never had a home before! Ah, but there
+was another pair of snowy herons building in the bush next door, and
+they didn't put in anything soft for their eggs, either; and six or
+eight bushes farther on, a little blue heron was already sitting on her
+blue eggs in almost exactly the same sort of nest.
+
+So that is the kind of carpenters herons are! Sticks laid tangled up in
+a mass is the way they build! Yes, that is all--just some old dead
+twigs. I mean that is all you could _see_; but never think for a minute
+that there wasn't something else about that nest; for Ardea and her mate
+had lined it well with love, and so it was, indeed, a home worth
+building.
+
+[Illustration: _Near Ardea's Home._]
+
+In less than a week there were four eggs beneath the white down
+comforter that Ardea tucked over them; and the little mother was as
+well pleased as if she had had five, like her neighbors, the other snowy
+heron and the little blue heron.
+
+If the eggs of the little blue heron were blue, would not those of the
+snowy herons be pure white? No, the color of eggs does not need to match
+the color of feathers; and Ardea's eggs and those of her next-bush
+neighbor were so much like the beautiful blue ones of the little blue
+heron, that it would be very hard for you to tell one from the other.
+Perhaps Ardea could not have told her own eggs if she had not remembered
+where she had built her nest. As it was, she made no mistake, but
+snuggled cosily over her pretty eggs, doubling up her long slender black
+legs and her yellow feet as best she could.
+
+If she found it hard to sit there day after day, she made no fuss about
+it; and probably she really wanted to do that more than anything else
+just then, since the quiet patience of the most active birds is natural
+to them when they are brooding their unhatched babies. Then, too, there
+was her beautiful mate for company and help; for when Ardea needed to
+leave the nest for food and a change, the father-bird kept house as
+carefully as need be.
+
+To her next-bush neighbors and the little blue herons Ardea paid no
+attention, unless, indeed, one of them chanced to come near her own
+mangrove bush. Then she and her mate would raise the feathers on the top
+of their heads until they looked rather fierce and bristly, and spread
+out their filmy capes of dainty plumes in a threatening way. That
+criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home after all, being
+lined, you will remember, with the love of Ardea and her mate; and they
+both guarded it as well as they were able.
+
+At last the quiet brooding days came to an end, and four funny little
+herons wobbled about in Ardea's nest. Their long legs and toes stuck out
+in all directions, and they couldn't seem to help sprawling around. If
+there had been string or strands of moss or grass in the nest, they
+would probably have got all tangled up. As it was, they sometimes nearly
+spilled out, and saved themselves only by clinging to the firm sticks
+and twigs. So it would seem that their home was a good sort for the
+needs of their early life, just as it was; and no doubt a heron's nest
+for a heron is as suitable a building as an oriole's is for an oriole.
+
+[Illustration: _That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home,
+and they both guarded it._]
+
+It would take some time before the babies of Ardea would be able to
+straighten up on their long, slim legs and go wading. Until that day
+came, their father and mother would have to feed them well and often.
+Now the marsh where the snowy herons went fishing, where the shallow
+water was a favorite swimming-place for little fishes, was ten miles or
+more from their nest. Some kinds of herons, perhaps most kinds, are
+quiet and stately when they hunt, standing still and waiting for their
+game to come to them, or moving very slowly and carefully. But Ardea and
+the other snowy herons ran about in a lively way, spying out the little
+fishes with their bright yellow eyes, and catching them up quickly in
+their black beaks. After swallowing a supply of food, Ardea took wing
+and returned across the miles to her young. Standing on the edge of her
+nest and reaching down with her long neck, she took the bill of one of
+her babies in her own mouth, and dropped part of what she had swallowed
+out of her big throat down into his small one. When she had fed her
+babies and preened her pretty feathers a bit, she was off again on the
+ten-mile flight; for many a long journey she and her mate must take ere
+their little ones could feed themselves. But ten miles over and over and
+over again were as nothing to the love she had for her children; and
+faithfully as she had brooded her eggs, she now began the task of
+providing their meals. She seemed so happy each time she returned, that
+perhaps she was a little bit worried while she was away; but there is no
+reason to think she really was afraid that any great harm could come to
+them.
+
+Certainly she was unprepared for what she found when she flew back from
+her fourth fishing trip. Even when she reached Heron Camp, she did not
+understand. There are some things it is not given the mind of a bird to
+know.
+
+She could not know, poor dear, that there were people in the world who
+coveted her beautiful wedding plumes. Women there were, who wished to
+make themselves look better by wearing the feathers that Nature had
+given snowy herons for their very own. And men there were, who thought
+to make themselves grander in the dress of their organization by walking
+about with heron plumes waving on their heads. The two kinds of white
+herons with wonderful plumes that have been put to such uses are called
+Egrets and Snowy Egrets, and the feathers, when they are stripped from
+the birds, are called by the French name of _aigrette_.
+
+Now, of course, Ardea could not know about this, or that the
+Plume-Hunters had come to steal her wedding feathers. But she knew well
+enough that danger was at hand, and that in times of trouble a mother's
+place is beside her babies. Her heart beat quickly with a new terror,
+but she stayed, the brave bird stayed! And all about her the other
+herons stayed also. They had no way to fight for their lives, and they
+might have flown far and safely on their strong wings; but none of them
+would desert the home built with love while the frightened babies were
+calling to their fathers and mothers.
+
+No, _they_ could not fight for their lives, but there was one who could.
+For danger did not come to Heron Camp without finding Ardea's Soldier at
+his post.
+
+Now the Plume-Hunters did not have bodies like crocodiles and leather
+wings, you know; but they were dragons of a sort, for all that, for they
+carried brutal things in their hands that belched forth smoke and pain
+and death, and they were cruel of heart, and they had sold themselves to
+do evil for the sake of the dollars that covetous men and women would
+pay them for feathers.
+
+Dragons though they were, Ardea's Soldier met them bravely. I like to
+think how brave he was; for was not the fight he fought a fight for our
+good old Mother Earth, that she might not lose those beautiful children
+of hers? If the world should be robbed of Snowy Herons, it would be just
+so much less lovely, just so much less wonderful. And have they no right
+to life, since the same Power that gave life to men gave life to them?
+And when we think about it this way, who seems to have the better right
+to those plumes--herons, or men and women?
+
+The Soldier believed in Ardea's right to life, believed in it so deeply
+that he stood alone before the Plume-Hunters and told them that, while
+he lived, the birds of his camp should also live.
+
+And that is why they killed him--the dragons who were cruel of heart
+and had sold themselves to do evil for the sake of dollars that covetous
+men and women would pay for feathers.
+
+Because of his courage and because of the cause for which he died, I
+think, don't you, that Ardea's Soldier might well be called "Knight of
+the Snowy Heron."
+
+I said that he was alone, and it is true that no one was there at the
+camp to help him. But many there were in other places doing their bit in
+the same good fight. Another soldier, named Theodore Roosevelt, did much
+for these birds when he was President, by granting them land where no
+man had a right to touch them; for it makes a true soldier angry when
+the weak are oppressed, and he said, "It is a disgrace to America that
+we should permit the sale of aigrettes." Another man, named Woodrow
+Wilson, whose courage also was so great that he always did what he
+believed to be right, would not permit, when he was Governor of New
+Jersey, a company to sell aigrettes in that State; he said, "I think New
+Jersey can get along without blood-money."
+
+Many another great man, besides, served the cause of Ardea. So many, in
+fact, that there is not room here to tell about them all. But there is
+room to say that the children helped. For, you know, every Junior
+Audubon Society sends money to the National Association of Audubon
+Societies--not much, but a little; and when the Knight of the Snowy
+Heron was killed, that little helped the National Association to hire
+another soldier to take his place. Now, think of that! There was another
+soldier who so believed in the Herons' right to life and plumage, that
+he was ready to protect them though it meant certain danger to himself!
+
+Yes, there is to this very day a soldier at Heron Camp. Do you know a
+way to keep him safe? Why, you children of America can do it if you
+will, and it need not cost one of you a penny. You can do it with your
+minds. For if every girl makes up her mind for good and all that she
+will never wear a feather that costs a bird its life; and if every boy
+makes up his mind for good and all that he will never be a
+feather-hunting dragon--why there will not be _anybody_ growing up in
+America to harm Ardea, will there? You can keep the Soldier of Heron
+Camp safe by just wishing it! That sounds wonderful as a fairy story
+come true, does it not? And like the knight in some old fairy tale,
+could not Ardea's new Soldier "live happily forever after"?
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THE FLYING CLOWN
+
+
+There are many accounts of the flying clown, in books, nearly all of
+which refer to him as bull-bat or nighthawk, and a member of the
+Goatsucker or Nightjar family. But he wasn't a bull and he wasn't a bat
+and he wasn't a hawk and he wasn't a jar; and he flew more by day than
+by night, and he never, never milked a goat in all his life. So for the
+purposes of this story we may as well give him a name to suit ourselves,
+and call him Mis Nomer.
+
+He was a poor skinny little thing, but you would not have guessed it to
+see him; for he always wore a loose fluffy coat, which made him look
+bigger and plumper than he really was. It was a gray and brown and
+creamy buff-and-white sort of coat, quite mottled, with a rather plain,
+nearly black, back. It was trimmed with white, there being a white
+stripe near the end of the coat-tail, a big, fine, V-shaped white place
+under his chin that had something the look of a necktie, and a bar of
+white reaching nearly across the middle of each wing.
+
+These bars would have made you notice his long, pointed wings if he had
+been near you, and they were well worth noticing; for besides just
+flying with them,--which was wonderful enough, as he was a talented
+flier,--he used them in a sort of gymnastic stunt he was fond of
+performing in the springtime.
+
+Perhaps he did it to show off. I do not know. Certainly he had as good a
+right to be proud of his accomplishments as a turkey or a peacock that
+spreads its tail, or a boy who walks on his hands. Maybe a better right,
+for they have solid earth to strut upon and run no risks, while Mis did
+his whole trick in the air. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, though he
+had no gymnasium with bars or rings or tight rope, and there was no
+canvas stretched to catch him if he fell. A circus, with tents, and a
+gate-keeper to take your ticket, would have been lucky if it could have
+hired Mis to show his skill for money.
+
+But Mis couldn't be hired. Not he! He was a free, wild clown, performing
+only under Mother Nature's tent of wide-arched sky. If you wanted to see
+him, you could--ticket or no ticket. That was nothing to him; for Mis,
+the wild clown of the air, had no thought either of money or fame among
+people.
+
+Far, far up, he flew, hither and yon, in a matter-of-fact-enough way;
+and then of a sudden, with wings half-closed, he dropped toward the
+earth. Could he stop such speed, or must he strike and kill himself in
+his fall? Down, down he plunged; and then, at last, he made a sound as
+if he groaned a loud, deep "boom."
+
+[Illustration: _The Flying Clown._]
+
+But just at the moment of this sound he was turning, and then, the first
+anyone knew, he was flying up gayly, quite gayly. Then it wasn't a groan
+of fear? Mis afraid! Why the rascal had but to move his wings this way
+and that, and go up instead of down. He might be within a second of
+dashing himself to death against the ground, but so sure were his wings
+and so strong his muscles, that a second was time and to spare for him
+to stop and turn and rise again toward the safe height from which he
+dived. A fine trick that! The fun of the plunge, and then the quick jerk
+at the end that sent the wind groaning against and between the feathers
+of his wings, with a "boom" loud and sudden enough to startle anyone
+within hearing.
+
+Yes, you might have seen the little clown at his tricks without a ticket
+at the wild-circus gate, for all he cared or knew. What did the children
+of men matter to him? Had not his fathers and grandfathers and
+great-grandfathers given high-air circus performances of a springtime,
+in the days when bison and passenger pigeons inherited their full share
+of the earth, before our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers
+had even seen America?
+
+Was it, then, just for the joy of the season that he played in the air,
+or was there, after all, someone besides himself to be pleased with the
+sport? Who knows whether the little acrobat was showing his mate what a
+splendid fellow he was, how strong of wing and skillful in the tricks of
+flight? Be that as it may, the mate of Mis was satisfied in some way or
+other, and went with him on a voyage of discovery one afternoon, when
+the sky was nicely cloudy and the light pleasantly dull.
+
+Now, like all good parents, Mis and his mate were a bit particular about
+what sort of neighborhood they should choose for their home; for the
+bringing up of a family, even if it is a small one, is most important.
+
+A peaceful place and a sunny exposure they must have; there must be good
+hunting near at hand; and one more thing, too, was necessary. Now, the
+house-lot they finally decided upon met all four of these needs, though
+it sounds like a joke to tell you where it was. But then, when a clown
+goes merrily forth to find him a home, we must not be surprised if he is
+funny about it. It was where the sun could shine upon it; though how Mis
+and his mate knew that, all on a dull, dark afternoon, I'm sure I can't
+tell. Maybe because there wasn't a tree in sight. And as for peace, it
+was as undisturbed as a deserted island. It was, in fact, a sort of
+island in a sea of air, and at certain times of the day and night there
+was game enough in this sea to satisfy even such hunters as they.
+
+Perhaps they chuckled cosily together when they decided to take their
+peace and sunshine on the flat roof of a very high building in a very
+large city. Their house-lot was covered with pebbles, and it suited them
+exactly. So well that they moved in, just as it was.
+
+Yes, those two ridiculous birds set up housekeeping without any house.
+Mother Nomer just settled herself on the bare pebbles in a satisfied
+way, and that was all there was to it. Not a stick or a wisp of hay or a
+feather to mark the place! And as she sat there quietly, a queer thing
+happened. She disappeared from sight. As long as she didn't move, she
+couldn't be seen. Her dappled feathers didn't look like a bird. They
+looked like the light and dark of the pebbles of the flat roof. Ah, so
+_that_ was the one thing more that was necessary for her home, besides
+sunshine and peace and good hunting. It must be where she could sit and
+not show; where she could hide by just looking like what was near her,
+like a sand-colored grasshopper on the sand in the sun,[2] or a
+walking-stick on a twig,[2] or a butterfly on the bark of a tree.[2]
+
+Yes, Mis's mate knew, in some natural wise way of her own, the secret of
+making use of what we call her "protective coloration." This is one of
+the very most important secrets Mother Nature has given her children,
+and many use it--not birds alone, but beasts and insects also. They use
+it in their own wild way and think nothing about it. We say that it is
+their instinct that leads them to choose places where they cannot easily
+be seen. If you do not understand exactly what instinct is, do not feel
+worried, for there are some things about that secret of Mother Nature
+that even the wisest men in the world have not explained. But this we do
+know, that when her instincts led Mother Nomer to choose the pebbly roof
+as a background for her mottled feathers, she did just naturally very
+much the same thing that the soldiers in the world-war did when they
+made use of great guns painted to look like things they were not, and
+ships painted to look like the waves beneath them and the clouds in the
+sky above. Only, the soldiers did not use their protective coloration
+naturally and by instinct. They did this by taking thought; and very
+proud they felt, too, of being able to do this by hard study. They
+talked about it a great deal and the French taught the world a new word,
+_camouflage_, to call it by. And their war-time camouflage _was_
+wonderful, even though it was only a clumsy imitation of what Mother
+Nature did when the feathers of Mother Nomer were made to grow dappled
+like little blotches of light and dark; or, to put it the other way
+about, when the bird was led, by her instinct, to choose for the
+nesting-time a place where she did not show.
+
+Of course, it was not just the gravel on the flat roof that would match
+her feathers; for there isn't a house in the land that is nearly so old
+as one thousand years, and birds of this sort have been building much
+longer than that. No, so far as color went, Mother Nomer might have
+chosen a spot in an open field, where there were little broken sticks or
+stones to give it a mottled look--such a place, indeed, as her ancestors
+used to find for their nesting in the old days when there were no
+houses. Such a place, too, as most of this kind of bird still seek; for
+not all of them, by any means, are roof-dwellers in cities.
+
+Our bird with the dappled feathers, however, sat in one little spot on
+that large roof for about sixteen days and nights, with time enough off
+now and then to get food and water, and to exercise her wings. When she
+was away, Mis came and sat on the same spot. If you had been there to
+see them come and go, you would have wondered why they cared about that
+particular spot. It looked like the rest of the sunny roof--just little
+humps of light and dark. Ah, yes! but two of those little humps of light
+and dark were not pebbles: they were eggs; and if you couldn't have
+found them, Mis and his mate could, though I think even they had to
+remember where they were instead of eye-spying them.
+
+By the time sixteen days were over, there were no longer eggs beneath
+the fluffy feathers that had covered them. Instead, there were two
+little balls of down, though you couldn't have seen them either, unless
+you had been about near enough to touch them; for the downy children of
+Mis were as dappled as his mate and her eggs, and they had, from the
+moment of their hatching, the instinct for keeping still if danger came
+near.
+
+[Illustration: _Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days._]
+
+Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days of Mother Nomer.
+Something of the noise and bustle, to be sure, of the city streets came
+up to her; but that was from far below, and things far off are not worth
+worrying about. Sometimes, too, the sound of voices floated out from
+the upper windows of the building, quite near; but the birds soon became
+used to that.
+
+When the twins were but a few days old, however, their mother had a real
+scare. A man came up to take down some electric wires that had been
+fastened not far from the spot that was the Nomer home. He tramped
+heavily about, throwing down his tools here and there, and whistling
+loudly as he worked. All this frightened little Mother Nomer. There is
+no doubt about that, for her heart beat more and more quickly. But she
+didn't budge. She couldn't. It was a part of her camouflage trick to sit
+still in danger. The greater the danger, the stiller to sit! She even
+kept her eyes nearly shut, until, when the man had cut the last and
+nearest end of wire and put all his things together in a pile ready to
+take down, he came to look over the edge of the roof-wall. As he bent to
+do this, he brushed suddenly against her.
+
+Then Mother Nomer sprang into the air; and the man jumped, in such
+surprise that, had it not been for the wall, he would have fallen from
+the roof. It would be hard to tell which was the more startled for a
+moment--man or bird. But Mother Nomer did not fly far. She fell back to
+the roof some distance from her precious babies and fluttered pitifully
+about, her wings and tail spread wide and dragging as she moved lamely.
+She did not look like a part of the pebbly roof now. She showed
+plainly, for she was moving. She looked like a wounded bird, and the
+man, thinking he must have hurt her in some way, followed her to pick
+her up and see what the trouble was. Three times he almost got her.
+Almost, but not quite. Crippled as she seemed, she could still fumble
+and flutter just out of reach; and when at last the man had followed her
+to a corner of the roof far from her young, Mother Nomer sprang up, and
+spreading her long, pointed wings, took flight, whole and sound as a
+bird need be.
+
+The man understood and laughed. He laughed at himself for being fooled.
+For it wasn't the first time a bird had tricked him so. Once, when he
+was a country boy, a partridge, fluttering as if broken-winged, had led
+him through the underbrush of the wood-lot; and once a bird by the
+river-side stumbled on before him, crying piteously, "Pete! Pete!
+Pete-weet!" and once--Why, yes, he should have remembered that this is
+the trick of many a mother-bird when danger threatens her young.
+
+So he went back, with careful step, to where he had been before. He
+looked this way and that. There was no nest. He saw no young. The little
+Nomer twins were not the son and daughter of Mis, the clown, and Mother
+Nomer, the trick cripple, for nothing! They sat there, the little
+rascals, right before his eyes, and budged not; they could practice the
+art of camouflage, too.
+
+[Illustration: _The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage._]
+
+But as he stood and looked, a wistful light came into the eyes of the
+man. It had been many years since he had found nesting birds and watched
+the ways of them. His memory brought old pictures back to him. The
+crotch in the tree, where the robin had plastered her nest, modeling the
+mud with her feathered breast; the brook-edge willows, where the
+blackbirds built; the meadow, with its hidden homes of bobolinks; and
+the woods where the whip-poor-wills called o' nights. His thoughts made
+a boy of him again, and he forgot everything else in the world in his
+wish to see the little birds he felt sure must be among the pebbles
+before him. So he crept about carefully, here and there, and at last
+came upon the children of Mis. He picked up the fluffy little balls of
+down and snuggled them gently in his big hands for a moment. Then he put
+them back to their safe roof, and, gathering up his tools, went on his
+way, whistling a merry tune remembered from the days when he trudged
+down Long-ago Lane to the pasture, for his father's cows. Late of
+afternoon it used to be, while the nighthawks dashed overhead in their
+air-hunts, showing the white spots in their wings that looked like
+holes, and sometimes making him jump as they dropped and turned, with a
+sudden "boom."
+
+No sooner had the sound of his whistle gone from the roof, than Mother
+Nomer came back to her houseless home--any spot doing as well as
+another, now that the twins were hatched and able to walk about. As she
+called her babies to her and tucked them under her feathers, her heart
+still beating quickly with the excitement of her scare, it would be easy
+to guess from the dear way of her cuddling that it isn't a beautiful
+woven cradle or quaint walls of clay that matter most in the life of
+young birds, but the loving care that is given them. In this respect the
+young orioles, swinging in their hammock among the swaying tips of the
+elm tree, and the children of Eve and Petro, in their wonderful brick
+mansion, were no better off than the twins of Mis and Mother Nomer.
+
+Busy indeed was Mis in the twilights that followed the hatching of his
+children; and, though he was as much in the air as ever, it was not the
+fun of frolic and clownish tricks that kept him there. For, besides his
+own keen appetite, he had now the hunger of the twins to spur him on.
+Such a hunter as he was in those days! Why, he caught a thousand
+mosquitos on one trip; and meeting a swarm of flying ants, thought
+nothing at all of gobbling up five hundred before he stopped. Countless
+flies went down his throat. And when the big, brown bumping beetles,
+with hard, shiny wing-covers on their backs and soft, fuzzy velvet
+underneath, flew out at dusk, twenty or thirty of them, as likely as
+not, would make a luncheon for Mis the clown. For he was lean and
+hungry, and he ate and ate and ate; but he never grew fat. He hunted
+zigzag through the twilight of the evening and the twilight of the dawn.
+When the nights were bright and game was plenty, he hunted zigzag
+through the moonlight. When the day was dull and insects were on the
+wing, he hunted, though it was high noon. And many a midnight rambler
+going home from the theatre looked up, wondering what made the darting
+shadows, and saw Mis and his fellows dashing busily above where the
+night-insects were hovering about the electric lights of the city
+streets. He hunted long and he hunted well; but so keen was his appetite
+and so huge the hunger of his twins, that it took the mother, too, to
+keep the meals provided in the Nomer home.
+
+I think they were never unhappy about it, for there is a certain
+satisfaction in doing well what we can do; and there is no doubt that
+these birds were made to be hunters. Mis and his kind swept the air, of
+course, because they and their young were hungry; but the game they
+caught, had it gone free to lay its myriad eggs, would have cost many a
+farmer a fortune in sprays to save his crops, and would have added
+untold discomfort to dwellers in country and city alike.
+
+Although Mis, under his feathers, was much smaller than one would think
+to look at him, there were several large things about him besides his
+appetite. His mouth was almost huge, and reached way around to the sides
+of his head under his eyes. It opened up more like the mouth of a frog
+or a toad than like that of most birds. When he hunted he kept it
+yawning wide open, so that it made a trap for many an unlucky insect
+that flew straight in, without ever knowing what happened to it when it
+disappeared down the great hollow throat, into a stomach so enormous
+that it hardly seems possible that a bird less than twice the size of
+Mis could own it.
+
+There were other odd things about him, too--for instance, the comb he
+wore on his middle toe-nail. What he did with it, I can't say. He didn't
+seem to do very much with his feet anyway. They were rather feeble
+little things, and he never used them in carrying home anything he
+caught. He didn't even use them as most birds do when they stop to
+rest; for, instead of sitting on a twig when he was not flying, he would
+settle as if lying down. Sometimes he stayed on a large level branch,
+not cross-wise like most birds, but the long way; and when he did that,
+he looked like a humpy knot on the branch. When there were no branches
+handy, he would use a rail or a log or a wall, or even the ground; but
+wherever he settled himself, he looked like a blotch of light and dark,
+and one could gaze right at him without noticing that a bird was there.
+That was the way Mother Nomer did, too--clowns both of them and always
+ready for the wonderful game of camouflage!
+
+They had remarkable voices. There seemed to be just one word to their
+call. I am not going to tell you what that word is. There is a reason
+why I am not. The reason is, that I do not know. To be sure, I have
+heard nighthawks say it every summer for years, but I can't say it
+myself. It is a very funny word, but you will have to get one of them to
+speak it for you!
+
+They came by all their different kinds of queerness naturally enough,
+Mis and Mother Nomer did, for it seemed to run in the family to be
+peculiar, and all their relatives had oddities of one kind or another.
+Take Cousin Whip-poor-will, who wears whiskers, for instance; and Cousin
+Chuck-will's widow, who wears whiskers that branch. You could tell from
+their very names that they would do uncommon things. And as for their
+more distant relatives, the Hummingbirds and Chimney Swifts, it would
+take a story apiece as long as this to begin to tell of their strange
+doings. But it is a nice, likable sort of queerness they all have; so
+very interesting, too, that we enjoy them the better for it.
+
+There is one more wonderful thing yet that Mis and his mate did--and
+their twins with them; for before this happened, the children had grown
+to be as big as their parents, and a bit plumper, perhaps, though not
+enough to be noticed under their feathers. Toward the end of a pleasant
+summer, they joined a company of their kind, a sort of traveling circus,
+and went south for the winter. Just what performances they gave along
+the way, I did not hear; but with a whole flock of flying clowns on the
+wing, it seems likely that they had a gay time of it altogether!
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 2: See _Hexapod Stories_, pages 4, 110, 126.]
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE LOST DOVE
+
+_One Thousand Dollars ($1000) Reward_
+
+
+That is the prize that has been offered for a nesting pair of Passenger
+Pigeons. No one has claimed the money yet, and it would be a great
+adventure, don't you think, to seek that nest? If you find it, you must
+not disturb it, you know, or take the eggs or the young, or frighten the
+father- or mother-bird; for the people who offered all that money did
+not want dead birds to stuff for a museum, but hoped that someone might
+tell them where there were live wild ones nesting.
+
+You see the news had got about that the dove that is called Passenger
+Pigeon was lost. No one could believe this at first, because there had
+been so very many--more than a thousand, more than a million, more than
+a billion. How could more than a billion doves be lost?
+
+They were such big birds, too--a foot and a half long from tip of beak
+to tip of tail, and sometimes even longer. Why, that is longer than the
+tame pigeons that walk about our city streets. How could doves as large
+as that be lost, so that no one could find a pair, not even for one
+thousand dollars to pay him for the time it took to hunt?
+
+Their colors were so pretty--head and back a soft, soft blue; neck
+glistening with violet, red, and gold; underneath, a wonderful purple
+red fading into violet shades, and then into bluish white. Who would not
+like to seek, for the love of seeing so beautiful a bird, even though no
+one paid a reward in money?
+
+Shall we go, then, to Kentucky? For 'twas there the man named Audubon
+once saw them come in flocks to roost at night. They kept coming from
+sunset till after midnight, and their numbers were so great that their
+wings, even while still a long way off, made a sound like a gale of
+wind; and when close to, the noise of the birds was so loud that men
+could not hear one another speak, even though they stood near and
+shouted. The place where Audubon saw these pigeons was in a forest near
+the Green River; and there were so many that they filled the trees over
+a space forty miles long and more than three miles wide. They perched so
+thickly that the branches of the great trees broke under their weight,
+and went crashing to the ground; and their roosting-place looked as if a
+tornado had rushed through the forest.
+
+Must there not be wild pigeons, yet, roosting in Kentucky--some small
+flock, perhaps, descended from the countless thousands seen by Audubon?
+No, not one of all these doves is left, they tell us, in the woods in
+that part of the country. The rush of their wings has been stilled and
+their evening uproar has been silenced. Men may now walk beside the
+Green River, and hear each other though they speak in whispers.
+
+Would you like to seek the dove in Michigan in May? For there it was,
+and then it was, that these wild pigeons nested, so we are told by
+people who saw them, by hundreds of thousands, or even millions. They
+built in trees of every sort, and sometimes as many as one hundred nests
+were made in a single tree. Almost every tree on one hundred thousand
+acres would have at least one nest. The lowest ones were so near the
+ground that a man could reach them with his hand.
+
+[Illustration: _Suppose you should find just one pair._]
+
+Suppose you should find, next May, just one pair nesting. Sire Dove, we
+think from what we have read, would help bring some twigs, and Dame Dove
+would lay them together in a criss-cross way, so that they would make a
+floor of sticks, sagging just a little in the middle. As soon as the
+floor of twigs was firm enough, so that an egg would not drop through,
+Dame Dove would put one in the shallow sagging place in the middle. It
+would be a white egg, very much like those our tame pigeons lay; and,
+because there would be no thick soft warm rug of dried grass on the
+floor, you could probably see it right through the nest, if you should
+stand underneath and look up. But you couldn't see it long, because,
+almost as soon as it was laid, Dame Dove would tuck the feather
+comforter she carried on her breast so cosily about that precious egg,
+that it would need no other padding to keep it warm. She would stay
+there, the faithful mother, from about two o'clock each afternoon until
+nine or ten o'clock the next morning. She would not leave for one
+minute, to eat or get a drink of water. Then, about nine or ten o'clock
+each morning, Sire Dove would slip onto the nest just as she moved off,
+and they would make the change so quickly that the egg could not even
+get cool. That one very dear egg would need two birds to take care of
+it, one always snuggling it close while the other ate and flew about and
+drank.
+
+So they would sit, turn and turn about, for fourteen days. All this
+while they would be very gentle with each other, saying softly,
+"Coo-coo," something as tame pigeons do, only in shorter notes, or
+calling, "Kee-kee-kee." And sometimes Sire Dove would put his beak to
+that of his nesting mate and feed her, very likely, as later they would
+feed their young. For when the two weeks' brooding should be over, there
+would be a funny, homely, sprawling, soft and wobbly baby dove within
+the nest.
+
+The father and mother of him would still have much to do, it seems; for
+hatching a dove out of an egg is only the easier half of the task. The
+wobbly baby must be brought up to become a dove of grace and beauty.
+That would take food.
+
+But you must not think to see Sire and Dame Dove come flying home with
+seeds or nuts or fruit or grain or earthworms or insects in their beaks.
+What else, then, could they bring? Well, nothing at all, indeed, in
+their beaks; for the food of a baby dove requires especial preparation.
+It has to be provided for him in the crop of his parent. So Dame Dove
+would come with empty beak but full crop, and the baby would be fed.
+Just exactly how, I have not seen written by those people who saw a
+million Passenger Pigeons. Perhaps they did not stop to notice.
+
+However, if you will watch a tame pigeon feed its young, you can guess
+how a wild one would do it. A tame mother-pigeon that I am acquainted
+with comes to her young (_she_ has two) and, standing in or beside the
+nest, opens her beak very wide. One of her babies reaches up as far as
+he can stretch his neck and puts his beak inside his mother's mouth. He
+tucks it in at one side and crowds in his head as far as he can push it.
+Then the mother makes a sort of pumping motion, and pumps up soft baby
+food from her crop, and he swallows it. Sometimes he keeps his beak in
+his mother's mouth for as long as five minutes; and if anything startles
+her and she pulls away, the hungry little fellow scolds and whines and
+whimpers in a queer voice, and reaches out with his teasing wings, and
+flaps them against her breast, stretching up with his beak all the while
+and feeling for a chance to poke his head into her mouth again. And
+often, do you know, his twin sister gets her beak in one side of Mother
+Pigeon's mouth while he is feeding at the other side, and Mother just
+stands there and pumps and pumps. The two comical little birds, with
+feet braced and necks stretched up as far as they can reach, and their
+heads crowded as far in as they can push them, look so funny they would
+make you laugh to see them. Then, the next meal Father Pigeon feeds them
+the same way, usually one at a time, but often both together.
+
+Now, I think, don't you, because that is the way tame Father and Mother
+Pigeon serve breakfast and dinner and supper and luncheons in between
+whiles to their tame twins, that wild Dame and Sire Dove would give food
+in very much the same way to their one wild baby? It might not be
+exactly the same, because tame pigeons and wild Passenger Pigeons are
+not the same kind of doves; but they are cousins of a sort, which means
+that they must have some of the same family habits.
+
+If you should find a nest in Michigan in May, perhaps you can learn more
+about these matters, and watch to see whether, when the baby dove is all
+feathered out, Dame or Sire Dove pushes it out of the nest even before
+it can fly, though it is fat enough to be all right until it gets so
+hungry it learns to find food for itself. Perhaps you can watch, too, to
+see why Dame and Sire Dove seem to be in such a hurry to have their
+first baby taking care of himself. Is it because they are ready to build
+another nest right straight away, or would Dame Dove lay another egg in
+the same nest? Tame Mother Pigeon often lays two more eggs in the next
+nest-box even before her twins are out of their nest. Then you may be
+sure Father and Mother Pigeon have a busy time of it feeding their
+eldest twins, while they brood the two eggs in which their younger twins
+are growing.
+
+It would be very pleasant if you could watch a pair of Passenger Pigeons
+and find out all these things about them. _If you could!_ But I said
+only "perhaps," because the people who know most about the matter say
+that Michigan has lost more than a million, or possibly more than a
+billion, doves. They say that, if you should walk through all the woods
+in Michigan, you would not hear one single Passenger Pigeon call,
+"Kee-kee-kee" to his mate, or hear one pair talk softly together,
+saying, "Coo-coo." There are sticks and twigs enough for their nests
+lying about; but through all the lonesome woods, so we are told, there
+is not one Sire Dove left to bring them to his Dame; and never, never,
+never will there be another nest like the millions there used to be.
+
+[Illustration: _Through all the lonesome woods there is not one dove._]
+
+Well, then, if we cannot find them at sunset in their roosting-place in
+Kentucky or in their nests in Michigan in May, shall we give up the
+quest for the lost doves? Or shall we still keep hold of our courage and
+our hope and try elsewhere?
+
+Surely, if there are any of these birds anywhere, they must eat food!
+Shall we seek them at some feeding-place? This might be everywhere in
+North America, from the Atlantic Ocean as far west as the Great Plains.
+That is, everywhere in all these miles where the things they liked to
+eat are growing. So, if you keep out of the Atlantic Ocean, and get
+someone to show you where the Great Plains are, you might look--_almost
+anywhere_. Why, many of you would not need to take a steam-train or even
+a trolley-car. You could walk there. Most of you could. You could walk
+to a place where they used to stop to feed. Those that were behind in
+the great flock flew over the heads of all the others, and so were in
+front for a while. In that way they all had a chance at a well-spread
+picnic ground. Yes, you could easily walk to a place where that used to
+happen--most of you could.
+
+Do you know where acorns grow, or beechnuts, or chestnuts? Well,
+Passenger Pigeons used to come there to eat, for they were very fond of
+nuts! Do you know where elm trees grow wild along some riverway, or
+where pine trees live? Oh! that is where these birds used sometimes to
+get their breakfasts, when the trees had scattered their seeds. Do you
+know a tree that has a seed about the right size and shape for a knife
+at a doll's tea-party? Yes, that's the maple; and many and many a party
+the Passenger Pigeons used to have wherever they could find these
+cunning seed-knives. Only they didn't use them to cut things with. They
+ate them up as fast as ever they could.
+
+Have you ever picked wild berries? Why, more than likely Passenger
+Pigeons have picked other berries there or thereabouts before your day!
+
+Do you know a place where the wild rice grows? Ah, so did the Passenger
+Pigeons, once upon a time!
+
+But if you know none of these places, even then you can stand near where
+the flocks used to fly when they were on their journeys. All of you who
+live between the Atlantic Ocean and the Great Plains can go to the door
+or a window of the house you live in and point to the sky and think:
+"Once so many Passenger Pigeons flew by that the sound of their wings
+was like the sound of thunder, and they went through the air faster than
+a train on a track, and the numbers in their flocks were so many that
+they hid the sun like great thick clouds."
+
+When you do that, some of you will doubtless see birds flying over; but
+we fear that not even one of you will see even one Passenger Pigeon in
+its flight.
+
+What happened to the countless millions is recorded in so many books
+that it need not be written again in this one. This story will tell you
+just one more thing about these strange and wonderful birds, and that is
+that no _child_ who reads this story is in any way to blame because the
+dove is lost. What boy or girl is not glad to think, when some wrong has
+been done or some mistake has been made, "It's not _my_ fault"?
+
+[Illustration: _Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their wings was
+like the sound of thunder._]
+
+Even though this bird is gone forever and forever and forever, there are
+many other kinds living among us. If old Mother Earth has been robbed of
+some of her children, she still has many more--many wonderful and
+beautiful living things. And that she may keep them safe, she needs your
+help; for boys and girls are her children, too, and the power lies in
+your strong hands and your courageous hearts and your wise brains to
+help save some of the most wonderful and fairest of other living things.
+And what one among you all, I wonder, will not be glad to think that
+_you_ help keep the world beautiful, when you leave the water-lilies
+floating on the pond; that it is the same as if _you_ sow the seeds in
+wild gardens, when you leave the cardinal flowers glowing on the banks
+and the fringed gentians lending their blue to the marshes. For the life
+of the world, whether it flies through the air or grows in the ground,
+is greatly in your care; and though you may never win a prize of money
+for finding the dove that other people lost, there is a reward of joy
+ready for anyone who can look at our good old Mother Earth and say, "It
+will not be _my_ fault if, as the years go by, you lose your birds and
+flowers."
+
+And it would be, don't you think, one of the greatest of adventures to
+seek and find and help keep safe such of these as are in danger, that
+they may not, like the dove, be lost?
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS
+
+
+Oh, the wise, wise look of him, with his big round eyes and his very
+Roman nose! He had sat in a golden silence throughout that dazzling day;
+but when the kindly moon sent forth a gentler gleam, he spoke, and the
+speech of little Solomon Otus was as silver. A quivering, quavering
+whistle thrilled through the night, and all who heard the beginning
+listened to the end of his song.
+
+It was a night and a place for music. The mellow light lay softly over
+the orchard tree, on an old branch of which little Solomon sat mooning
+himself before his door. He could see, not far away, the giant chestnut
+trees that shaded the banks of a little ravine; and hear the murmuring
+sound of Shanty Creek, where Nata[3] grew up, and where her
+grandchildren now played hide-and-seek. Near at hand stood a noble oak,
+with a big dead branch at the top that was famous the country round as a
+look-out post for hawks and crows; and maybe an eagle now and then had
+used it, in years gone by.
+
+But hawk and crow were asleep, and toads were trilling a lullaby from
+the pond, while far, far off in the heart of the woods, a whip-poor-will
+called once, twice, and again.
+
+Solomon loved the dusk. His life was fullest then and his sight was
+keenest. His eyes were wide open, and he could see clearly the shadow of
+the leaves when the wind moved them lightly from time to time. He was at
+ease in the great night-world, and master of many a secret that
+sleepy-eyed day-folk never guess. As he shook out his loose, soft coat
+and breathed the cool air, he felt the pleasant tang of a hunger that
+has with it no fear of famine.
+
+Once more he sent his challenge through the moonlight with quivering,
+quavering voice, and some who heard it loved the darkness better for
+this spirit of the night, and some shivered as if with dread. For
+Solomon had sounded his hunting call, and, as with the baying of hounds
+or the tune of a hunter's horn, one ear might find music in the note and
+another hear only a wail.
+
+Then, silent as a shadow, he left his branch. Solomon, a little lone
+hunter in the dark, was off on the chase. Whither he went or what he
+caught, there was no sound to tell, until, suddenly, one quick squeak
+way over beside the corn-crib might have notified a farmer that another
+mouse was gone. But the owner of the corn-crib was asleep, and dreaming,
+more than likely, that the cat, which was at that moment disturbing a
+pair of meadow bobolinks, was somehow wholly to be thanked for the
+scarcity of mice about the place.
+
+[Illustration: _Oh, the wise, wise look of him._]
+
+Solomon was not wasteful about his food. He swallowed his evening
+breakfast whole. That is, he swallowed all but the tail, which was
+fairly long and stuck out of his mouth for some time, giving him rather
+a queer two-tailed look, one at each end! But there was no one about to
+laugh at him, and it was, in some respects, an excellent way to make a
+meal. For one thing, it saved him all trouble of cutting up his food;
+and then, too, there was no danger of his overeating, for he could tell
+that he had had enough as long as there wasn't room for the tail. And
+after the good nutritious parts of his breakfast were digested, he had a
+comfortable way of spitting out the skin and bones all wadded together
+in a tidy pellet. An owl is not the only kind of bird, by any means,
+that has a habit of spitting out hard stuff that is swallowed with the
+food. A crow tucks away many a discarded cud of that sort; and even the
+thrush, half an hour or so after a dainty fare of wild cherries, taken
+whole, drops from his bill to the ground the pits that have been
+squeezed out of the fruit by the digestive mill inside of him.
+
+After his breakfast, which he ate alone in the evening starlight and
+moonlight, Solomon passed an enjoyable night; for that world, which to
+most of us is lost in darkness and in sleep, is full of lively interest
+to an owl. Who, indeed, would not be glad to visit his starlit kingdom,
+with eyesight keen enough to see the folded leaves of clover like little
+hands in prayer--a kingdom with byways sweet with the scent and mellow
+with the beauty of waking primrose? Who would not welcome, for one
+wonderful night, the gift of ears that could hear the sounds which to
+little Solomon were known and understood, but many of which are lost in
+deafness to our dull ears?
+
+Of course, it may be that Solomon never noticed that clovers fold their
+leaves by night, or that primroses are open and fragrant after dusk. For
+he was an owl, and not a person, and his thoughts were not the thoughts
+of man. But for all that they were wise thoughts--wise as the look of
+his big round eyes; and many things he knew which are unguessed secrets
+to dozy day-folk.
+
+He was a successful hunter, and he had a certain sort of knowledge about
+the habits of the creatures he sought. He seldom learned where the day
+birds slept, for he did not find motionless things. But he knew well
+enough that mice visited the corn-crib, and where their favorite runways
+came out into the open. He knew where the cutworms crept out of the
+ground and feasted o' nights in the farmer's garden. He knew where the
+big brown beetles hummed and buzzed while they munched greedily of
+shade-tree leaves. And he knew where little fishes swam near the surface
+of the water.
+
+So he hunted on silent wings the bright night long; and though he did
+not starve himself, as we can guess from what we know about his
+breakfast of rare mouse-steak, still, the tenderest and softest
+delicacies he took home to five fine youngsters, who welcomed their
+father with open mouths and eager appetite. Though he made his trips as
+quickly as he could, he never came too soon to suit them--the hungry
+little rascals.
+
+[Illustration: _Solomon knew the runways of the mice._]
+
+They were cunning and dear and lovable. Even a person could see that, to
+look at them. It is not surprising that their own father was fond enough
+of them to give them the greater part of the game he caught. He had,
+indeed, been interested in them before he ever saw them--while they were
+still within the roundish white eggshells, and did not need to be fed
+because there was food enough in the egg to last them all the days
+until they hatched.
+
+Yes, many a time he had kept those eggs warm while Mrs. Otus was away
+for a change; and many a time, too, he stayed and kept her company when
+she was there to care for them herself. Now, it doesn't really need two
+owls at the same time to keep a few eggs warm. Of course not! So why
+should little Solomon have sat sociably cuddled down beside her? Perhaps
+because he was fond of her and liked her companionship. It would have
+been sad, indeed, if he had not been happy in his home, for he was an
+affectionate little fellow and had had some difficulty in winning his
+mate. There had been, early in their acquaintance, what seemed to
+Solomon a long time during which she would not even speak to him. Why,
+'tis said he had to bow to her as many as twenty or thirty times before
+she seemed even to notice that he was about. But those days were over
+for good and all, and Mrs. Otus was a true comrade for Solomon as well
+as a faithful little mother. Together they made a happy home, and were
+quite charming in it.
+
+They could be brave, too, when courage was needed, as they gave proof
+the day that a boy wished he hadn't climbed up and stuck his hand in at
+their door-hole, to find out what was there. While Mrs. Otus spread her
+feathers protectingly over her eggs, Solomon lay on his back, and,
+reaching up with beak and clutching claws, fought for the safety of his
+family. In the heat of the battle he hissed, whereupon the boy
+retreated, badly beaten, but proudly boasting of an adventure with some
+sort of animal that felt like a wildcat and sounded like a snake.
+
+Besides, courage when needed, health, affection, good-nature, and plenty
+of food were enough to keep a family of owls contented. To be sure, some
+folk might not have been so well satisfied with the way the household
+was run. A crow, I feel quite sure, would not have considered the place
+fit to live in. Mrs. Otus was not, indeed, a tidy housekeeper. The floor
+was dirty--very dirty--and was never slicked up from one week's end to
+another. But then, Solomon didn't mind. He was used to it. Mrs. Otus was
+just like his own mother in that respect; and it might have worried him
+a great deal to have to keep things spick and span after the way he had
+been brought up. Why, the beautiful white eggshell he hatched out of was
+dirty when he pipped it, and never in all his growing-up days did he see
+his mother or father really clean house. So it is no wonder he was
+rather shiftless and easy-going. Neither of them had shown what might be
+called by some much ambition when they went house-hunting early that
+spring; for although the place they chose had been put into fairly good
+repair by rather an able carpenter,--a woodpecker,--still, it had been
+lived in before, and might have been improved by having some of the
+rubbish picked up and thrown out. But do you think Solomon spent any of
+his precious evenings that way? No, nor Mrs. Otus either. They moved in
+just as it was, in the most happy-go-lucky sort of way.
+
+Well, whatever a crow or other particular person might think of that
+nest, we should agree that a father and mother owl must be left to
+manage affairs for their young as Nature has taught them; and if those
+five adorable babies of Solomon didn't prove that the way they were
+brought up was an entire success from an owlish point of view, I don't
+know what could.
+
+[Illustration: _Those five adorable babies of Solomon._]
+
+Take them altogether, perhaps you could not find a much more interesting
+family than the little Otuses. As to size and shape, they were as much
+alike as five peas in a pod; but for all that, they looked so different
+that it hardly seemed possible that they could be own brothers and
+sisters. For one of the sons of Solomon and two of his daughters had
+gray complexions, while the other son and daughter were reddish brown.
+Now Solomon and Mrs. Otus were both gray, except, of course, what white
+feathers and black streaks were mixed up in their mottlings and dapples;
+so it seems strange enough to see two of their children distinctly
+reddish. But, then, one never can tell just what color an owl of this
+sort will be, anyway. Solomon himself, though gray, was the son of a
+reddish father and a gray mother, and he had one gray brother and two
+reddish sisters: while Mrs. Otus, who had but one brother and one
+sister, was the only gray member of her family. Young or old, summer or
+winter, Solomon and Mrs. Otus were gray, though, young or old, summer or
+winter, their fathers had both been of a reddish complexion.
+
+Now this sort of variation in color you can readily see is altogether a
+different matter from the way Father Goldfinch changes his feathers
+every October for a winter coat that looks much the same as that of
+Mother Goldfinch and his young daughters; and then changes every spring
+to a beautiful yellow suit, with black-and-white trimmings and a black
+cap, for the summer. It is different, too, from the color-styles of Bob
+the Vagabond, who merely wears off the dull tips of his winter feathers,
+and appears richly garbed in black and white, set off with a lovely bit
+of yellow, for his gay summer in the north. Again, it is something quite
+different from the color-fashions of Larie, who was not clothed in a
+beautiful white garment and soft gray mantle, like his father's and
+mother's, until he was quite grown up.
+
+No, the complexion of Solomon and his sons and daughters was a different
+matter altogether, because it had nothing whatever to do with season of
+the year, or age, or sex. But for all that it was not different from the
+sort of color-variations that Mother Nature gives to many of her
+children; and you may meet now and again examples of the same sort among
+flowers, and insects, and other creatures, too.
+
+But, reddish or gray, it made no difference to Solomon and Mrs. Otus.
+They had no favorites among their children, but treated them all alike,
+bringing them food in abundance: not only enough to keep them happy the
+night long, but laying up a supply in the pantry, so that the youngsters
+might have luncheons during the day.
+
+Although Solomon had night eyes, he was not blind by day. He passed the
+brightest hours quietly for the most part, dozing with both his outer
+eyelids closed, or sometimes sitting with those open and only the thin
+inner lid drawn sidewise across his eye. It seems strange to think of
+his having three eyelids; but, then, perhaps we came pretty near having
+a third one ourselves; for there is a little fold tucked down at the
+inner corner, which might have been a third lid that could move across
+the eye sidewise, if it had grown bigger. And sometimes, of a dazzling
+day in winter, when the sun is shining on the glittering snow, such a
+thin lid as Solomon had might be very comfortable, even for our day
+eyes, and save us the trouble of wearing colored glasses.
+
+[Illustration: _He passed the brightest hours dozing._]
+
+Lively as Solomon was by night, all he asked during the day was peace
+and quiet. He had it, usually. It was seldom that even any of the wild
+folk knew where his nest was; and when he spent the day outside, in some
+shady place, he didn't show much. His big feather-horns at such times
+helped make him look like a ragged stub of a branch, or something else
+he wasn't. It is possible for a person to go very close to an owl
+without seeing him; and fortunately for Solomon, birds did not find him
+every day. For when they did, they mobbed him.
+
+One day, rather late in the summer, Cock Robin found him and sent forth
+the alarm. To be sure, Solomon was doing no harm--just dozing, he was,
+on a branch. But Cock Robin scolded and sputtered and called him mean
+names; and the louder he talked, the more excited all the other birds in
+the neighborhood became. Before long there were twenty angry kingbirds
+and sparrows and other feather-folk, all threatening to do something
+terrible to Solomon.
+
+Now, Solomon had been having a good comfortable nap, with his feathers
+all hanging loose, when Cock Robin chanced to alight on the branch near
+him. He pulled himself up very thin and as tall as possible, with his
+feathers drawn tight against his body. When the bird-mob got too near
+him, he looked at them with his big round eyes, and said, "Oh!" in a
+sweet high voice. But his soft tone did not turn away their wrath. They
+came at him harder than ever. Then Solomon showed his temper, for he was
+no coward. He puffed his feathers out till he looked big and round, and
+he snapped his beak till the click of it could be heard by his
+tormentors. And he hissed.
+
+But twenty enemies were too many, and there was only one thing to be
+done. Solomon did it. First thing those birds knew, they were scolding
+at nothing at all; and way off in the darkest spot he could find in the
+woods, a little owl settled himself quite alone and listened while the
+din of a distant mob grew fainter and fainter and fainter, as one by one
+those twenty birds discovered that there was no one left on the branch
+to scold at.
+
+If Solomon knew why the day birds bothered him so, he never told. He
+could usually keep out of their way in the shady woods in the summer;
+but in the winter, when the leaves were off all but the evergreen trees,
+he had fewer places to hide in. Of course, there were not then so many
+birds to worry him, for most of them went south for the snowy season.
+But Jay stayed through the coldest days and enjoyed every chance he had
+of pestering Solomon. I don't know that this was because he really
+disliked the little owl. Jay was as full of mischief as a crow, and if
+the world got to seeming a bit dull, instead of moping and feeling sorry
+and waiting for something to happen, Jay looked about for some way of
+amusing himself. He was something of a bully,--a great deal of a bully,
+in fact,--this dashing rascal in a gay blue coat; and the more he could
+swagger, the better he liked it.
+
+He seemed, too, to have very much the same feeling that we mean by joy,
+in fun and frolic. There was, perhaps, in the sight of a bird asleep and
+listless in broad daylight, something amusing. He was in the habit of
+seeing the feather-folk scatter at his approach. If he understood why,
+that didn't bother him any. He was used to it, and there is no doubt he
+liked the power he had of making his fellow creatures fly around. When
+he found, sitting on a branch, with two toes front and two toes back, a
+downy puff with big round eyes and a Roman nose and feather-horns
+sticking up like the ears of a cat, maybe he was a bit puzzled because
+it didn't fly, too. Perhaps he didn't quite know what to make of poor
+little Solomon, who, disturbed from his nap, just drew himself up slim
+and tall, and remarked, "Oh!" in a sweet high voice.
+
+But, puzzled or not, Jay knew very well what he could do about it. He
+had done it so many times before! It was a game he liked. He stood on a
+branch, and called Solomon names in loud, harsh tones. He flew around as
+if in a terrible temper, screaming at the top of his voice. When he
+began, there was not another day bird in sight. Before many minutes, all
+the chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers within hearing had arrived,
+and had taken sides with Jay. Yes, even sunny-hearted Chick D.D. himself
+said things to Solomon that were almost saucy. I never heard that any of
+these mobs actually hurt our little friend; but they certainly disturbed
+his nap, and there was no peace for him until he slipped away. Where he
+went, there was no sound to tell, for his feathers were fringed with
+silent down. Perhaps some snow-bowed branch of evergreen gave him
+shelter, in a nook where he could see better than the day-eyed birds who
+tried to follow and then lost track of him.
+
+So Solomon went on with his nap, and Jay started off in quest of other
+adventures. The winter air put a keen edge on his appetite, which was
+probably the reason why he began to hunt for some of the cupboards where
+food was stored. Of course, he had tucked a goodly supply of acorns and
+such things away for himself; but he slipped into one hollow in a tree
+that was well stocked with frozen fish, which he had certainly had no
+hand in catching. But what did it matter to the blue-jacketed robber if
+that fish had meant a three-night fishing at an air-hole in the ice? He
+didn't care (and probably didn't know) who caught it. It tasted good on
+a frosty day, so he feasted on fish in Solomon's pantry, while the
+little owl slept.
+
+Well, if Jay, the bold dashing fellow, held noisy revel during the
+dazzling winter days, night came every once in so often; and then a
+quavering call, tremulous yet unafraid, told the listening world that an
+elf of the moonlight was claiming his own. And if some shivered at the
+sound, others there were who welcomed it as a challenge to enter the
+realm of a winter's night.
+
+For, summer or winter, the night holds much of mystery, close to the
+heart of which lives a little downy owl, who wings his way silent as a
+shadow, whither he will. And when he calls, people who love the stars
+and the wonders they shine down upon sometimes go out to the woods and
+talk with him, for the words he speaks are not hard even for a human
+voice to say. There was once a boy, so a great poet tells us, who stood
+many a time at evening beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake, and
+called the owls that they might answer him. While he listened, who knows
+what the bird of wisdom told him about the night?
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 3: _Hexapod Stories_, page 89.]
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+BOB THE VAGABOND
+
+
+Bob had on his traveling suit, for a vagabond must go a-journeying. It
+would never do to stay too long in one place, and here it was August
+already. Why, he had been in Maine two months and more, and it is small
+wonder he was getting restless. Restless, though not unhappy! Bob was
+never that; for the joy of the open way was always before him, and
+whenever the impulse came, he could set sail and be off.
+
+The meadows of Maine had been his choice for his honeymoon, and a glad
+time of it he and May had had with their snug little home of woven
+grass. That home was like an anchor to them both, and held their hearts
+fast during the days it had taken to make five grown-sized birds out of
+five eggs. But now that their sons and daughters were strong of wing and
+fully dressed in traveling suits like their mother's, it was well that
+Bob had put off his gay wedding clothes and donned a garb of about the
+same sort as that worn by the rest of his family; for dull colors are
+much the best for trips.
+
+Now that they were properly dressed, there was nothing left to see to,
+except to join the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds. Of course no one can be a
+member of this band without the password; but there was nothing about
+that to worry Bob. When any of them came near, he called, "Chink," and
+the gathering flock would sing out a cheery "Chink" in reply: and that
+is the way he and his family were initiated into the Band of Bobolink
+Vagabonds. Anyone who can say "Chink" may join this merry company. That
+is, anyone who can pronounce it with just exactly the right sound!
+
+So, with a flutter of pleasant excitement, they were gone. Off, they
+were, for a land that lies south of the Amazon, and with no more to say
+about it than, "Chink."
+
+No trunk, no ticket, no lunch-box; and the land they would seek was four
+thousand miles or more away! Poor little Bob! had he but tapped at the
+door of Man with his farewell "Chink," someone could have let him see a
+map of his journey. For men have printed time-tables of the Bobolink
+Route, with maps to show what way it lies, and with the different
+Stations marked where food and rest can be found. The names of some of
+the most important Stations that a bobolink, starting from Maine, should
+stop at on the way to Brazil and Paraguay, are Maryland, South Carolina,
+Florida, Cuba, Jamaica, and Venezuela.
+
+Does it seem a pity that the little ignorant bird started off without
+knowing even the name of one of these places? Ah, no! A journeying
+bobolink needs no advice. "Poor," indeed! Why, Bob had a gift that made
+him fortunate beyond the understanding of men. Nature has dealt
+generously with Man, to be sure, giving him power to build ships for the
+sea and the air, and trains for the land, whereon he may go, and power
+to print time-tables to guide the time of travel. But to Bob also, who
+could do none of these things, Nature had, nevertheless, been generous,
+and had given him power to go four thousand miles without losing his
+way, though he had neither chart nor compass. What it would be like to
+have this gift, we can hardly even guess--we who get lost in the woods a
+mile from home, and wander in bewildered circles, not knowing where to
+turn! We can no more know how Bob found his way than the born-deaf can
+know the sound of a merry tune, or the born-blind can know the look of a
+sunset sky. Some people think that, besides the five senses given to a
+man, Nature gave one more to the bobolink--a sixth gift, called a "sense
+of direction."
+
+A wonderful gift for a vagabond! To journey hither and yon with never a
+fear of being lost! To go forty hundred miles and never miss the way! To
+sail over land and over sea,--over meadow and forest and mountain,--and
+reach the homeland, far south of the Amazon, at just the right time! To
+travel by starlight as well as by sunshine, without once mistaking the
+path!
+
+By starlight? What, Bob, who had frolicked and chuckled through the
+bright June days, and dozed o' nights so quietly that never a passing
+owl could see a motion to tempt a chase?
+
+Yes, when he joined the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds, the gates of the
+night, which had been closed to him by Sleep, were somehow thrown open,
+and Bob was free to journey, not only where he would, but when he
+would--neither darkness nor daylight having power to stop him then.
+
+Is it strange that his wings quivered with the joy of voyaging as surely
+as the sails of a boat tighten in the tugging winds?
+
+What would you give to see this miracle--a bobolink flying through the
+night? For it has been seen; there being men who go and watch, when
+their calendars tell them 't is time for birds to take their southward
+flight. Their eyes are too feeble to see such sights unaided; so they
+look through a telescope toward the full round moon, and then they can
+see the birds that pass between them and the light. Like a procession
+they go--the bobolinks and other migrants, too; for the night sky is
+filled with travelers when birds fly south.
+
+But though we could not see them, we should know when they are on their
+way because of their voices. What would you give to hear this miracle--a
+bobolink calling his watchword through the night? For it has been
+heard; there being men who go to the hilltops and listen.
+
+As they hear, now and again, wanderers far above them calling, "Chink,"
+one to another, they know the bobolinks are on their way to a land that
+lies south of the Amazon, and that neither sleep nor darkness bars their
+path, which is open before them to take when and where they will.
+
+And yet Bob and his comrades did not hasten. The year was long enough
+for pleasure by the way. He and May had worked busily to bring up a
+family of five fine sons and daughters early in the summer; and now that
+their children were able to look out for themselves, there was no reason
+why the birds should not have some idle, care-free hours.
+
+[Illustration: _It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds._]
+
+Besides, it was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds, a ceremony that
+must be performed during the first weeks of the Migrant Flight; for it
+is a custom of the bobolinks, come down to them through no one knows how
+many centuries, to hold a farewell feast before leaving North America.
+If you will glance at a map of the Bobolink Route, you will see the
+names of the states they passed through. Our travelers did not know
+these names; but for all that, they found the Great Rice Trail and
+followed it. They found wild rice in the swamps of Maryland and the
+neighboring states. In South Carolina they found acres of cultivated
+rice. For rice is the favorite food during the Feast of the Vagabonds,
+and to them Nature has a special way of serving it. This same grain is
+eaten in many lands; taken in one way or another, it is said to be the
+principal food of about one half of all the people in the world. Bob
+didn't eat his in soup or pudding or chop-suey. He used neither spoon
+nor chop-sticks. He took his in the good old-fashioned way of his own
+folk--unripe, as most of us take our sweet corn, green and in the
+tender, milky stage, fresh from the stalk. He had been having a rather
+heavy meat diet in Maine, the meadow insects being abundant, and he
+relished the change. There was doubtless a good healthy reason for the
+ceremony of the Feast of the Vagabonds, as anyone who saw Bob may have
+guessed; for by the time he left South Carolina he was as fat as butter.
+
+In following the Great Rice Trail, Bob went over the same road that he
+had taken the spring before when he was northward bound; but one could
+hardly believe him to be the same bird, for he looked different and he
+acted differently. In the late summer, the departing bird was dull of
+hue and, except for a few notes that once in a great while escaped him,
+like some nearly forgotten echo of the spring, he had no more music in
+him than his mate, May. And when they went southward, they went all
+together--the fathers and mothers and sons and daughters in one great
+company.
+
+In the spring it had all been different: Bob had come north with his
+vagabond brothers a bit ahead of the sister-folk. And the vagabond
+brothers had been gay of garb--fresh black and white, with a touch of
+buff. And Bob and his band had been gay of voice. The flock of them had
+gathered in tree-tops and flooded the day with such mellow, laughing
+melodies as the world can have only in springtime--and only as long as
+the bobolinks last.
+
+The ways of the springtime are for the spring, and those of the autumn
+for the fall of the year. So Bob, who, when northward bound a few months
+before, had taken part in the grand Festival of Song, now that he was
+southward bound, partook of the great Feast of the Vagabonds, giving
+himself whole-heartedly to each ceremony in turn, as a bobolink should,
+for such are the time-honored customs of his folk.
+
+Honored for how long a time we do not know. Longer than the memory of
+man has known the rice-fields of South Carolina! Days long before that,
+when elephants trod upon that ground, did those great beasts hear the
+spring song of the bobolinks? Is the answer to that question buried in
+the rocks with the elephants? Bob didn't know. He flew over, with never
+a thought in his little head but for the Great Rice Trail leading him
+southward to Florida.
+
+While there, some travelers would have gone about and watched men cut
+sponges, and have found out why Florida has a Spanish name. But not Bob!
+The Feast of the Vagabonds, which had lasted well-nigh all the way from
+Maryland, was still being observed, and even the stupidest person can
+see that rice is better to eat than sponges or history.
+
+Then, as suddenly as if their "Chink, chink, chink" meant "One, two,
+three, away we go," the long feast was over, and their great flight
+again called them to wing their way into the night. How they found Cuba
+through the darkness, without knowing one star from another; what
+brought them to an island in the midst of the water that was everywhere
+alike--no man knows. But in Cuba they landed in good health and spirits.
+This was in September,--a very satisfactory time for a bird-visit,--and
+Bob and his comrades spent some little time there, it being October,
+indeed, when they arrived on the island of Jamaica. Now Jamaica, so
+people say who know the place, has a comfortable climate and thrilling
+views; but it didn't satisfy Bob. Not for long! Something south of the
+Amazon kept calling to him. Something that had called to his father and
+to his grandfather and to all his ancestors, ever since bobolinks first
+flew from North America to South America once every year.
+
+How many ages this has been, who knows? Perhaps ever since the icy
+glaciers left Maine and made a chance for summer meadows there. Long,
+long, long, it has been, that something south of the Amazon has called
+to bobolinks and brought them on their way in the fall of the year. So
+the same impulse quickened Bob's heart that had stirred all his fathers,
+back through countless seasons. The same quiver for flight came to all
+the Band of Vagabonds. Was it homesickness? We do not know.
+
+[Illustration: _Something south of the Amazon kept calling to him._]
+
+We only know that a night came when Bob and his companions left the
+mountains of Jamaica below them and then behind them. Far, far behind
+them lay the island, and far, far ahead the coast they sought. Five
+hundred miles between Jamaica and a chance for rest or food. Five
+hundred miles; and the night lay about and above them and the waters
+lay underneath. The stars shone clear, but they knew not one from
+another. No guide, no pilot, no compass, such as we can understand, gave
+aid through the hours of their flight. But do you think they were
+afraid? Afraid of the dark, of the water, of the miles? Listen, in your
+fancy, and hear them call to one another. "Chink," they say; and though
+we do not know just what this means, we can tell from the sound that it
+is not a note of fear. And why fear? There was no storm to buffet them
+that night. They passed near no dazzling lighthouse, to bewilder them.
+No danger threatened, and something called them straight and steady on
+their way.
+
+Oh, they were wonderful, that band! Perhaps among all living creatures
+of the world there is nothing more wonderful than a bird in his migrant
+flight--a bird whose blood is fresh with the air he breathes as only a
+bird can breathe; whose health is strong with the wholesome feast that
+he takes when and where he finds it; whose wings hold him in perfect
+flight through unweary miles; whose life is led, we know not how, on,
+on, on, and ever in the right direction.
+
+Yes, Bob was wonderful when he flew from the mountains of Jamaica to the
+great savannas of Venezuela; but he made no fuss about it--seemed to
+feel no special pride. All he said was, "Chink," in the same
+matter-of-fact way that his bobolink forefathers had spoken, back
+through all the years when they, too, had taken this same flight over
+sea in the course of their vagabond journey.
+
+From Venezuela to Paraguay there was no more ocean to cross, and there
+were frequent places for rest when Bob and his band desired. Groves
+there were, strange groves--some where Brazil nuts grew, and some where
+oranges were as common as apples in New England. There were chocolate
+trees and banana palms. There were pepper bushes, gay as our holly trees
+at Christmastime. Great flowering trees held out their blossom cups to
+brilliant hummingbirds hovering by hundreds all about them. Was there
+one among them with a ruby throat, like that of the hummingbird who
+feasted in the Cardinal-Flower Path near Peter Piper's home? Maybe 't
+was the self-same bird--who knows? And let's see--Peter Piper himself
+would be coming soon, would he not, to teeter and picnic along some
+pleasant Brazilian shore?
+
+Perhaps Bob and Peter and the hummingbird, who had been summer neighbors
+in North America, would meet again now and then in that far south
+country. But I do not think they would know each other if they did. They
+had all seemed too busy with their own affairs to get acquainted.
+
+Besides the groves where the nuts and fruit and flowers grew, the
+vagabonds passed over forests so dense and tangled that Bob caught never
+a glimpse of the monkeys playing there: big brown ones, with heads of
+hair that looked like wigs, and tiny white ones, timid and gentle, and
+other kinds, too, all of them being very wise in their wild ways--as
+wise, perhaps, as a hand-organ monkey, and much, much happier.
+
+No, I don't think Bob saw the monkeys, but he must have caught glimpses
+of some members of the Parrot Family, for there were so many of them;
+and I'm sure he heard the racket they made when they talked together.
+One kind had feathers soft as the blue of a pale hyacinth flower, and a
+beak strong enough to crush nuts so hard-shelled that a man could not
+easily crack them with a hammer. But all that was as nothing to Bob. For
+'t was not grove or forest or beast or bird that the vagabonds were
+seeking.
+
+When they had crossed the Amazon River, some of the band stopped in
+places that seemed inviting. But Bob and the rest of the company went on
+till they crossed the Paraguay River; and there, in the western part of
+that country, they made themselves at home. A strange, topsy-turvy land
+it is--as queer in some ways as the Wonderland Alice entered when she
+went through the Looking-Glass; for in Paraguay January comes in the
+middle of summer; and the hot, muggy winds blow from the north; and the
+cool, refreshing breezes come from the south; and some of the wood is so
+heavy that it will not float in water; and the people make tea with
+dried holly leaves! But to the Band of Vagabond Bobolinks it was not
+topsy-turvy, for it was home; and they found the Paraguay prairies as
+well suited to the comforts of their January summer as the meadows of
+the North had been for their summer of June.
+
+Bob was satisfied. He had flown four thousand miles from a meadow and
+had found a prairie! And if, in all that wonderful journey, he had not
+paid over much attention to anything along the way except swamps and
+marshes, do not scorn him for that. Remember always that Bob _found_ his
+prairie and that Peter _found_ his shore.
+
+It is somewhere written, "Seek and ye shall find." 'Tis so with the
+children of birds--they find what Nature has given them to seek. And is
+it so with the children of men? Never think that Nature has been less
+kind to boys and girls than to birds. Unto Bob was given the fields to
+seek, and he had no other choice. Unto Peter the shores, and that was
+all. But unto us is given a chance to choose what we will seek. If it is
+as far away as the prairies of Paraguay, shall we let a dauntless little
+vagabond put our faith to shame? If it is as near as our next-door
+meadow, shall we not find a full measure of happiness there--mixed with
+the bobolink's music of June?
+
+[Illustration: _Nature has kept faith with him and brought him safely
+back to his meadow._]
+
+For Bob comes back to the North again, bringing with him springtime
+melodies, which poets sing about but no human voice can mimic. Bob, who
+has dusted the dull tips from his feathers as he flew, and who, garbed
+for the brightness of our June, makes a joyful sound; for Nature has
+kept faith with him and brought him safely back to his meadow, though
+the journey from and to it numbered eight thousand miles!
+
+    His trail is the open lane of the air,
+    And the winds, they call him everywhere;
+    So he wings him North, dear burbling Bob,
+    With throat aquiver and heart athrob;
+    And he sings o' joy in the month of June
+    Enough to keep the year in tune.
+
+    Then, when the rollicking young of his kind
+    Yearn for the paths that the vagabonds find,
+    He leads them out over loitering ways
+    Where the Southland beckons with luring days;
+    To wait till the laughter-like lilt of his song
+    Is ripe for the North again--missing him long!
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+CONSERVATION
+
+We cannot read much nature literature of the present day without coming
+upon a plea, either implied or expressed, for "conservation." Even the
+child will wish to know--and there is grave need that he should
+know--why many people, and societies of people, are trying to save what
+it has so long been the common custom to waste. Boys and girls living in
+the Eastern States will be interested to know who is Ornithologist to
+the Massachusetts State Board of Agriculture, and what his duties are;
+those in the West will like to know why a publication called "California
+Fish and Game" should have for its motto, "Conservation of Wild Life
+through Education"; those between the East and the West will like to
+learn what is being done in their own states for bird or beast or
+blossom.
+
+Fortunately the idea is not hard to grasp. Conservation is really but
+doing unto others as we would that others should do unto us--so living
+that other life also may have a fair chance. It was a child who wrote,
+from her understanding heart:--
+
+"When I do have hungry feels I feel the hungry feels the birds must be
+having. So I do have comes to tie things on the trees for them. Some
+have likes for different things. Little gray one of the black cap has
+likes for suet. And other folks has likes for other things."--From _The
+Story of Opal._
+
+
+CHICK, D.D.
+
+_Penthestes atricapillus_ is the name men have given the bird who calls
+himself the "Chickadee."
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe), page 186. "The next time you see a wee chickadee,
+calling contentedly and happily while the air makes you shiver from head
+to foot, think of the hard-shelled frozen insects passing down his
+throat, the icy air entering lungs and air-sacs, and ponder a moment on
+the wondrous little laboratory concealed in his mite of a body, which
+his wings bear up with so little effort, which his tiny legs support,
+now hopping along a branch, now suspended from some wormy twig.
+
+"Can we do aught but silently marvel at this alchemy? A little bundle of
+muscle and blood, which in this freezing weather can transmute frozen
+beetles and zero air into a happy, cheery little Black-capped Chickadee,
+as he names himself, whose trustfulness warms our hearts!
+
+"And the next time you raise your gun to needlessly take a feathered
+life, think of the marvellous little engine which your lead will stifle
+forever; lower your weapon and look into the clear bright eyes of the
+bird whose body equals yours in physical perfection, and whose tiny
+brain can generate a sympathy, a love for its mate, which in sincerity
+and unselfishness suffers little when compared with human affection."
+
+_Bird Studies with a Camera_ (Chapman), pages 47-61.
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 66-68.
+
+_Nature Songs and Stories_ (Creighton), pages 3-5.
+
+_American Birds_ (Finley), pages 15-22.
+
+_Winter_ (Sharp), chapter VI.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 61._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+This story was first published in the _Progressive Teacher_, December,
+1920.
+
+
+THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE
+
+_Larus argentatus_, the Herring Gull.
+
+Larie's "policeman," like Ardea's "soldier," is usually called a
+"warden." No thoughtful or informed person can look upon "bird study"
+as merely a pleasant pastime for children and a harmless fad for the
+outdoor man and woman. It is a matter that touches, not only the
+æsthetic, but the economic welfare of the country: a matter that has
+concern for legislators and presidents as well as for naturalists. In
+this connection it is helpful to read some such discussion as is given
+in the first four references.
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), pages 101-213; 200.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 255-330.
+
+_Bird-Lore_, vol. 22, pages 376-380.
+
+_Useful Birds and their Protection_ (Forbush), pages 354-421.
+
+_Birds of Ohio_ (Dawson), pages 548-551; "Herring Gull."
+
+_Bird Book_ (Eckstorm), pages 23-29; "The Herring Gull."
+
+_American Birds_ (Finley), pages 211-217; "Gull Habits."
+
+_Game-Laws for 1920_ (Lawyer and Earnshaw), pages 68-75; "Migratory-Bird
+Treaty Act."
+
+_Tales from Birdland_ (Pearson), pages 3-27; "Hardheart, the Gull."
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 29_; "The Herring Gull." (National Association
+of Audubon Societies.)
+
+
+PETER PIPER
+
+_Actitis macularia_, the Spotted Sandpiper.
+
+Educational Leaflet No. 51. (National Association of Audubon Societies.)
+
+"A leisurely little flight to Brazil."
+
+Peter, the gypsy, and Bob, the vagabond, are both famous travelers, and
+might have passed each other on the way, coming and going, in Venezuela
+and in Brazil. Peter, like Bob, is a night migrant, stopping in the
+daytime for rest and food.
+
+For references to literature on bird-migration, the list under the notes
+to "Bob, the Vagabond," may be used.
+
+
+GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE
+
+_Gavia immer_, the Loon.
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe). "Hesperornis--a wingless, toothed, diving bird,
+about 5 feet in length, which inhabited the great seas during the
+Cretaceous period, some four millions of years ago." (Legend under
+colored frontispiece.)
+
+_Life Histories of North American Diving Birds_ (Bent), pages 47-60.
+
+_Bird Book_ (Eckstorm), pages 9-13.
+
+_By-Ways and Bird-Notes_ (Thompson), pages 170-71. "The cretaceous birds
+of America all appear to be aquatic, and comprise some eight or a dozen
+genera, and many species. Professor Marsh and others have found in
+Kansas a large number of most interesting fossil birds, one of them, a
+gigantic loon-like creature, six feet in length from beak to toe, taken
+from the yellow chalk of the Smoky Hill River region and from calcareous
+shale near Fort Wallace, is named _Hesperornis regalis_."
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 78._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+If twenty years of undisputed possession seems long enough to give a man
+a legal title to "his" land, surely birds have a claim too ancient to be
+ignored by modern beings. Are we not in honor bound to share what we
+have so recently considered "ours," with the creatures that inherited
+the earth before the coming of their worst enemy, Civilization? And in
+so far as lies within our power, shall we not protect the free, wild
+feathered folk from ourselves?
+
+
+EVE AND PETRO
+
+_Petrochelidon lunifrons_, Cliff-Swallow, Eave-Swallow.
+
+_Bird Studies with a Camera_ (Chapman), pages 89-105; "Where Swallows
+Roost."
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 112-113.
+
+_Bird Migration_ (Cooke), pages 5, 9, 19-20, 26, 27; Fig. 6.
+
+_Our Greatest Travelers_ (Cooke), page 349; "Migration Route of the
+Cliff Swallows."
+
+_Bird Book_ (Eckstorm), pages 201-12.
+
+_Bird-Lore_, vol. 21, page 175; "Helping Barn and Cliff Swallows to
+Nest."
+
+
+UNCLE SAM
+
+_Haliæetus leucocephalus_, the Bald Eagle.
+
+_Stories of Bird Life_ (Pearson), pages 71-80; "A Pair of Eagles."
+
+_The Fall of the Year_ (Sharp), chapter V.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 82._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+At the time this story goes to press, our national emblem is threatened
+with extermination. The following references indicate the situation in
+1920:--
+
+_Conservationist, The,_ vol. 3, pages 60-61; "Our National Emblem."
+
+_National Geographic Magazine,_ vol. 38, page 466.
+
+_Natural History,_ vol. 20, pages 259 and 334; "The Dead Eagles of
+Alaska now number 8356."
+
+_Science_, vol. 50, pages 81-84; "Zoölogical Aims and Opportunities," by
+Willard G. Van Name.
+
+
+CORBIE
+
+_Corvus brachyrhynchos_, the Crow.
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe), pages 153, 158, 172, 200-01, 209. "When the brain of
+a bird is compared with that of a mammal, there is seen to be a
+conspicuous difference, since the outer surface is perfectly smooth in
+birds, but is wound about in convolutions in the higher four-footed
+animals. This latter condition is said to indicate a greater degree of
+intelligence; but when we look at the brain of a young musk-ox or
+walrus, and find convolutions as deep as those of a five-year-old child,
+and when we compare the wonderfully varied life of birds, and realize
+what resource and intelligence they frequently display in adapting
+themselves to new or untried conditions, a smooth brain does not seem
+such an inferior organ as is often inferred by writers on the subject. I
+would willingly match a crow against a walrus any day in a test of
+intelligent behavior.... A crow ... though with horny, shapeless lips,
+nose, and mouth, looks at us through eyes so expressive, so human, that
+no wonder man's love has gone out to feathered creatures throughout all
+his life on the earth."
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 129-32.
+
+_American Birds_ (Finley), pages 69-77; "Jack Crow."
+
+_The Crow and its Relation to Man_ (Kalmbach).
+
+_Outdoor Studies_ (Needham), pages 47-53; "Not so Black as he is
+Painted."
+
+_Tales from Birdland_ (Pearson), pages 128-52; "Jim Crow of Cow
+Heaven."
+
+_Our Backdoor Neighbors_ (Pellett), pages 181-98; "A Jolly Old Crow."
+
+_Our Birds and their Nestlings_ (Walker), pages 76-85; "The Children of
+a Crow."
+
+_The Story of Opal_ (Whiteley); "Lars Porsena."
+
+_Gray Lady and the Birds_ (Wright), pages 114-28.
+
+_Bird Lore_, vol. 22 (1919), pages 203-04; "A Nation-Wide Effort to
+Destroy Crows."
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 77._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+
+ARDEA'S SOLDIER
+
+Ardea's scientific name used to be _Ardea candidissima_, and the older
+references to this bird will be found under that name, though at present
+it is known as _Egretta candidissima_. It is commonly called the Snowy
+Egret, or the Snowy Heron. The other white heron wearing "aigrettes" is
+_Herodias egretta_. Ardea's "soldier," like Larie's "policeman," is
+usually spoken of as a "warden." With reference to this story there is
+much of interest in the following:--
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), pages 140-66, "The Traffic in Feathers";
+pages 167-89, "Bird Protection Laws"; pages 190-213, "Bird
+Reservations": pages 244-58, "Junior Audubon Classes."
+
+_Stories of Bird Life_ (Pearson), pages 153-60; "Levy, the Story of an
+Egret."
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 237-38.
+
+_Gray Lady and the Birds_ (Wright), pages 67-80; "Feathers and Hats."
+
+_Educational Leaflets Nos. 54 and 54A;_ "The Egret" and "The Snowy
+Egret." (National Association of Audubon Societies.)
+
+To Mr. T. Gilbert Pearson, who has visited more egret colonies than any
+other person in the country, and who, in leading fights for their
+protection, has kept in very close touch with the egret situation, an
+expression of indebtedness and appreciation is due for his kindness in
+reading "Ardea's Soldier" while yet in manuscript, and for certain
+suggestions with reference to the story.
+
+
+THE FLYING CLOWN
+
+_Chordeiles virginianus_, the Nighthawk or Bull-bat.
+
+_Bird Migration_ (Cooke), pages 5, 7, 9.
+
+_Nature Sketches in Temperate America_ (Hancock), pages 246-48.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 178-80.
+
+_Bird-Lore_, vol. 20 (1918), page 285.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 1._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+
+THE LOST DOVE
+
+_Ectopistes migratorius_, the Passenger Pigeon.
+
+"How can a billion doves be lost?"
+
+_History of North American Birds_ (Baird, Brewer and Ridgway), vol. 3,
+pages 368-74.
+
+_Michigan Bird Life_ (Barrows), pages 238-51.
+
+_Birds that Hunt and are Hunted_ (Blanchan), pages 294-96.
+
+_Travels of Birds_ (Chapman), pages 73-74.
+
+_Birds of Ohio_ (Dawson and Jones), pages 425-27.
+
+_Passenger Pigeon_ (Mershon).
+
+_Natural History of the Farm_ (Needham), pages 114-15. "The wild pigeon
+was the first of our fine game birds to disappear. Its social habits
+were its undoing, when once guns were brought to its pursuit. It flew in
+great flocks, which were conspicuous and noisy, and which the hunter
+could follow by eye and ear, and mow down with shot at every
+resting-place. One generation of Americans found pigeons in
+'inexhaustible supply'; the next saw them vanish--vanish so quickly,
+that few museums even sought to keep specimens of their skins or their
+nests or their eggs; the third generation (which we represent) marvels
+at the true tales of their aforetime abundance, and at the swiftness of
+their passing; and it allows the process of extermination to go on only
+a little more slowly with other fine native species."
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), pages 128-29. "Passenger Pigeons as late as
+1870 were frequently seen in enormous flocks. Their numbers during the
+periods of migration were one of the greatest ornithological wonders of
+the world. Now the birds are gone. What is supposed to have been the
+last one died in captivity in the Zoölogical Park of Cincinnati, at 2
+P.M. on the afternoon of September 1, 1914. Despite the generally
+accepted statement that these birds succumbed to the guns, snares, and
+nets of hunters, there is a second cause, which doubtless had its effect
+in hastening the disappearance of the species. The cutting away of vast
+forests, where the birds were accustomed to gather and feed on mast,
+greatly restricted their feeding range. They collected in enormous
+colonies for the purpose of rearing their young; and after the forests
+of the Northern states were so largely destroyed, the birds seem to have
+been driven far up into Canada, quite beyond their usual breeding range.
+Here, as Forbush suggests, the summer probably was not sufficiently long
+to enable them to rear their young successfully."
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 219-22.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 6._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.) "Those who study with care the history of the extermination
+of the Pigeons will see, however, that all the theories brought forward
+to account for the destruction of the birds by other causes than man's
+agency are wholly inadequate. There was but one cause for the diminution
+of the birds, which was widespread, annual, perennial, continuous, and
+enormously destructive--their persecution by mankind. Every great
+nesting-ground was besieged by a host of people as soon as it was
+discovered, many of them professional pigeoners, armed with all the most
+effective engines of slaughter known. Many times the birds were so
+persecuted that they finally left their young to the mercies of the
+pigeoners; and even when they remained, most of the young were killed
+and sent to the market, and the hosts of the adults were decimated."
+
+
+LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS
+
+_Otus asio_, the Screech Owl, are the scientific and common names of our
+little friend Solomon. Perhaps the fact that owls stand upright and gaze
+at one with both eyes to the front, accounts in part for their looking
+so wise that they have been used as a symbol of wisdom for many
+centuries.
+
+In the Library of Congress in Washington, there is a picture called
+"The Boy of Winander." When looking at this, or some copy of it, it is
+pleasant to remember the lines of Wordsworth's poem:--
+
+    There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
+    And islands of Winander!--many a time,
+    At evening, when the earliest stars began
+    To move along the edges of the hills,
+    Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
+    Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
+    And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
+    Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
+    Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
+    Blew music hootings to the silent owls,
+    That they might answer him.
+
+Following are a few references to Screech Owls:--
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 104-07.
+
+_Some Common Game, Aquatic and Rapacious Birds_ (McAtee and Beal), pages
+27-28.
+
+_Our Backdoor Neighbors_ (Pellet), pages 63-74; "The Neighborly Screech
+Owls."
+
+_My Pets_ (Saunders), pages 11-33.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), page 199.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 11._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+
+BOB, THE VAGABOND
+
+_Dolichonyx oryzivorus_, the Bobolink.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 38._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+_The Bobolink Route_
+
+Maps, showing the route of migrant bobolinks may be found in _Bird,
+Migration_ (Cooke), page 6;
+
+_Our Greatest Travelers_ (Cooke), page 365.
+
+Other interesting accounts of bird-migrations may be found in _Travels
+of Birds_ (Chapman).
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), chapter IV.
+
+History tells us when Columbus discovered Cuba and when Sebastian Cabot
+sailed up the Paraguay River; but when bobolinks discovered that island,
+or first crossed that river, no man can ever know. The physical
+perfection that permits such journeys as birds take is cause for
+admiration. In this connection much of interest will be found in
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe), chapter VII, "The Breath of a Bird," from which we
+make a brief quotation. "Birds require, comparatively, a vastly greater
+strength and 'wind' in traversing such a thin, unsupporting medium as
+air than animals need for terrestrial locomotion. Even more wonderful
+than mere flight is the performance of a bird when it springs from the
+ground, and goes circling upward higher and higher on rapidly beating
+wings, all the while pouring forth a continuous series of musical
+notes.... A human singer is compelled to put forth all his energy in his
+vocal efforts; and if, while singing, he should start on a run even on
+level ground, he Would become exhausted at once.... The average person
+uses only about one seventh of his lung capacity in ordinary breathing,
+the rest of the air remaining at the bottom of the lung, being termed
+'residual.' As this is vitiated by its stay in the lung, it does harm
+rather than good by its presence.... As we have seen, the lungs of a
+bird are small and non-elastic, but this is more than compensated by the
+continuous passage of fresh air, passing not only into but entirely
+_through_ the lungs into the air-sacs, giving, therefore, the very best
+chance for oxygenation to take place in every portion of the lungs. When
+we compare the estimated number of breaths which birds and men take in a
+minute,--thirteen to sixteen in the latter, twenty to sixty in
+birds,--we realize better how birds can perform such wonderful feats of
+song and flight."
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK LIST
+
+
+For getting acquainted with birds, we no more need books than we need
+books for getting acquainted with people. One bird, if rightly
+known,--as with one person understood,--will teach us more than we can
+learn by reading. But since no one has time to learn for himself more
+than a few things about many birds, or many things about a few birds, it
+is pleasant and companionable and helpful to have even a second-hand
+share in what other people have learned. For myself, I like to watch
+both the bird in the bush through my own eyes and the bird in the book
+through the eyes of some other observer. So it seems but fair to share
+the names of books that have interested me in one way or another during
+the preparation of my own. If it seems to anyone a short list, I can but
+say that I do not know all the good books about birds, and therefore
+many (and perhaps some of the best) have been omitted. If it seems to
+anyone a long list, I would suggest that, if it contains more than you
+may find in your public library, or more than you care to put on your
+own shelves, or more than can be secured for the school library, the
+list may be helpful for selection--perhaps some of them will be where
+you can find and use them. Certain of them, as their titles indicate,
+are devoted exclusively to birds; and others include other outdoor
+things as well--as happens many a time when we start out on a bird-quest
+of our own, and find other treasures, too, in plenty.
+
+If I could have but two of the books on the list, they would be "The
+Story of Opal," the nature-word of a child who well may lead us, and
+"Handbook of Nature-Study," the nature-word of a wise teacher of
+teachers.
+
+
+BOOKS, BULLETINS, AND LEAFLETS
+
+_American Birds_, Studied and Photographed from Life. LOVELL FINLEY.
+Charles Scribner's Sons.
+
+_Attracting Birds about the Home._ Bulletin No. 1: The National
+Association of Audubon Societies.
+
+_Bird, The._ C. WILLIAM BEEBE. Henry Holt and Company
+
+_Bird Book._ FANNIE HARDY ECKSTORM. D. C. Heath & Co.
+
+_Bird Houses and How to Build Them._ NED DEARBORN. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture; Farmer's Bulletin 609.
+
+_Bird Migration._ WELLS W. COOKE. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Bulletin
+185.
+
+_Bird Neighbors._ NELTJE BLANCHAN. Doubleday, Page & Co.
+
+_Bird Studies with a Camera._ FRANK M. CHAPMAN. D. Appleton & Co.
+
+_Bird Study Book._ T. GILBERT PEARSON. Doubleday, Page & Co.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man._ CLARENCE M. WEED and NED DEARBORN. J.
+B. Lippincott Co.
+
+_Birds of Maine._ ORA WILLIS KNIGHT.
+
+_Birds of New York._ ELON HOWARD EATON. Memoir 12; N.Y. State Museum.
+
+(The 106 colored plates by Louis Agassiz Fuertes can be secured
+separately.)
+
+_Birds of Ohio._ WILLIAM LEON DAWSON. The Wheaton Publishing Co.
+
+_Birds of Village and Field._ FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Birds of the United States,_ East of the Rocky Mountains. AUSTIN C.
+APGAR. American Book Company.
+
+_Burgess Bird Book for Children._ THORNTON W. BURGESS. Little, Brown &
+Co.
+
+_By-Ways and Bird Notes._ MAURICE THOMPSON. United States Book Co.
+
+_Chronology and Index of the More Important Events in American Game
+Protection,_ 1776-1911. T. S. PALMER. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture;
+Biological Survey Bulletin 41.
+
+_Common Birds of Town and Country._ National Geographic Society.
+
+_Conservation Reader._ HAROLD W. FAIRBANKS. World Book Co.
+
+_Crow, The, and its Relation to Man._ E. R. KALMBACH. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture; Bulletin 621.
+
+_Educational Leaflets_ of The National Association of Audubon Societies.
+
+More than one hundred of these have been issued, each giving an
+illustrated account of a bird. (These are for sale at a few cents each,
+and a list may be obtained upon application to the National
+Association.)
+
+_Everyday Adventures._ SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR. The Atlantic Monthly Press.
+
+_Fall of the Year, The._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Federal Protection of Migratory Birds._ GEORGE A. LAWYER. Separate from
+Yearbook of the Dept. of Agriculture, 1918, No. 785.
+
+_Food of Some Well-Known Birds of Forest, Farm, and Garden._ F. E. L.
+BEAL and W. L. MCATEE. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers' Bulletin 506.
+
+_Game Laws for 1920._ U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers' Bulletin 1138.
+
+_Gray Lady and the Birds._ MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT. The Macmillan Co.
+
+_Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America._ FRANK M. CHAPMAN. D.
+Appleton & Co.
+
+_Handbook of Birds of Western United States._ FLORENCE M. BAILEY.
+Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study._ ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK. Comstock Publishing
+Co.
+
+_Hardenbergh's Bird Playmates._ Charles Scribner's Sons. Two sets: Land
+Birds and Water Birds. (Two large scenic backgrounds in color, with
+colored birds that can be slipped into place to complete the picture;
+for use during bird lessons, as a record of birds seen by the children,
+etc.)
+
+_History of North American Birds._ S. F. BAIRD, T. M. BREWER, and R.
+RIDGWAY. Three volumes. Little, Brown & Co.
+
+_Life Histories of North American Diving Birds._ ARTHUR CLEVELAND BENT.
+U.S. National Museum Bulletin 107.
+
+_Michigan Bird Life._ WALTER BRADFORD BARROWS. Michigan Agricultural
+College.
+
+_Mother Nature's Children._ ALLEN WALTON GOULD. Ginn & Co.
+
+_My Pets._ MARSHALL SAUNDERS. The Griffith and Rowland Press.
+
+_Natural History of the Farm._ JAMES G. NEEDHAM. The Comstock Publishing
+Co.
+
+_Nature Sketches in Temperate America._ JOSEPH LANE HANCOCK. A. C.
+McClurg Co.
+
+_Nature Songs and Stories._ KATHERINE CREIGHTON. The Comstock Publishing
+Co.
+
+_Nestlings of Forest and Marsh._ IRENE GROSVENOR WHEELOCK. Atkinson,
+Mentzer, and Grover.
+
+_Our Backdoor Neighbors._ FRANK C. PELLETT. The Abingdon Press.
+
+_Our Birds and their Nestlings._ MARGARET COULSON WALKER. American Book
+Co.
+
+_Our Greatest Travelers._ WELLS W. COOKE. (Reprinted in _Common Birds of
+Town and Country._)
+
+_Outdoor Studies._ JAMES G. NEEDHAM. American Book Co.
+
+_Passenger Pigeon, The._ W. B. MERSHON. The Outing Publishing Co.
+
+_Primer of Bird-Study._ ERNEST INGERSOLL. The National Association of
+Audubon Societies.
+
+_Propagation of Wild-Duck Foods._ W. L. MCATEE. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture Bulletin 465.
+
+_Sharp Eyes._ WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON. Harper and Brothers.
+
+_Short Cuts and By-Paths._ HORACE LUNT. D. Lothrop Co.
+
+_Some Common Game, Aquatic, and Rapacious Birds in Relation to Man._ W.
+L. MCATEE and F. E. L. BEAL. U. S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers'
+Bulletin 497.
+
+_Spring of the Year, The._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Stories of Bird Life._ T. GILBERT PEARSON. B. F. Johnson Publishing Co.
+
+_Story of Opal, The._ OPAL WHITELEY. G. P. Putnam's Sons. (The Journal
+of a child, who watched the comings and the goings of the little
+wood-folk and waved greetings to the plant-bush-folk, and who danced
+when the wind did play the harps in the forest--this being "a very
+wonderful world to live in.")
+
+_Summer._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Tales from Birdland._ T. GILBERT PEARSON. Doubleday, Page & Co.
+
+_Travels of Birds._ FRANK M. CHAPMAN. D. Appleton and Co.
+
+_Useful Birds and their Protection._ EDWARD H. FORBUSH. Massachusetts
+Board of Agriculture.
+
+_Wild Life Conservation._ WILLIAM T. HORNADAY. Yale University Press.
+
+_Winter._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Wit of the Wild._ ERNEST INGERSOLL. Dodd, Mead & Co.
+
+
+PERIODICALS
+
+_Bird-Lore._ Official Organ of the Audubon Societies. D. Appleton & Co.
+
+_Conservationist, The._ New York State Conservation Commission, Albany.
+
+_Guide to Nature, The._ The Agassiz Association, Arcadia, Sound Beach,
+Conn.
+
+_Natural History._ Journal of the American Museum of Natural History.
+
+_Nature-Study Review._ Official Organ of the American Nature-Study
+Society, Ithaca, New York.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bird Stories, by Edith M. Patch
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bird Stories, by Edith M. Patch
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bird Stories
+
+Author: Edith M. Patch
+
+Illustrator: Robert J. Sim
+
+Release Date: May 26, 2008 [EBook #25600]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Josephine Paolucci
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>BIRD STORIES</h1>
+<p><a name="front" id="front"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;">
+<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt="Chick, D.D. in his pulpit." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Chick, D.D. in his pulpit.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><i>LITTLE GATEWAYS TO SCIENCE</i></h2>
+
+<h1>BIRD STORIES</h1>
+
+<h2>BY EDITH M. PATCH</h2>
+
+<h4>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</h4>
+
+<h2>ROBERT J. SIM</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 116px;">
+<img src="images/stamp.jpg" width="116" height="125" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">
+BOSTON<br />
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br />
+1926<br />
+</p>
+
+<h4>Copyright, 1921, by</h4>
+
+<h3>THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS</h3>
+
+<p class="center">
+First Impression, May, 1921<br />
+Second Impression, May, 1922<br />
+Third Impression, March, 1926<br />
+</p>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">The Atlantic Monthly Press Publications</span></h4>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">are published by</span></h4>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Little, Brown, and Company</span></h4>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">in association with</span></h4>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Atlantic Monthly Company</span></h3>
+
+
+<h5><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></h5>
+
+<p class="center">
+TO<br />
+<br />
+JUNIOR AUDUBON CLASSES<br />
+<br />
+AND TO<br />
+<br />
+ALL OTHER BOYS AND GIRLS THROUGHOUT THE<br />
+LAND WHO ARE FRIENDLY TO BIRDS<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENT</h2>
+
+
+<p>For help in planning this book, for sharing his bird-notes with the
+writer, and for a critical reading of the manuscript, acknowledgment
+should be made to Mr. Robert J. Sim. Certain events in the lives of Eve
+and Petro and little Solomon Otus are told with reference to his
+observations of eave-swallows and screech owls; his trip to an island
+off the Maine coast for gull-sketches added greatly to an acquaintance
+with Larie; and but for his six-weeks' visit with the loons of "Immer
+Lake," much of the story of Gavia could not have been told. Since Mr.
+Sim contributed not only the pictures to the book, but many items of
+interest to the narrative, it gives the writer pleasure to acknowledge
+his co&ouml;peration, both as artist and as field-naturalist.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Edith M. Patch</span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<p>
+I. <span class="smcap">Chick, D.D.</span>                     <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></span><br />
+<br />
+II. <span class="smcap">The Five Worlds of Larie</span>      <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_18'>18</a></span><br />
+<br />
+III. <span class="smcap">Peter Piper</span>                  <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_33'>33</a></span><br />
+<br />
+IV. <span class="smcap">Gavia of Immer Lake</span>           <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_49'>49</a></span><br />
+<br />
+V. <span class="smcap">Eve and Petro</span>                  <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_66'>66</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VI. <span class="smcap">Uncle Sam</span>                     <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_86'>86</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VII. <span class="smcap">Corbie</span>                      <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_100'>100</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VIII. <span class="smcap">Ardea's Soldier</span>            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_121'>121</a></span><br />
+<br />
+IX. <span class="smcap">The Flying Clown</span>             <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_133'>133</a></span><br />
+<br />
+X. <span class="smcap">The Lost Dove</span>                 <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_150'>150</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XI. <span class="smcap">Little Solomon Otus</span>          <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_163'>163</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XII. <span class="smcap">Bob, the Vagabond</span>           <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_180'>180</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Notes</span><br />
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Conservation</span>                     <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_198'>198</a></span><br />
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Notes to the Stories</span>             <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_199'>199</a></span><br />
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Book List</span>                      <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_208'>208</a></span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+<p>
+<i>Chick, D.D. in his pulpit</i>        <span class="tocnum"><i><a href="#front">Frontispiece</a></i></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Firs that pointed to the sky</i>                       <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_2'>2</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm"</i>                <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_4'>4</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds</i>         <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_25'>25</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to
+whom he talked pleasantly</i>                            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_28'>28</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into
+the air and then drop it</i>                             <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_30'>30</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate
+lived that spring</i>                                    <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_31'>31</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>One was named Peter, for his father</i>               <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_34'>34</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>The spot she teetered to most of all</i>              <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_43'>43</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Dallying happily along the river-edge</i>             <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_47'>47</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Immer Lake</i>                                        <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells,
+hidden among the rushes</i>                              <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_53'>53</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>While their children were napping, Gavia and
+Father Loon went to a party</i>                          <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_61'>61</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>At Work in the Plaster Pit</i>                        <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_72'>72</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>The Hunting Flight</i>                                <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_74'>74</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>They always chatted a bit and then went on with
+their work, placing their plaster carefully</i>          <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_77'>77</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Quaint Clay Pottery</i>                               <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_81'>81</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>A Famous Landmark</i>                                 <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_85'>85</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Above all other creatures of this great land he had
+been honored</i>                                         <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_87'>87</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>The Yankee-Doodle Twins</i>                           <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_90'>90</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs</i>            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_101'>101</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>"Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to
+sun-down</i>                                            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Corbie slipped off and amused himself</i>            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_116'>116</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes
+of rare beauty</i>                                      <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_122'>122</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Near Ardea's Home</i>                                <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_124'>124</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear
+home, and they both guarded it</i>                      <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_127'>127</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>The Flying Clown</i>                                 <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_135'>135</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding
+days</i>                                                <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage</i>                                          <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_144'>144</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Suppose you should find just one pair</i>            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_153'>153</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Through all the lonesome woods there is not
+one dove</i>                                            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_158'>158</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their
+wings was like the sound of thunder</i>                 <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Oh, the wise, wise look of him</i>                   <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_165'>165</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Solomon knew the runways of the mice</i>             <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_168'>168</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Those five adorable babies of Solomon</i>            <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_171'>171</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>He passed the brightest hours dozing</i>             <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_174'>174</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds</i>       <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_185'>185</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Something south of the Amazon kept calling to
+him</i>                                                 <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_189'>189</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Nature has kept faith with him and brought him
+safely back to his meadow</i>                           <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_195'>195</a></span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>BIRD STORIES</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I</h2>
+
+<h3>CHICK, D.D.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Right in the very heart of Christmas-tree Land there was a forest of
+firs that pointed to the sky as straight as steeples. A hush lay over
+the forest, as if there were something very wonderful there, that might
+be meant for you if you were quiet and waited for it to come. Perhaps
+you have felt like that when you walked down the aisle of a church, with
+the sun shining through the lovely glass in the windows. Men have often
+called the woods "temples"; so there is, after all, nothing so very
+strange in having a preacher live in the midst of the fir forest that
+grew in Christmas-tree Land.</p>
+
+<p>And the sermon itself was not very strange, for it was about peace and
+good-will and love and helping the world and being happy&mdash;all very
+proper things to hear about while the bells in the city churches, way,
+way off, were ringing their glad messages from the steeples.</p>
+
+<p>But the minister was a queer one, and his very first words would have
+made you smile. Not that you would have laughed at him, you know. You
+would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> smiled just because he had a way of making you feel happy
+from the minute he began.</p>
+
+<p>He sat on a small branch, and looked down from his pulpit with a dear
+nod of his little head, which would have made you want to cuddle him in
+the hollow of your two hands.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i018.jpg" width="450" height="351" alt="Firs that pointed to the sky." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Firs that pointed to the sky.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>His robe was of gray and white and buff-colored feathers, and he wore a
+black-feather cap and bib.</p>
+
+<p>He began by singing his name. "Chick, D.D.," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> called. Now, when a
+person has "D.D." written after his name, we have a right to think that
+he is trying to live so wisely that he can teach us how to be happier,
+too. Of course Minister Chick had not earned those letters by studying
+in college, like most parsons; but he had learned the secret of a happy
+heart in his school in the woods.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he began his service by singing his name; but the real sermon he
+preached by the deeds he did and the life he lived. So, while we listen
+to his happy song, we can watch his busy hours, until we are acquainted
+with the little black-capped minister who called himself "Chick, D.D."</p>
+
+<p>Chick's Christmas-trees were decorated, and no house in the whole world
+had one lovelier that morning than the hundreds that were all about him
+as far as he could see. The dark-green branches of the pines and cedars
+had held themselves out like arms waiting to be filled, and the snow had
+been dropped on them in fluffy masses, by a quiet, windless storm. It
+had been very soft and lovely that way&mdash;a world all white and green
+below, with a sky of wonderful blue that the firs pointed to like
+steeples. Then, as if that were not decoration enough, another storm had
+come, and had put on the glitter that was brightest at the edge of the
+forest where the sun shone on it. The second storm had covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> the soft
+white with dazzling ice. It had swept across the white-barked birch
+trees and their purple-brown branches, and had left them shining all
+over. It had dripped icicles from the tips of all the twigs that now
+shone in the sunlight brighter than candles, and tinkled like little
+bells, when the breezes clicked them together, in a tune that is called,
+"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i020.jpg" width="450" height="320" alt="&quot;Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm.&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;<i>Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm.</i>&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>That is the tune that played all about the black-capped bird as he
+flitted out of the forest, singing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> "Chick, D.D.," as he came. The
+clear cold air and the exercise of flying after his night's sleep had
+given Chick a good healthy appetite, and he had come out for his
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>He liked eggs very well, and there were, as he knew, plenty of them on
+the birch trees, for many a time he had breakfasted there. Eggs with
+shiny black shells, not so big as the head of a pin; so wee, indeed,
+that it took a hundred of them or more to make a meal for even little
+Chick.</p>
+
+<p>But he wasn't lazy. He didn't have to have eggs cooked and brought to
+his table. He loved to hunt for them, and they were never too cold for
+him to relish; so out he came to the birch trees, with a cheery "Chick,
+D.D.," as if he were saying grace for the good food tucked here and
+there along the branches.</p>
+
+<p>When he alighted, though, it wasn't the bark he found, but a hard, thick
+coating of ice. The branches rattled together as he moved among them and
+the icicles that dangled down rang and clicked as they struck one
+another. The ice-storm had locked in Chick's breakfast eggs, and, try as
+he would with his little beak, he couldn't get through to find them.</p>
+
+<p>So Chick's Christmas Day began with hardship: for, though he sang gayly
+through the coldest weather, he needed food to keep him strong and warm.
+He was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> foolish enough to spend his morning searching through the
+icy birch trees, for he had a wise little brain in his head and soon
+found out that it was no use to stay there. But he didn't go back to the
+forest and mope about it. Oh, no. Off he flew, down the short hill
+slope, seeking here and there as he went.</p>
+
+<p>Where the soil was rocky under the snow, some sumachs grew, and their
+branches of red berries looked like gay Christmas decorations. The snow
+that had settled heavily on them had partly melted, and the soaked
+berries had stained it so that it looked like delicious pink ice-cream.
+Some of the stain had dripped to the snow below, so there were places
+that looked like pink ice-cream there, too. Then the ice-storm had
+crusted it over, and now it was a beautiful bit of bright color in the
+midst of the white-and-green-and-blue Christmas.</p>
+
+<p>Chick stopped hopefully at the sumach bushes, not because he knew
+anything about ice-cream or cared a great deal about the berries; but
+sometimes there were plump little morsels hidden among them, that he
+liked to pull out and eat. If there was anything there that morning,
+though, it was locked in under the ice; and Chick flew on to the willows
+that showed where the brook ran in summer.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, the willow cones! Surely they would not fail him! He would put his
+bill in at the tip and down the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> middle, and find a good tasty bit
+to start with, and then he would feel about in other parts of the cone
+for small insects, which often creep into such places for the winter.
+The flight to the willows was full of courage. Surely there would be a
+breakfast there for a hungry Chick!</p>
+
+<p>But the ice was so heavy on the willows that it had bent them down till
+the tips lay frozen into the crust below.</p>
+
+<p>So from pantry to pantry Chick flew that morning, and every single one
+of them had been locked tight with an icy key. The day was very cold.
+Soon after the ice-storm, the mercury in the thermometer over at the
+Farm-House had dropped way down below the zero mark, and the wind was in
+the north. But the cold did not matter if Chick could find food. His
+feet were bare; but that did not matter, either, if he could eat.
+Nothing mattered to the brave little black-capped fellow, except that he
+was hungry, oh, so hungry! and he had heard no call from anywhere to
+tell him that any other bird had found a breakfast, either.</p>
+
+<p>No, the birds were all quiet, and the distant church-bells had stopped
+their chimes, and the world was still. Still, except for the click of
+the icicles on the twigs when Chick or the wind shook them.</p>
+
+<p>Then, suddenly, there was a sound so big and deep that it seemed to fill
+all the space from the white earth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> below to the blue sky above. A
+roaring <span class="smcap">Booooooom</span>, which was something like the waves rushing against a
+rocky shore, and something like distant thunder, and something like the
+noise of a great tree crashing to the earth after it has been cut, and
+something like the sound that comes before an earthquake.</p>
+
+<p>It is not strange that Chick did not know that sound. No one ever hears
+anything just like it, unless he is out where the snow is very light and
+very deep and covered with a crust.</p>
+
+<p>Then, if the crust is broken suddenly in one place, it may settle like
+the top of a puffed-up pie that is pricked; and the air that has been
+prisoned under the crust is pushed out with a strange and mighty sound.</p>
+
+<p>So that big <span class="smcap">Booooooom</span> meant that something had broken the icy crust
+which, a moment before, had lain over the soft snow, all whole, for a
+mile one way and a mile another way, and half a mile to the Farm-House.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, there was the Farmer Boy coming across the field, to the orchard
+that stood on the sandy hillside near the fir forest. He was walking on
+snowshoes, which cracked the crust now and then; and twice on the way to
+the orchard he heard a deep <span class="smcap">Booooooom</span>, which he loved just as much as he
+loved the silence of the field when he stopped to listen now and then.
+For the winter sounds were so dear to the Farmer Boy who lived at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> the
+edge of Christmas-tree Land, that he would never forget them even when
+he should become a man. He would always remember the snowshoe tramps
+across the meadow; and in after years, when his shoulders held burdens
+he could not see, he would remember the bulky load he carried that
+morning without minding the weight a bit; for it was a big bag full of
+Christmas gifts, and the more heavily it pressed against his shoulder,
+the lighter his heart felt.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached the orchard, he dropped the bag on the snow and opened
+it. Part of the gifts he spilled in a heap near the foot of a tree, and
+the rest he tied here and there to the branches. Then he stood still and
+whistled a clear sweet note that sounded like "Fee-bee."</p>
+
+<p>Now, Chick, over by the willows had not known what <span class="smcap">Booooooom</span> meant, for
+that was not in his language. But he understood "Fee-bee" in a minute,
+although it was not nearly so loud. For those were words he often used
+himself. They meant, perhaps, many things; but always something
+pleasant. "Fee-bee" was a call he recognized as surely as one boy
+recognizes the signal whistle of his chum.</p>
+
+<p>So, of course, Chick flew to the orchard as quickly as he could and
+found his present tied fast to a branch. The smell of it, the feel of
+it, the taste of it, set him wild with joy. He picked at it with his
+head up, and sang "Chick,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> D.D." He picked at it with his head down and
+called, "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.D.D., Chick, D.D." He flew here and there, too
+gay with happiness to stay long anywhere, and found presents tied to
+other branches, too. At each one he sang "Chick, D.D., Chick, D.D.D. Dee
+Deee Deeee." It was, "indeed" the song of a hungry bird who had found
+good rich suet to nibble.</p>
+
+<p>The Farmer Boy smiled when he heard it, and waited, for he thought
+others would hear it, too. And they did. Two birds with black-feather
+cap and bib heard it and came; and before they had had time to go
+frantic with delight and song, three others just like them came, and
+then eight more, and by that time there was such a "Chick"-ing and
+"D.D."-ing and such a whisking to and fro of black caps and black bibs,
+that no one paid much attention when Minister Chick, D.D., himself,
+perched on a branch for a minute, and gave the sweetest little warble
+that was ever heard on a winter's day. Then he whistled "Fee-bee" very
+clearly, and went to eating again, heeding the Farmer Boy no more than
+if he were not there at all.</p>
+
+<p>And he wasn't there very long; for he was hungry, too; and that made him
+think about the good whiff he had smelled when he went through the
+kitchen with the snowshoes under his arm, just before he strapped them
+over his moccasins outside the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Yes, that was the Farmer Boy going away with a clatter
+over the snow-crust; but who were these coming through
+the air, with jerky flight, and with a jerky note something like
+"Twitterty-twit-twitterty-twit-twitterty-twitterty-twitterty-twit"? They
+flew like goldfinches, and they sounded like goldfinches, both in the
+twitterty song of their flight and their "Tweeet" as they called one
+another. But they were not goldfinches. Oh, my, no! For they were
+dressed in gray, with darker gray stripes at their sides; and when they
+scrambled twittering down low enough to show their heads in the
+sunlight, they could be seen to be wearing the loveliest of crimson
+caps, and some of them had rosy breasts.</p>
+
+<p>The redpolls had come! And they found on top of the snow a pile of dusty
+sweepings from the hay-mow, with grass-seeds in it and some cracked corn
+and crumbs. And there were squash-seeds, and sunflower-seeds, and seedy
+apple-cores that had been broken up in the grinder used to crunch bones
+for the chickens; and there were prune-pits that had been cracked with a
+hammer.</p>
+
+<p>The joy-songs of the birds over the suet and seeds seemed a signal
+through the countryside; and before long others came, too.</p>
+
+<p>Among them there was a black-and-white one, with a patch of scarlet on
+the back of his head, who called, "Ping," as if he were speaking through
+his nose. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> was one with slender bill and bobbed-off tail, black
+cap and white breast, grunting, "Yank yank," softly, as he ate.</p>
+
+<p>But there was none to come who was braver or happier than Chick, D.D.,
+and none who sang so gayly. After that good Christmas feast he and his
+flock returned each day; and when, in due time, the ice melted from the
+branches, it wasn't just suet they ate. It was other things, too.</p>
+
+<p>That is how it happened that when, early in the spring, the Farmer Boy
+examined the apple-twigs, to see whether he should put on a nicotine
+spray for the aphids and an arsenical spray for the tent caterpillars,
+he couldn't find enough aphids to spray or enough caterpillars, either.
+Chick, D.D. and his flock had eaten their eggs.</p>
+
+<p>Again, late in the summer, when it was time for the yellow-necked
+caterpillars, the red-humped caterpillars, the tiger caterpillars, and
+the rest of the hungry crew, to strip the leaves from the orchard, the
+Farmer Boy walked among the rows, to see how much poison he would need
+to buy for the August spray. And again he found that he needn't buy a
+single pound. Chick, D.D. and his family were tending his orchard!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Minister Chick was a servant in the good world he lived in. He
+saved leaves for the trees, he saved rosy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> apples for city girls and
+boys to eat, and he saved many dollars in time and spray-money for the
+Farmer Boy.</p>
+
+<p>And all he charged was a living wage: enough suet in winter to tide him
+over the icy spells, and free house-rent in the old hollow post the
+Farmer Boy had nailed to the trunk of one of the apple trees.</p>
+
+<p>That old hollow post was a wonderful home. Chick, D.D. had crept into it
+for the first time Christmas afternoon, when he had eaten until dusk
+overtook him before he had time to fly back to the shelter of the fir
+forest. He found that he liked that post. Its walls were thick and they
+kept out the wind; and, besides, was it not handy by the suet?</p>
+
+<p>In the spring he liked it for another reason, too&mdash;the best reason in
+the world. It gave great happiness to Mrs. Chick. "Fee-bee?" he had
+asked her as he called her attention to it; and "Fee-bee," she had
+replied on looking it over. So he said, "Chick, D.D." in delight, and
+then perched near by, while he warbled cosily a brief song jumbled full
+of joy.</p>
+
+<p>Chick and his mate had indeed chosen well, for it is a poor wall that
+will not work both ways. If the sides of the hollow post had been thick
+enough to keep out the coldest of the winter cold, they were also thick
+enough to keep out the hottest of the summer heat. If they kept out the
+wet of the driving storm, they held enough of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> old-wood moisture
+within so that the room did not get too dry. Of course, it needed a
+little repair. But, then, what greater fun than putting improvements
+into a home? Especially when it can be done by the family, without
+expense!</p>
+
+<p>So Mr. and Mrs. Chick fell to work right cheerily, and dug the hole
+deeper with their beaks. They didn't leave the chips on the ground
+before their doorway, either. They took them off to some distance, and
+had no heap near by, as a sign to say, "A bird lives here." For,
+sociable as they were all winter, they wanted quiet and seclusion within
+the walls of their own home.</p>
+
+<p>And such a home it was! After it had been hollowed to a suitable depth,
+Chick had brought in a tuft of white hair that a rabbit had left among
+the brambles. Mrs. Chick had found some last year's thistle-down and
+some this year's poplar cotton, and a horse-hair from the lane. Then
+Chick had picked up a gay feather that had floated down from a scarlet
+bird that sang in the tree-tops, and tore off silk from a cocoon. So,
+bit by bit, they gathered their treasures, until many a woodland and
+meadow creature and plant had had a share in the softness of a nest
+worthy of eight dear white eggs with reddish-brown spots upon them. It
+was such a soft nest, in fact, with such dear eggs in it, that Chick
+brooded there cosily himself part of the time, and was happy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> to bring
+food to his mate when she took her turn.</p>
+
+<p>In eleven or twelve days from the time the eggs were laid, there were
+ten birds in that home instead of two. The fortnight that followed was
+too busy for song. Chick and his mate looked the orchard over even more
+thoroughly than the Farmer Boy did; and before those eight hungry babies
+of theirs were ready to leave the nest, it began to seem as if Chick had
+eaten too many insect eggs in the spring, there were so few caterpillars
+hatching out. But the fewer there were, the harder they hunted; and the
+harder they hunted, the scarcer became the caterpillars. So when Dee,
+Chee, Fee, Wee, Lee, Bee, Mee, and Zee were two weeks old, and came out
+of the hollow post to seek their own living, the whole family had to
+take to the birches until a new crop of insect eggs had been laid in the
+orchard. This was no hardship. It only added the zest of travel and
+adventure to the pleasure of the days. Besides, it isn't just orchards
+that Chick, D.D. and his kind take care of. It is forests and
+shade-trees, too.</p>
+
+<p>Hither and yon they hopped and flitted, picking the weevils out of the
+dead tips of the growing pine trees, serving the beech trees such a good
+turn that the beechnut crop was the heavier for their visit, doing a bit
+for the maple-sugar trees, and so on through the woodland.</p>
+
+<p>Not only did they mount midget guard over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> mighty trees, but they
+acted as pilots to hungry birds less skillful than themselves in finding
+the best feeding-places. "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.," they called in
+thanksgiving, as they found great plenty; and warblers and kinglets and
+creepers and many a bird beside knew the sound, and gathered there to
+share the bountiful feast that Chick, D.D. had discovered.</p>
+
+<p>The gorgeous autumn came, the brighter, by the way, for the leaves that
+Chick had saved. The Bob-o-links, in traveling suits, had already left
+for the prairies of Brazil and Paraguay, by way of Florida and Jamaica.
+The strange honk of geese floated down from V-shaped flocks, as if they
+were calling, "Southward Ho!" The red-winged blackbirds gave a wonderful
+farewell chorus. Flock by flock and kind by kind, the migrating birds
+departed.</p>
+
+<p><i>WHY?</i></p>
+
+<p>Well, never ask Chick, D.D. The north with its snows is good enough for
+him. Warblers may go and nuthatches may come. 'Tis all one to Chick. He
+is not a bird to follow fashions others set.</p>
+
+<p>This bird-of-the-happy-heart has courage to meet the coldest day with a
+joyous note of welcome. The winter is cheerier for his song. And, as you
+have guessed, it is not by word alone that he renders service. The trees
+of the north are the healthier for his presence. Because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> of him, the
+purse of man is fatter, and his larder better stocked. He has done no
+harm as harm is counted in the world he lives in. It is written in books
+that, in all the years, not one crime, not even one bad habit, is known
+of any bird who has called himself "Chick, D.D."</p>
+
+<p>Because the world is always better for his living in it; and because no
+one can watch the black-capped sprite without catching, for a moment at
+least, a message of cheer and courage and service, does he not name
+himself rightly a minister?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, surely, the little parson who dwells in the heart of Christmas-tree
+Land has a right to his "D.D.," even though he did not earn it in a
+college of men.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
+<h2>II</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Larie was all alone in a little world. He had lived there many days, and
+had spent the time, minute by minute and hour by hour, doing nothing at
+all but growing. That one thing he had done well. There is no doubt
+about that; for he had grown from a one-celled little beginning of life
+into a creature so big that he filled the whole of his world crammed
+full. It was smooth, and it was hard, and its sides were curved around
+and about him so tightly that he could not even stretch his legs. There
+was no door. Larie was a prisoner. The prison-walls of his world held
+him so fast that he could not budge. That is, he could not budge
+anything but his head. He could move that a little.</p>
+
+<p>Now, that is what we might call being in a fairly tight place. But you
+don't know Larie if you think he could not get out of it. There are few
+places so tight that we can't get out of them if we go about it the
+right way, and make the best of what power we have. That is just what
+Larie did. He had power to move his head enough to tap, with his beak,
+against the wall of his world that had become his prison. So he kept
+tapping with his beak. On the end of it was a queer little knob. With
+this he knocked against the hard smooth wall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Tap! tip tip!" went Larie's knob. Then he would rest, for it is not
+easy work hammering and pounding, all squeezed in so tight. But he kept
+at it again and again and again. And then at last he cracked his
+prison-wall; and lo, it was not a very thick wall after all! No thicker
+than an eggshell!</p>
+
+<p>That is the way with many difficulties. They seem so very hard at first,
+and so very hopeless, and then end by being only a way to something
+very, very pleasant.</p>
+
+<p>So here was Larie in his second world. Its thin, soft floor and its
+thick, soft sides were made of fine bright-green grass, which had turned
+yellowish in drying. It had no roof. The sun shone in at the top. The
+wind blew over. There had been no sun or wind in his eggshell world. It
+was comfortable to have them now. They dried his down and made it
+fluffy. There was plenty of room for its fluffiness. He could stretch
+his legs, too, and could wiggle his wings against his sides. This felt
+good. And he could move his head all he cared to. But he did not begin
+thumping the sides of his new world with it. He tucked it down between
+two warm little things close by, and went to sleep. The two warm little
+things were his sister and brother, for Larie was not alone in his
+nest-world.</p>
+
+<p>The sun went down and the wind blew cold and the rain beat hard from the
+east; but Larie knew nothing of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> all this. A roof had settled down over
+his world while he napped. It was white as sea foam, and soft and dry
+and, oh, so very cosy, as it spread over him. The roof to Larie's second
+world was his mother's breast.</p>
+
+<p>The storm and the night passed, and the sun and the fresh spring breeze
+again came in at the top of the nest. Then something very big stood near
+and made a shadow, and Larie heard a strange sound. The something very
+big was his mother, and the strange sound was her first call to
+breakfast. When Larie heard that, he opened his mouth. But nothing went
+into it. His brother and sister were being fed. He had never had any
+food in his mouth in all the days of his life. To be sure, his egg-world
+was filled with nourishment that he had taken into his body and had used
+in growing; but he had never done anything with his beak except to knock
+with the knob at the end of it against the shell when he pipped his way
+out. What a handy little knob that had been&mdash;just right for tapping.
+But, now that there was no hard wall about him to break, what should he
+use it for? Well, nothing at all; for the joke of it is, there was no
+knob there. It had dropped off, and he could never have another.</p>
+
+<p>Never mind: he could open his beak just as well without it; and
+by-and-by his mother came again with a second call for breakfast, and
+that time Larie got his share. After that, there were calls for luncheon
+and for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> dinner, and luncheon again between that and supper; and part of
+the calls were from Mother and part from Father Gull.</p>
+
+<p>Larie's second world, it seems, was a place where he and his brother and
+sister were hungry and were fed. This is a world in which dwell, for a
+time, all babies, whether they have two legs, like you and Larie, or
+four, like a pig with a curly tail, or six, like Nata who lived in
+Shanty Creek.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> An important world it is, too; for health and strength
+and growing up, all depend upon it.</p>
+
+<p>There was, however, only a rim of soft fine dry grass to show where
+Larie's nest-world left off and his third world began. So it is not
+surprising that, as soon as their legs were strong enough, Larie and his
+brother and sister stepped abroad; for what baby does not creep out of
+his crib as soon as ever he can?</p>
+
+<p>They could not, for all this show of bravery, feed themselves like the
+sons of Peter Pan, or swim the waters like Gavia's two Olairs at Immer
+Lake. However grown up the three youngsters may have felt when they
+began to walk, Father and Mother Gull made no mistake about the matter,
+but fed them breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, and stuffed them so full
+of luncheons between meals, that the greedy little things just had to
+grow, so as to be able to swallow all that was brought them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There were times, certainly, when Larie still felt very much a baby,
+even though he ran about nimbly enough. For instance, when he made a
+mistake and asked some gull, that was not his father or mother, for
+food, and got a rough beating instead of what he begged for!</p>
+
+<p>Oh, then he felt like a forlorn little baby, indeed; for it was not
+pleasant to be whipped, and that sometimes cruelly, when he didn't know
+any better; for all the big gulls looked alike, with their foam-white
+bodies and their pearl-gray capes, and they were all bringing food; so
+how could he know who were and who were not his Father and Mother Gull?
+Well, he must learn to be careful, that was all, and stay where his very
+own could find and feed him; for gulls can waste no time on the young of
+other gulls&mdash;their own keep them busy enough, the little greedies!</p>
+
+<p>Again, Larie must have felt very wee and helpless whenever a big man
+walked that way, shaking the ground with his heavy step and making a
+dark shadow as he came. Then, oh, then, Larie was a baby, and hid near a
+tuft of grass or between two stones, tucking his head out of sight, and
+keeping quite still as an ostrich does, or,&mdash;yes,&mdash;as perhaps a shy
+young human does, who hides his head in the folds of his mother's skirt
+when a stranger asks him to shake hands.</p>
+
+<p>But few men trod upon Larie's island-world, and no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> man came to do him
+harm; for <i>the regulations under the Migratory-Bird Treaty Act prohibit
+throughout the United States the killing of gulls at any time</i>. That
+means that the laws of our country protect the gull, as of course you
+will understand, though Larie knew nothing about the matter.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, think of it! There was a law, made at Washington in the District of
+Columbia, which helped take care of little downy Larie way off in the
+north on a rocky island.</p>
+
+<p>I said "helped take care of"; for no law, however good it may be, can
+more than help make matters right. There has to be, besides, some sort
+of policeman to stand by the law and see that it is obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>So Larie, although he never knew that, either, had a policeman; and the
+law and the policeman together kept him quite safe from the dangers
+which not many years ago most threatened the gulls on our coast islands.
+In those days, before there were gull-laws and gull-policemen, people
+came to the nests and took their eggs, which are larger than hens' eggs
+and good to eat; and people came, too, and killed these birds for their
+feathers. Then it was that the beautiful stiff wing-feathers, which
+should have been spread in flight, were worn upon the hats of women; and
+the soft white breast-feathers, which should have been brooding brownish
+eggs all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> spattered over with pretty marks, were stuffed into
+feather-beds for people to sleep on.</p>
+
+<p>Well it was for Larie that he lived when he did; for his third world was
+a wonderful place and it was right that he should enjoy it in safety.
+When Larie first left his nest and went out to walk, he stepped upon a
+shelf of reddish rock, and the whole wall from which his shelf stuck out
+was reddish rock, too. Beyond, the rocks were greenish, and beyond that
+they were gray. Oh! the reddish and greenish and grayish rocks were
+beautiful to see when the fog lifted and the sun shone on them.</p>
+
+<p>But Larie's island-world was not all rock of different colors: for over
+there, not too far away to see, was a dark-green spruce tree. Because
+rough winds had swept over this while it was growing, its branches were
+scraggly and twisted. They could not grow straight and even, like a tree
+in a quiet forest. But never think, for all of that, that Larie's spruce
+was not good to look upon. There is something splendid about a tree
+which, though bending to the will of the mighty winds that work their
+force upon it, grows sturdy and strong in spite of all. Such trees are
+somehow like boys and girls, who meet hardships with such courage when
+they are young, that they grow strong and sturdy of spirit, and warm of
+heart, with the sort of mind that can understand trouble in the world,
+and so think of ways to help it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 432px;">
+<img src="images/i041.jpg" width="432" height="500" alt="Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Yes, perhaps Larie's tree was an emblem of courage. However that may be,
+it was a favorite spot on the island. Often it could be seen, that dark,
+rugged tree, which had battled with winds from its seedling days and
+grown victoriously, with three white gulls resting on its squarish
+top&mdash;birds, too, that had lived in rough winds and had grown strong in
+their midst.</p>
+
+<p>There was more on the island than rocks and trees. Over much of it lay a
+carpet of grass. Soft and fine and vivid green it was, of the kind that
+had been gathered for Larie's nest and had turned yellowish in drying.
+Under the carpet, in underground lanes as long as a man's long arm,
+lived Larie's young neighbor-folk&mdash;little petrels, sometimes called
+"Mother Carey's Chickens."</p>
+
+<p>There was even more on the island yet: for high on the rocks stood a
+lighthouse; and the man who kept the signal lights in order was no other
+than Larie's policeman himself. A useful life he lived, saving ships of
+the sea by the power of light, and birds of the sea by the power of law.</p>
+
+<p>So that was Larie's third world&mdash;an island with a soft rug of
+bright-green grass, and big shelfy rocks of red and green and gray, and
+rugged dark-green trees, with white gulls resting on the branches, and a
+lighthouse with its signal.</p>
+
+<p>All around and about that island lay Larie's fourth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> world&mdash;the sea.
+When his great day for swimming came, he slipped off into the water; and
+after that it was his, whenever he wished&mdash;his to swim or float upon,
+the wide-away ocean reaching as far as any gull need care to swim or
+float.</p>
+
+<p>All over and above the sea stretched Larie's fifth world&mdash;the air. When
+his great day for flying came, he rose against the breeze, and his wings
+took him into that high-away kingdom that lifted as far as any gull need
+care to fly.</p>
+
+<p>Now that Larie could both swim and fly, he was large, and acted in many
+ways like an old gull; but the feathers of his body were not white, and
+he did not wear over his back and the top of his spread wings a
+pearl-gray mantle.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was he given the garb of his father and mother for a traveling suit,
+that winter when he went south with the others, to a place where the
+Gulf Stream warmed the water whereon he swam and the air wherein he
+flew.</p>
+
+<p>But there came a time when Larie had put off the clothes of his youth
+and donned the robe of a grown gull. And as he sailed in the breezes of
+his fifth world, which blew over the cold sea, and across the island
+with a carpet of green and rocks of red and green and gray,&mdash;for he was
+again in the North,&mdash;he was beautiful to behold, the flight of a gull
+being so wonderful that the heart of him who sees quickens with joy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Larie was not alone. There were so many with him that, when they flew
+together in the distance, they looked as thick as snowflakes in the air;
+and when they screamed together, the din was so great that people who
+were not used to hearing them put their hands over their ears.</p>
+
+<p>And more than that, Larie was not alone; for there sailed near him in
+the air and floated beside him in the sea another gull, at whom he did
+not scream, but to whom he talked pleasantly, saying, "me-you," in a
+musical tone that she understood.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i044.jpg" width="450" height="313" alt="Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to whom he
+talked pleasantly." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to whom he
+talked pleasantly.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Larie and his mate found much to do that spring. One game that never
+failed to interest them was meeting the ships many, many waves out at
+sea, and following them far on their way. For on the ships were men who
+threw away food they could not use, and the gulls gathered in flocks to
+scramble and fight for this. Children on board the ships laughed merrily
+to see them, and tossed crackers and biscuits out for the fun of
+watching the hungry-birds come close, to feed.</p>
+
+<p>Many a feast, too, the fishermen gave the gulls, when they sorted the
+contents of their nets and threw aside what they did not want.</p>
+
+<p>Besides this, Larie and his mate and their comrades picnicked in high
+glee at certain harbors where garbage was left; for gulls are thrifty
+folk and do not waste the food of the world.</p>
+
+<p>From their feeding habits you will know that these beautiful birds are
+scavengers, eating things which, if left on the sea or shore, would make
+the water foul and the air impure. Thus it is that Nature gives to a
+scavenger the duty of service to all living creatures; and the freshness
+of the ocean and the cleanness of the sands of the shore are in part a
+gift of the gulls, for which we should thank and protect them.</p>
+
+<p>Relish as they might musty bread and mouldy meat, Larie and his mate
+enjoyed, too, the sport of catching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> fresh food; and many a clam hunt
+they had in true gull style. They would fly above the water near the
+shore, and when they were twenty or thirty feet high, would plunge down
+head-first. Then they would poke around for a clam, with their heads and
+necks under water and their wings out and partly unfolded, but not
+flopping; and a comical sight they were!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i046.jpg" width="450" height="312" alt="After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air
+a hundred feet or so, and then drop it." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air
+a hundred feet or so, and then drop it.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 368px;">
+<img src="images/i047.jpg" width="368" height="500" alt="It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived
+that spring." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived
+that spring.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air a hundred feet
+or so above the rocks, and then, stretching way up with his head, drop
+the clam from his beak. Easily, with wings fluttering slightly, Larie
+would follow the clam, floating gracefully, though quickly, down to
+where it had cracked upon the rocks. The morsel in its broken shell was
+now ready to eat, for Larie and his mate did not bake their sea-food or
+make it into chowder. Cold salad flavored with sea-salt was all they
+needed.</p>
+
+<p>Exciting as were these hunts with the flocks of screaming gulls, it was
+not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived that spring. For under
+the blue of the airy sky there was an ocean, and in that ocean there was
+an island, and on that island there was a nest, and in that nest there
+was an egg&mdash;the first that the mate of Larie had ever laid. And in that
+egg was a growing gull, their eldest son&mdash;a baby Larie, alone inside his
+very first world.</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Hexapod Stories</i>, page 80.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>
+<h2>III</h2>
+
+<h3>PETER PIPER</h3>
+
+
+<p>One was named Sandy, because Sandy is a Scotch name and there were
+blue-bells growing on the rocks; so it seemed right that one of them
+should have a Scotch name, and what could be better, after all, than
+Sandy for a sandpiper? One was named Pan, because he piped sweetly among
+the reeds by the river. One, who came out of his eggshell before his
+brothers, was named Peter, for his father.</p>
+
+<p>But Mother Piper never called her children Sandy and Pan and Peter. She
+called them all "Pete." She was so used to calling her mate "Pete," that
+that name was easier than any other for her to say.</p>
+
+<p>The three of them played by the river all day long. Each amused himself
+in his own way and did not bother his brothers, although they did not
+stray too far apart to talk to one another. This they did by saying,
+"Peep," now and then.</p>
+
+<p>About once an hour, and sometimes oftener, Mother Piper came flying over
+from Faraway Island, crying, "Pete, Pete, Pete," as if she were worried.
+It is no wonder that she was anxious about Sandy and Peter and Pan, for,
+to begin with, she had had four fine children,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> and the very first night
+they were out of their nest, the darlings, a terrible prowling animal
+named Tom or Tabby had killed one of her babies.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i050.jpg" width="450" height="410" alt="One was named Peter, for his father." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>One was named Peter, for his father.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>But Peter and Pan and Sandy were too young to know much about being
+afraid. So they played by the river all day long, care-free and happy.
+Their sweet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> little voices sounded contented as they said, "Peep," one
+to another. Their queer little tails looked frisky as they went
+bob-bob-bob-bing up and down every time they stepped, and sometimes when
+they didn't. Their dear little heads went forward and back in a merry
+sort of jerk. There were so many things to do, and every one of them a
+pleasure!</p>
+
+<p>Oh! here was Sandy clambering up the rocky bank, so steep that there was
+roothold only for the blue-bells, with stems so slender that one name
+for them is "hair-bell." But Sandy did not fall. He tripped lightly up
+and about, with sure feet; and where the walking was too hard, he
+fluttered his wings and flew to an easier place. Once he reached the top
+of the bank, where the wild roses were blossoming. And wherever he went,
+and wherever he came, he found good tasty insects to eat; so he had
+picnic-luncheons all along the way.</p>
+
+<p>Ho! here was Pan wandering where the river lapped the rocky shore. His
+long slender legs were just right for wading, and his toes felt
+comfortable in the cool water. There was a pleasing scent from the
+sweet-gale bushes, which grew almost near enough to the river to go
+wading, too; and there was a spicy smell when he brushed against the
+mint, which wore its blossoms in pale purple tufts just above the leaves
+along the stem. And every now and then, whether he looked at the top of
+the water or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> at the rocks on the shore-edge, he found tempting bits of
+insect game to eat as he waded along.</p>
+
+<p>Oho! here was Peter on an island as big as an umbrella, with a
+scooped-out place at one side as deep as the hollow in the palm of a
+man's hand. This was shaped exactly right for Peter's bathtub, and as
+luck would have it, it was filled to the brim with water. Such a cool
+splashing&mdash;once, twice, thrice, with a long delightful flutter; and then
+out into the warm sunshine, where the feathers could be puffed out and
+dried! These were the very first real feathers he had ever had, and he
+hadn't had them very long; and my, oh, my! but it was fun running his
+beak among them, and fixing them all fine, like a grown-up bird. And
+when he was bathed and dried, there was a snack to eat near by floating
+toward him on the water.</p>
+
+<p>Oh! Ho! and Oho! it was a day to be gay in, with so many new amusements
+wherever three brave, fearless little sandpipers might stray.</p>
+
+<p>Then came sundown; and in the pleasant twilight Peter and Pan and Sandy
+somehow found themselves near each other on the bank, still walking
+forth so brave and bold, and yet each close enough to his brothers to
+hear a "Peep," were it ever so softly whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Did it just happen that about that time Mother Piper came flying low
+over the water from Faraway Island to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Nearby Island, calling, "Pete,
+Pete, Pete," in a different tone, a sort of sundown voice?</p>
+
+<p>Was that the way to speak to three big, 'most-grown-up sandpiper sons,
+who had wandered about so free of will the livelong day?</p>
+
+<p>Ah, but where were the 'most-grown-up sons? Gone with the sun at
+sundown; and, instead, there were three cosy little birds, with their
+heads still rumpled over with down that was not yet pushed off the ends
+of their real feathers, and a tassel of down still dangling from the tip
+of each funny tail.</p>
+
+<p>And three dear, sweet, little voices answered, "Peep," every time Mother
+Piper called, "Pete"; and three little sons tagged obediently after her
+as she called them from place to place all round and all about Nearby
+Island, teaching them, perhaps, to make sure there was no Tabby and no
+Tommy on their camping-ground.</p>
+
+<p>So it was that, after twilight, when darkness was at hand and the curfew
+sounded for human children to be at home, Peter and Pan and Sandy
+settled down near each other and near Mother Piper for the night.</p>
+
+<p>And where was Peter Piper, who had been abroad the day long, paying
+little attention to his family? He, too, at nightfall, had come flying
+low from Faraway Island; and now, with his head tucked behind his wing,
+was asleep not a rod away from Mother Piper and their three sons.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Somehow it was very pleasant to know that they were near together
+through the starlight&mdash;the five of them who had wandered forth alone by
+sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>But not for long was the snug little Nearby Island to serve for a night
+camp. Mother Piper had other plans. Like the wise person she was, she
+let her children find out many things for themselves, though she kept in
+touch with them from time to time during the day, to satisfy herself
+that they were safe. And at night she found that they were willing
+enough to mind what they were told to do, never seeming to bother their
+heads over the fact that every now and then she led them to a strange
+camp-ground.</p>
+
+<p>So they did not seem surprised or troubled when, one night soon, Mother
+Piper, instead of calling them to Nearby Island, as had been her wont,
+rested patiently in plain sight on a stump near the shore and, with
+never a word, waited for the sunset hour to reach the time of dusk. Then
+she flew to the log where Peter Piper had been teetering up and down,
+and what she said to him I do not know. But a minute later, back she
+flew, this time rather high overhead, and swooped down toward the little
+ones with a quick "Pete-weet." After her came Peter Piper flying, also
+rather high overhead, and swooping down toward his young. Then Mother
+and Peter Piper went in low, slow flight to Faraway Island.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Were they saying good-night to their babies? Were their sons to be left
+on the bank by themselves, now that they had shaken the last fringe of
+down from their tails and lost the fluff from their heads? Did they need
+no older company, now that they looked like grown-up sandpipers except
+that their vests had no big polka dots splashed over them?</p>
+
+<p>Ah, no! At Mother Piper's "Pete-weet," Peter answered, "Peep," lifted
+his wings, and flew right past Nearby Island and landed on a rock on
+Faraway Island. And, "Peep," called Sandy, fluttering after. And,
+"Peep," said Pan, stopping himself in the midst of his teetering, and
+flying over Nearby Island on his way to the new camp-ground.</p>
+
+<p>That is how it happened that they had their last luncheon on the shore
+of Faraway Island before snuggling down to sleep that night.</p>
+
+<p>One of the haunts of Peter and Pan and Sandy was Cardinal-Flower Path.
+This lovely place was along the marshy shore not far from Nearby Island.
+It was almost white with the fine blooms of water-parsnip, an
+interesting plant from the top of its blossom head to the lowest of its
+queer under-water leaves. And here and there, among the lacy white, a
+stalk of a different sort grew, with red blossoms of a shade so rich
+that it is called the cardinal flower. Every now and then a
+ruby-throated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> hummingbird darted quickly above the water-parsnips
+straight to the cardinal throat of the other flower, and found
+refreshment served in frail blossom-ware of the glorious color he loved
+best of all.</p>
+
+<p>And it would be well for all children of men to know that, although
+three bright active children of sandpipers ran teetering about
+Cardinal-Flower Path many and many a day, the place was as lovely to
+look upon at sundown as at sunrise, for not one wonderful spray had been
+broken from its stem. So it happened, because the children who played
+there were Sandy and Peter and Pan, that the cardinal flowers lived
+their life as it was given them by Nature, serving refreshments for
+hummingbirds through the summer day, and setting seeds according to
+their kind for other cardinal flowers and other hummingbirds another
+year.</p>
+
+<p>But even the charms of Cardinal-Flower Path did not hold Pan and Peter
+and Sandy many weeks. They seemed to be a sort of gypsy folk, with the
+love of wandering in their hearts; and it is pleasant to know that, as
+soon as they were grown enough, there was nothing to prevent their
+journeying forth with Peter and Mother Piper.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the strange and wonderful plants and birds and insects they met
+upon the way I cannot tell you, for, in all my life, I have not traveled
+so far as these three children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> went long before they were one year old.
+They went, in fact, way to the land where the insects live that are so
+hard and beautiful and gemlike that people sometimes use them for
+jewels. These are called "Brazilian beetles," and you can tell by that
+name where the Pipers spent the winter, though it may seem a very far
+way for a young bird to go, with neither train nor boat to give him a
+lift.</p>
+
+<p>Not even tired they were, from all accounts, those little feather-folk;
+and why, indeed, should they be tired? A jaunt from a northern country
+to Brazil was not too much for a healthy bird, with its sure breath and
+pure rich blood. There was food enough along the trail&mdash;they chose their
+route wisely enough for that, you may be sure; and they were in no great
+haste either going or coming.</p>
+
+<p>"Coming," did I say? Why, surely! You didn't think those sandpipers
+<i>stayed</i> in Brazil? What did they care for green gem-like beetles, after
+all? The only decorations they ever wore were big dark polka dots on
+their vests. Perhaps they were all pleased with them, when their old
+travel-worn feathers dropped out and new ones came in. Who can tell?
+They had a way of running their bills through their plumage after a
+bath, as if they liked to comb their pretty feathers.</p>
+
+<p>Be that as it may, there was something beneath their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> feathers that
+quickened like the heart of a journeying gypsy when, with nodding heads
+and teetering tails, they started again for the north.</p>
+
+<p>Did they dream of a bank where the blue-bells grew, and a shore spiced
+with the fragrance of wild mint?</p>
+
+<p>No one will ever know just how Nature whispers to the bird, "Northward
+ho!" But we know they come in the springtime, and right glad are we to
+hear their voices.</p>
+
+<p>So Peter Piper, Junior, came back again to the shore of Nearby Island.
+And do you think Sandy and Pan walked behind him for company, calling,
+"Peep," one to another? And do you think Mother Piper and Father Peter
+showed him the way to Faraway Island at sun-down, and guarded him o'
+nights? Not they! They were busy, every one, with their own affairs, and
+Peter would just have to get along without them.</p>
+
+<p>Well, Peter could&mdash;Peter and Dot. For of course he was a grown-up
+sandpiper now, with a mate of his own, nodding her wise little head the
+livelong day, and teetering for joy all over the rocks where the red
+columbine grew.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 367px;">
+<img src="images/i059.jpg" width="367" height="500" alt="The spot she teetered to most of all." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>The spot she teetered to most of all.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The spot she teetered to most of all was a little cup-shaped hollow high
+up on the border of the ledge, where the sumachs were big as small trees
+and where the sweet fern scented the air. The hollow was lined tidily
+and softly with dried grass, and made a comfortable place to sit, no
+doubt. At least, Dot liked it; and Peter must have had some fondness for
+it, too, for he slipped on when Dot was not there herself. It just
+fitted their little bodies, and there were four eggs in it of which any
+sandpiper might well have been proud; for they were much, much bigger
+than most birds the size of Dot could ever lay. In fact, her little body
+could hardly have covered them snugly enough to keep them warm if they
+had not been packed just so, with the pointed ends pushed down into the
+middle of the rather deep nest.</p>
+
+<p>The eggs were creamy white, with brown spots splashed over them&mdash;the
+proper sort of eggs (if only they had been smaller) to tuck beneath a
+warm breast decorated with pretty polka dots. But still, they must have
+been her very own, or Dot could not have taken such good care of them.</p>
+
+<p>Because of this care, day by day the little body inside each shell grew
+from the wonderful single cell it started life with, to a many-celled
+creature, all fitted out with lungs and a heart and rich warm blood, and
+very slender legs, and very dear heads with very bright eyes, and all
+the other parts it takes to make a bird. When the birds were all made,
+they broke the shells and pushed aside the pieces. And four more capable
+little rascals never were hatched.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Why, almost before one would think they had had time to dry their down
+and stretch their legs and get used to being outside of shells instead
+of inside, those little babies walked way to the edge of the river, and
+from that time forth never needed their nest.</p>
+
+<p>And look! the fluffy, cunning little dears are nodding their heads and
+teetering their tails! Yes, that proves that they must be sandpipers,
+even if we did have doubts of those eggs. Ah! Dot knew what she was
+about all along. The size of her eggs might fool a person, but she had
+not worried. Why, indeed, should she be troubled? Those big shells had
+held food-material enough, so that her young, when hatched, were so
+strong and well-developed that they could go wandering forth at once.
+They did not lie huddled in their nest, helplessly begging Peter Piper
+and Mother Dot to bring them food. Not they! Out they toddled, teetering
+along the shore, having picnics from the first&mdash;the little gypsy babies!</p>
+
+<p>Tabby did not catch any of them, though one night she tried, and gave
+Dot an awful scare. It was while they were still tiny enough to be
+tucked under their mother's feathers after sundown, and before they
+could manage to get, stone by stone, to Nearby Island. So they were
+camped on the shore, and the prowling cat came very near. So near, in
+fact, that Mother Dot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> fluttered away from her young, calling back to
+them, in a language they understood, to scatter a bit, and then lie so
+still that not even the green eyes of the cat could see a motion. The
+four little Pipers obeyed. Not one of them questioned, "Why, Mother?" or
+whined, "I don't want to," or whimpered, "I'm frightened," or boasted,
+"Pooh, there's nothing here."</p>
+
+<p>Dot led the crouching enemy away by fluttering as if she had a broken
+wing, and she called for help with all the agony of her mother-love.
+"Pete," she cried, "Pete," and "Pete, Pete, Pete!"</p>
+
+<p>No one who hears the wail of a frightened sandpiper begging protection
+for her young can sit unmoved.</p>
+
+<p>Someone at the Ledge House heard Dot, and gave a low whistle and a quick
+command. Then there was a dashing rush through the bushes, that sounded
+as if a dog were chasing a cat. A few minutes later Dot's voice again
+called in the dark&mdash;this time, not in anguish of heart, but very cosily
+and gently. "Pete-weet?" she whispered; and four precious little babies
+murmured, "Peep," as they snuggled close to the spotted breast of their
+mother.</p>
+
+<p>So it happened that two sons and two daughters of Peter Piper, Junior,
+played and picnicked and bathed by the river. The one who had first
+pipped his eggshell was named Peter the Third, for his father and his
+grandfather,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> and a finer young sandpiper never shook the fluff of down
+from his head or the fringe from his tail, when his real feathers pushed
+into their places.</p>
+
+<p>What his brother and sisters were named, I never knew; and it didn't
+matter much, for their mother called them all "Pete."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i063.jpg" width="450" height="341" alt="Dallying happily along the river-edge." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Dallying happily along the river-edge.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Peter the Third and the others grew up as Pan and Peter and Sandy had
+grown, dallying happily along the river-edge, and as happily accepting
+the guidance of their mother, who made her slow flight from Faraway<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+Island every now and then, usually so low that her spotted breast was
+reflected in the clear water as she came, the white markings in her
+wings showing above and below.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, as soon as the season came for their migration journey, the
+four of them started cheerfully off with Peter and Dot, for a leisurely
+little flight to Brazil and back&mdash;to fill the days, as it were, with
+pleasant wanderings, from the time the hummingbird fed at the feast of
+the cardinal flower in late summer, until he should be hovering over the
+columbine in the spring.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IV</h2>
+
+<h3>GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Once upon a time, it was four millions of years ago. There were no
+people then all the way from Florida to Alaska. There was, indeed, in
+all this distance, no land to walk upon, except islands in the west
+where the Rocky Mountains are now. That is the only place where the
+country that is now the United States of America stuck up out of the
+water. Everywhere else were the waves of the sea. There were no people,
+even on the Rocky Mountain Islands. None at all.</p>
+
+<p>No, the creatures that visited those island shores in those old days
+were not people, but birds. Nearly as large as men they were, and they
+had teeth on their long slender jaws, and they had no wings. They came
+to the islands, perhaps, only at nesting-time; for their legs and feet
+were fitted for swimming and not walking, and they lived upon fish in
+the sea. So they dwelt, with no man to see them, on the water that
+stretched from sea to sea; and what their voices were like, no man
+knows.</p>
+
+<p>A million years, perhaps, passed by, and then another million, and maybe
+another million still; and the birds without wings and with teeth were
+no more. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> their places were other birds, much smaller&mdash;birds with
+wings and no teeth; but something like them, for all that: for their
+feet also were fitted for swimming and not walking, and they, too,
+visited the shore little, if at all, except at nesting-time, and they
+lived upon fish in the water.</p>
+
+<p>And what their voices were like, all men may know who will go to the
+wilderness lakes and listen; for, wonderful as it may seem, these second
+birds have come down to us through perhaps a million years, and live
+to-day, giving a strange clear cry before a storm, and at other times
+calling weirdly in lone places, so that men who are within hearing
+always say, "The loons are laughing."</p>
+
+<p>Gavia was a loon who had spent the winter of 1919-1920 on the Atlantic
+Ocean. There had hardly been, perhaps, in a million years a handsomer
+loon afloat on any sea. Even in her winter coat she was beautiful; and
+when she put on her spring suit, she was lovelier still.</p>
+
+<p>She and her mate had enjoyed the sea-fishing and had joined a company of
+forty for swimming parties and other loon festivities; for life on the
+ocean waves has many interests, and there is never a lack of
+entertainment. The salt-water bathing, diving, and such other activities
+as the sea affords, were pleasant for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> them all. Then, too, the winter
+months made a chance for rest, a change from home-duties, and a freedom
+from looking out for the children, that gave the loons a care-free
+manner as they rode the waves far out at sea.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i067.jpg" width="450" height="311" alt="Immer Lake." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Immer Lake.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Considering all this, it seems strange, does it not, that when the
+spring of 1920 had gone no further than to melt the ice in the northern
+lakes, Gavia and her mate left the sea and took strong flight inland.</p>
+
+<p>What made them go, I cannot explain. I do not understand it well enough.
+I do not really know what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> urges the salmon to leave the Atlantic Ocean
+in the spring and travel up the Penobscot or the St. John River. I never
+felt quite sure why Peter Piper left Brazil for the shore where the
+blue-bells nod. All I can tell you about it is that a feeling came over
+the loons that is called a migration instinct; and, almost before Gavia
+and her mate knew what was happening to them, they had flown far and far
+from the Ocean, and were laughing weirdly over the cold waters of Immer
+Lake.</p>
+
+<p>The shore was dark with the deep green of fir trees, whose straight
+trunks had blisters on them where drops of fragrant balsam lay hidden in
+the bark. And here and there trees with white slender trunks leaned out
+over the water, and the bark on these peeled up like pieces of thin and
+pretty paper. Three wonderful vines trailed through the woodland, and
+each in its season blossomed into pink and fragrant bells. But what
+these were, and how they looked, is not a part of this story, for Gavia
+never wandered among them. Her summer paths lay upon and under the water
+of the lake, as her winter trails had been upon and under the water of
+the sea.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, if she loved the water so, why did she suddenly begin to stay out of
+it? If she delighted so in swimming and diving and chasing wild
+wing-races over the surface, why did she spend the day quietly in one
+place?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Of course you have guessed it! Gavia was on her nest. She had hidden her
+two babies among the bulrushes for safety, and must stay there herself
+to keep them warm. They were not yet out of their eggshells, so the only
+care they needed for many a long day and night was constant warmth
+enough for growth. They lay near each other, the two big eggs, of a
+color that some might call brown and some might call green, with
+dark-brown spots splashed over them.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i069.jpg" width="450" height="307" alt="Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells, hidden among
+the rushes." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells, hidden among
+the rushes.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The nest Gavia and her mate had prepared for them was a heap of old wet
+reeds and other dead water-plants,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> which they had piled up among the
+stems of the rushes until it reached six inches or more out of the
+water. They were really in the centre of a nest island, with water all
+about them. So, you see, Gavia was within splashing distance of her
+fishing-pool after all.</p>
+
+<p>She and her mate, indeed, were in the habit of making their nests here
+in the cove; though the two pairs of Neighbor Loons, who built year
+after year farther up the lake, chose places on the island near the
+water-line in the spring; and when the water sank lower later on, they
+were left high and dry where they had to flounder back and forth to and
+from the nest, as awkward on land as they were graceful in the water.</p>
+
+<p>Faithful to her unhatched young as Gavia was, it is not likely that she
+alone kept them warm for nearly thirty days and nights; for Father Loon
+remained close at hand, and would he not help her with this task?</p>
+
+<p>Gavia, sitting on her nest, did not look like herself of the early
+winter months when she had played among the ocean waves. For her head
+and neck were now a beautiful green, and she wore two white striped
+collars, while the back of her feather coat was neatly checked off with
+little white squarish spots. Father Loon wore the same style that she
+did. Summer and winter, they dressed alike.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, a handsome couple, indeed, waited that long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> month for the birth of
+their twins, growing all this time inside those two strong eggshells. At
+last, however, the nest held the two babies, all feathered with down
+from the very first, black on their backs and gray shading into white
+beneath.</p>
+
+<p>Did I say the nest held them? Well, so it did for a few hours. After
+that, they swam the waters of Immer Lake, and their nest was home no
+longer. Peter Piper's children themselves were not more quick to run
+than Gavia's twins were to swim and dive.</p>
+
+<p>I think, perhaps, they were named Olair; for Gavia often spoke in a very
+soft mellow tone, saying, "Olair"; and her voice, though a bit sad, had
+a pleasing sound. So we will call them the two Olairs.</p>
+
+<p>They were darlings, those baby loons, swimming about (though not very
+fast at first), and diving out of sight in the water every now and then
+(but not staying under very long at the beginning). Then, when they were
+tired or in a hurry, they would ride on the backs of Gavia and Father
+Loon: and they liked it fine, sailing over the water with no trouble at
+all, just as if they were in a boat, with someone else to do the rowing.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, yes, they were darlings! Had you seen one of them, you could hardly
+have helped wanting to cuddle him. But do you think you could catch one,
+even the youngest? Not a bit of it. If you had given chase in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> a boat,
+the wee-est loon would have sailed off faster yet on the back of his
+father; and when you grew tired and stopped, you would have heard, as if
+mocking you, the old bird give, in a laughing voice, the <i>Tremble Song:</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O, ha-ha-ha, ho!&mdash;O, ha-ha-ha, ho!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O, ha-ha-ha, ho!&mdash;O, ha-ha-ha, ho!&mdash;"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>If you had tried again a few days later, the young loon would have been
+able to dive and swim by himself out of sight under water, the old ones
+giving him warning of danger and telling him what to do.</p>
+
+<p>But no child chased the two Olairs and no lawbreaker fired a shot at
+Gavia or Father Loon. They had frights and narrow escapes in plenty
+without that; but those were of the sorts that loons get used to century
+after century, and not modern disasters, like guns, that people have
+recently brought into wild places. For the only man who dwelt on the
+shore of Immer Lake was a minister.</p>
+
+<p>Because he loved his fellow men, this minister of Immer Lake spent part
+of his days among them, doing such service to the weak of spirit as only
+a minister can do, who has faith that there is some good in every
+person. At such times he was a sort of servant to all who needed him.</p>
+
+<p>Because he loved, also, his fellow creatures who had lived in the
+beautiful wild places of this land much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> longer than any man whatsoever,
+he spent part of his days among them. At such times he was a sort of
+hermit.</p>
+
+<p>Then no handy trolley rumbled by to take him on his near way. No train
+shrieked its departure to distant places where he might go. There was no
+interesting roar of mill or factory making things to use. There was no
+sociable tread of feet upon the pavement, to give him a feeling of human
+companionship.</p>
+
+<p>But, for all that, it was not a silent world the minister found at Immer
+Lake. On sunny days the waves, touching the rocks on the shore, sang
+gently, "Bippo-bappo, bippo-bappo." The trees clapped their leaves
+together as the breezes bade them. The woodpeckers tapped tunes to each
+other on their hollow wooden drums. The squirrels chattered among the
+branches. At dawn and at dusk the thrushes made melodies everywhere
+about.</p>
+
+<p>On stormy nights the waves slapped loudly upon the rocks. The branches
+whacked against one another at the mighty will of the wind. The thunder
+roared applause at the fireworks the lightning made. And best of all,
+like the very spirit of the wild event, there rang the strange, sweet
+moaning <i>Storm Song of the Loon</i>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u&acute; la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u&acute; la.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u&acute; la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u&acute; la."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The minister of Immer Lake liked that song, and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> liked the other
+music that they made. So it was that he sat before his door through many
+a summer twilight, and played on his violin until the loons answered
+with the <i>Tremble Song</i>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Then they would swim up and up, until they floated close to his cottage,
+feeding unafraid near by, while he played softly.</p>
+
+<p>Often, when Gavia and her mate were resting there or farther up the
+lake, some other loon would fly over; and then Father Loon would throw
+his head way forward and give another sort of song. "Oh-a-lee'!" he
+would begin, with his bill wide open; and then, nearly closing his
+mouth, he would sing, "Cleo&acute;-pe&acute;&acute;-a-rit&acute;." The "Oh" starts low and then
+rises in a long, drawn way. Perhaps in all the music of Immer Lake there
+is nothing queerer than the <i>Silly Song of Father Loon</i>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh-a-lee&acute;! Cleo&acute;-p&acute;&acute;-a-rit&acute;, cleo&acute;-pe&acute;&acute;-a-rit&acute;, cleo&acute;-per&acute;&acute;-wer-wer!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Oh-a-lee&acute;! Cleo&acute;-p&acute;&acute;-a-rit&acute;, cleo&acute;-pe&acute;&acute;-a-rit&acute;, cleo&acute;-pe&acute;&acute;-wer-wer!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Such were the songs the two Olairs heard often and again, while they
+were growing up; and they must have added much to the interest of their
+first summer.</p>
+
+<p>Altogether they had endless pleasures, and were as much at ease in the
+water as if there were no more land near them than there had been near
+those other young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> birds that had teeth and no wings, four million years
+or so ago. Their own wings were still small and flipper-like when, about
+the first of August, they were spending the day, as they often did, in a
+small cove. They were now about two-thirds grown, and their feathers
+were white beneath and soft bright brown above, with bars of white spots
+at their shoulders. They had funny stiff little tails, which they stuck
+up out of the water or poked out of sight, as they wished. They swam
+about in circles, and preened their feathers with their bills, which
+were still small and gray, and not black like those of the old birds.</p>
+
+<p>After a time Gavia came swimming toward them, all under water except her
+head. Suddenly Father Loon joined her, and they both began diving and
+catching little fishes for the two Olairs. For the vegetable part of
+their dinner they had shreds of some waterplant, which Gavia brought
+them, dangling from her bill. Surely never a fresher meal was served
+than fish just caught and greens just pulled! No wonder it was that the
+young loons grew fast, and were well and strong. After the twins were
+fed, Gavia and Father Loon sank from sight under the water, heads and
+all, and the Olairs saw no more of them for two hours or so, though they
+heard them now and then singing, sometimes the <i>Tremble Song</i> and
+sometimes the <i>Silly Song</i>.</p>
+
+<p>They were good children, and did not try to tag along<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> or sulk because
+they were left behind. First they dabbled about and helped themselves,
+for dessert, to some plant growing under water, gulping down rather
+large mouthfuls of it. Then they grew drowsy; and what could have been
+pleasanter than going to sleep floating, with the whole cove for a
+cradle?</p>
+
+<p>You could never guess how those youngsters got ready for their nap. Just
+like a grown-up! Each Olair rolled over on one side, till the white
+under-part of his body showed above water. Then he waved the exposed leg
+in the air, and tucked it away, with a quick flip, under the feathers of
+his flank. Thus one foot was left in the water, for the bird to paddle
+with gently while he slept, so that he would not be drifted away by the
+wind. But that day one of the tired water-babies went so sound asleep
+that he didn't paddle enough, and the wind played a joke on him by
+shoving him along to the snaggy edge of the cove and bumping him against
+a log. That was a surprise, and he woke with a start and swam quickly
+back to the middle of the cove, where the other Olair was resting in the
+open water.</p>
+
+<p>While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon went to a
+party. On the way, they stopped for a bit of fishing by themselves.
+Gavia began by suddenly flapping around in a big circle, slapping the
+water with wing-tips and feet, and making much noise as she spattered
+the spray all about. Then she quickly poked her head under water, as if
+looking for fish. Father Loon, who had waited a little way off, dived a
+number of times, as if to see what Gavia had scared in his direction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;">
+<img src="images/i077.jpg" width="373" height="500" alt="While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon
+went to a party." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon
+went to a party.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then they both dove deep, and swam under water until they came near the
+four Neighbor Loons, who had left their two families of young dozing,
+and had also come out for a good time.</p>
+
+<p>When Father Loon caught sight of his four neighbors, he sang the <i>Silly
+Song</i>, after which the six birds ran races on the water. They all
+started about the same time and went pell-mell in one direction, their
+feet and wings going as if they hardly knew whether to swim or fly, and
+ending by doing both at once. Then they would all stop, as suddenly as
+if one of them had given a signal, and turning, would dash in the
+opposite direction, racing to and fro again and again and again. Oh! it
+was a grand race, and there is no knowing how long they would have kept
+it up, had not something startled them so that they all stopped and sang
+the <i>Tremble Song</i>, which sounds like strange laughter. They opened
+their mouths quite wide and, wagging the lower jaw up and down with
+every "ha," they sang "O, ha-ha-ha, ho!" so many times that it seemed as
+if they would never get through. And, indeed, how could they tell when
+the song was ended, for every verse was like the one before?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then all at once they stopped singing and began some flying stunts. A
+stiff breeze was blowing, and, facing this, they pattered along, working
+busily with wings and feet, until they could get up speed enough to
+leave the water and take to flight. Though it was rather a hard matter
+to get started, when they were once under way they flew wonderfully
+well, and the different pairs seemed to enjoy setting their wings and
+sailing close together around a large curve. They went so fast part of
+the time that, when they came down to the surface of the water again,
+they plunged along with a splash and ploughed a furrow in the water
+before they could come to a stop.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, by that time they were hungry enough for refreshments! So
+Gavia went off to one side and stirred the water up as if she were
+trying to scare fish toward the others, who waited quietly. Then they
+all dived, and what their black sharp-pointed bills found under water
+tasted good to those hungry birds.</p>
+
+<p>After that the loon party broke up, and each pair went to their own home
+cove, where they had left their young. It had been a pleasant way to
+spend the time sociably together; and loons like society very much, if
+they can select their own friends and have their parties in a wilderness
+lake. But gay and happy as they had been at their merrymaking, Gavia and
+her mate were not sorry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> to return to the two Olairs, who had long since
+wakened from their naps and were glad to see their handsome father and
+mother again.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the two Olairs were full grown, Gavia had molted many of her
+prettiest feathers and was looking rather odd, as she had on part of her
+summer suit and part of her winter one. Father Loon had much the same
+appearance; for, of course, birds that live in the water cannot shed
+their feathers as many at a time as Corbie could, but must change their
+feather-wear gradually, so that they may always have enough on to keep
+their bodies dry. And summer and winter, you may be sure that a loon
+takes good care of his clothes, oiling them well to keep them
+waterproof.</p>
+
+<p>Fall grew into winter, and the nest where Gavia had brooded the spring
+before now held a mound of snow in its lap. The stranded log against
+which the little Olair had been bumped while he was napping, months ago,
+was glazed over with a sparkling crust. The water where Gavia and Father
+Loon had fished for their children, and had played games and run races
+with Neighbor Loons, was sealed tight with a heavy cover of ice.</p>
+
+<p>And it may be, if you should sail the seas this winter, that you will
+see the two Olairs far, far out upon the water. What made them leave the
+pleasures of Immer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> Lake just when they did, I cannot explain. I do not
+understand it well enough. I never felt quite sure why Peter Piper left
+the shore where the cardinal flowers glowed, for far Brazil. All I can
+tell you about it is that a feeling came over the loons that is called a
+migration instinct, and, almost before they knew what was happening to
+them, they were laughing weirdly through the ocean storms.</p>
+
+<p>If you see them, you will know that they are strange birds whose
+ancestors reach back and back through the ages, maybe a million years.
+You will think&mdash;as who would not?&mdash;that a loon is a wonderful gift that
+Nature has brought down through all the centuries; a living relic of a
+time of which we know very little except from fossils men find and guess
+about.</p>
+
+<p>It is small wonder their songs sound strange to our ears, for their
+voices have echoed through a world too old for us to know. It makes us a
+bit timid to think about all this, as it does the minister of Immer
+Lake, who sits before his door through many a summer twilight, playing
+on his violin until the loons answer him with their <i>Tremble Song</i>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+<h2>V</h2>
+
+<h3>EVE AND PETRO</h3>
+
+
+<p>If swallows studied history, 1920 would have been an important date for
+Eve and Petro. It was the one hundredth anniversary of the year when a
+man named Long visited cliff swallows among the Rocky Mountains.</p>
+
+<p>The century between 1820 and 1920 had given what we call civilization a
+chance to make many changes in the wild world of birds. During that time
+lifeless hummingbirds had been made to perch upon the hats of
+fashionable women; herring gulls had been robbed of their eggs and
+killed for their feathers; shooting movements had been organized to kill
+crows with shotgun or rifle, in order that more gunpowder might be sold;
+the people of Alaska had been permitted to kill more than eight thousand
+eagles in the last great breeding-place left to our National Emblem;
+uncounted millions of Passenger Pigeons had been slaughtered, and these
+wonderful birds done away with forever; and the methods by which egrets
+had been murdered were too horrible to write about in books for children
+to read.</p>
+
+<p>But however shamefully civilization had treated, and had brought up
+children to treat, these and many other of their fellow creatures of the
+world, who had a right to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> the life that had been given them as surely
+as it had been given to men, the years since 1820 had been happy ones
+for the ancestors of Eve and Petro.</p>
+
+<p>Eve and Petro, themselves, were happy as any two swallows need be that
+spring of 1920, when they started forth to seek a cliff, just as their
+ancestors had done for the hundred years or so since man began to notice
+their habits, and no man knows for how many hundreds of years before
+that.</p>
+
+<p>Of course they found it as all cliff swallows must, for cliff-hunting is
+a part of their springtime work. It was very high and very straight. Its
+wall was of boards, and the gray shingled roof jutted out overhead just
+as if inviting Eve and Petro to its shelter.</p>
+
+<p>It was a good cliff, and mankind had been so busy building the same sort
+all across the country for the past hundred years that there was no lack
+of them anywhere, and swallows could now choose the ones that pleased
+them best. Yes, civilization had been kind to them and had made more
+cliffs than Nature had built for them; though perhaps it was Mother
+Nature, herself, who taught the birds that these structures men called
+barns and used inside for hay or cattle were, after all, only cliffs
+outside, and that people were harmless creatures who would not hurt the
+swallow kind.</p>
+
+<p>However all that may be, it is quite certain that Eve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> and Petro
+squeaked pleasantly for joy when they chose their building site,
+undisturbed by the ladder that was soon put near, and unafraid of the
+people who climbed up to watch them at their work. They were too happily
+busy to worry, and besides, there is a tradition that men folk and
+swallow folk are friendly, each to the other.</p>
+
+<p>How old this tradition is, we do not know; but we do know that swallows
+of one kind and another were welcomed in the Old World in the old days
+to heathen temples before there were Christian churches, and that to-day
+in the New World they play in and out of the dark arches in the great
+churches of far Brazil and flash across the gilding of the very
+tabernacle, reminding us of the passage in the Psalms where it is
+written that the swallow hath found a nest for herself, where she may
+lay her young&mdash;even thine altars, O Lord of Hosts!</p>
+
+<p>So it is not strange that far and wide over the world people have the
+idea that swallows bring luck to the house. I think so myself, don't
+you?&mdash;that it is very good fortune, indeed, to have these birds of
+friendly and confiding ways beneath our shelter.</p>
+
+<p>Of course the ancestors of cliff swallows had not known the walls and
+roofs of man so long as other kinds of swallows; but the associations of
+one short century had been pleasant enough to call forth many cheerful
+squeakings of joy, just like those of Eve and Petro that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> pleasant day
+in June when they started their nest under the roof near the top of the
+ladder.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, they made no use of that ladder, even though they were
+masons and had their hods of plaster to carry way up near the top of
+their cliff. No, they needed no firmer ladder than the air, and their
+long wings were strong enough to climb it with.</p>
+
+<p>They lost little time in beginning, each coming with his first hod of
+plaster. How? Balanced on their heads as some people carry burdens? No.
+On their backs, then? No. In their claws? Oh, no, their feet were far
+too feeble for bearing loads. Do you remember what Corbie used for a
+berry-pail when he went out to pick fruit? Why, of course! the hod of
+the swallow mason is none other than his mouth, and it holds as much as
+half a thimbleful.</p>
+
+<p>First, Eve had to mark the place where the curved edge of the nest would
+be; and how could she mark it without any chalk, and how could she make
+a curve without any compasses? Well, she clung to the straight wall with
+her little feet, which she kept nearly in one place, and, swinging her
+body about, hitch by hitch, she struck out her curve with her beak and
+marked it with little dabs of plaster. Then she and Petro could tell
+where to build and, taking turns, first one and then the other, they
+began to lay the wall of their home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was slow work, for it must be thick and strong, and the place where
+they gathered the plaster was not handy by, and it took a great great
+many trips, their hods being so small.</p>
+
+<p>At first, while the nest was shallow, only one could work at a time; and
+if Petro came back with his plaster before Eve had patted the last of
+hers into place, she would squeak at him in a fidgety though not fretful
+voice, as if saying, "Now, don't get in my way and bother me, dear." So
+he would have to fly about while he waited for her to go. The minute she
+was ready to be off, he would be slipping into her place; and this time
+she would give him a cosy little squeak of welcome, and he would reply,
+with his mouth full of plaster, in a quick and friendly way, as if he
+meant, "I'll build while you fetch more plaster, and we'd both better
+hurry, don't you think?"</p>
+
+<p>After worrying a bit about the best place to dump his hodful, he went to
+work. He opened his beak and, in the most matter-of-fact way, pushed out
+his lump of plaster with his tongue, on top of the nest wall. Then he
+braced his body firmly in the nest and began to use his trowel, which
+was his upper beak, pushing the fresh lump all smooth on the inside of
+the nest.</p>
+
+<p>Have you ever seen a dog poke with the top of his nose, until he got the
+dirt heaped over a bone which he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> had buried? Well, that's much the way
+Petro bunted his plaster smooth&mdash;rooted it into place with the top of
+his closed beak. He got his face dirty doing it, too, even the pretty
+pale feather crescent moon on his forehead. But that didn't matter.
+Trowels, if they do useful work, have to get dirty doing it, and Petro
+didn't stop because of that. If he had, his nest would have been as
+rough on the inside as it was outside, where a humpy little lump showed
+for each mouthful of plaster.</p>
+
+<p>Although Eve and Petro did not fly off to the plaster pit together, they
+did not go alone, for there was a whole colony of swallows building
+under the eaves of that same barn; and while some of them stayed and
+plastered, the rest flew forth for a fresh supply.</p>
+
+<p>They knew the place, every one of them; and swiftly over the meadow and
+over the marsh they flew, until they came to a pasture. There, near a
+spring where the cows had trampled the ground until it was oozy and the
+water stood in tiny pools in their hoof prints, the swallows stopped.
+They put down their beaks into the mud and gathered it in their mouths;
+and all the time they held their wings quivering up over their beautiful
+blue backs, like a flock of butterflies just alighting with their wings
+atremble.</p>
+
+<p>So their plaster pit was just a mud-puddle. Yes, that is all; only it
+had to be a particularly sticky kind of mud,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> which is called clay; for
+the walls of their homes were a sort of brick something like that the
+people made in Egypt years and years ago. And do you remember how the
+story goes that the folk in Pharaoh's day gathered straws to mix with
+the clay, so that their bricks would be stronger? Well, Eve and Petro
+didn't know that story, but they gathered fibres of slender roots and
+dead grass stems with their clay, which doubtless did their brick
+plaster no harm.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i088.jpg" width="450" height="300" alt="At Work in the Plaster Pit." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>At Work in the Plaster Pit.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Men brick-makers nowadays bake their bricks in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> ovens called kilns,
+which are heated with fire. Eve and Petro let their brick bake, too, and
+the fire they used was the same one the Egyptians used in the days of
+Pharaoh&mdash;a fire that had never in all that time gone out, but had glowed
+steadily century after century, baking many bricks for folk and birds.
+Of course you know what fire that is, for you see it yourself every day
+that the sun shines.</p>
+
+<p>Every now and again Eve and Petro and all the rest of the swallow colony
+left off their brick-building and went on a hunting trip. They hunted
+high in the air and they hunted low over the meadow. They hunted afar
+off along the stream and they hunted near by in the barnyard. And all
+the game they caught they captured on the wing, and they ate it fresh at
+a gulp without pausing in their flight. As they sailed and swirled, they
+were good to watch, for a swallow's strong long wings bear him right
+gracefully.</p>
+
+<p>Why did they stop for the hunting flight? Perhaps they were hungry.
+Perhaps their mouths were tired of being hods for clay they could not
+eat. Perhaps the fresh plaster on the walls of their homes needed time
+to dry a bit before more was added.</p>
+
+<p>Be that as it may, they made the minutes count even while they rested
+from their building work. For they used this time getting their meals;
+and whenever they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> were doing that, they were working for the owner of
+the barn, paying their rent for the house-lot on the wall by catching
+grass insects over the meadow, and mosquitoes and horseflies and
+house-flies by the hundreds, and many another pest, too.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i090.jpg" width="450" height="327" alt="The Hunting Flight." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>The Hunting Flight.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Ah, yes, there may be some reason for the belief that swallows bring
+good luck to men. I once heard of a farmer who said he didn't dare
+disturb these birds because of a superstition that, if he did, his cows
+wouldn't give so much milk. Well, maybe they wouldn't if all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> the flies
+a colony of swallows could catch were alive to pester his herd; for the
+happier and more comfortable these animals are, the healthier they are
+and the more milk they give.</p>
+
+<p>The hunting flights of Eve and Petro and their comrades lasted about
+fifteen minutes each time they took a recess from their building.</p>
+
+<p>After two days the nest was big enough, so that there was room for both
+swallows to build at once; and after that, Petro didn't have to fly
+around with his mouth full of plaster waiting for Eve to go if he
+chanced to come before she was through. They always chatted a bit and
+then went on with their work, placing their plaster carefully and
+bunting it smooth on the inside, modeling with clay a house as well
+suited to their needs as is the concrete mansion a human architect makes
+suited to the needs of man.</p>
+
+<p>And if you think it is a simple matter to make a nest of clay, just go
+to the wisest architect you know and ask him these questions. How many
+hodfuls of clay, each holding as much as half a thimble, would it take
+to build the wall of a room just the right shape for a swallow to sit in
+while she brooded her eggs? How large would it have to be inside, to
+hold four or five young swallows grown big enough for their first
+flight? How thick would the walls have to be to make it strong enough?
+What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> sort of curve would be best for its support against a perfectly
+straight wall? How much space would have to be allowed for lining the
+room, to make it warm and comfortable? How can the clay be handled so
+that the drying sun and wind will not crack the walls? What is the test
+for telling whether the clay is sticky enough to hold together? How much
+of the nest must be stuck to the cliff so that the weight of it will not
+make it fall?</p>
+
+<p>If the architect can answer all those questions, ask him one more: ask
+him if he could make such a nest with the same materials the birds used,
+and with no more tools?</p>
+
+<p>Well, Eve and Petro could and did. It was big enough and strong enough
+and shaped just right; and when it was nearly done and nearly ready for
+the soft warm lining, That Boy climbed the ladder and knocked it down
+with his hand.</p>
+
+<p>There it lay, Eve and Petro's wonderfully modeled nest of clay, broken
+to bits on the ground and spoiled, oh, quite spoiled. There is a saying
+that it brings bad luck to do harm to a swallow. What bad luck, then,
+had the hand of That Boy brought to the world that day?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;">
+<img src="images/i093.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt="They always chatted a bit and then went on with their
+work, placing their plaster carefully." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>They always chatted a bit and then went on with their
+work, placing their plaster carefully.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Bad luck it brought to Eve and Petro, who had toiled patiently and
+unafraid beside the ladder-top, with faith in those who climbed quietly
+to watch the little feathered masons at their work. But now the walls of
+their home were broken and crumbled, and their faith was broken and
+crumbled, too. In dismay they cried out when they saw what was
+happening, and in dismay their swallow comrades cried out with them.
+Fear and disappointment entered their quick hearts, which had been
+beating in confidence and hope. People who climbed ladders were not
+beings to trust, after all, but frightful and destroying creatures. This
+had the hand of That Boy brought to Eve and Petro, who looked at the
+empty place where their nest had been, and went away.</p>
+
+<p>Bad luck it brought to an artist who drew pictures of birds; and when he
+knew what had happened, a sudden light flamed in his eyes. The name of
+this light is anger&mdash;the kind that comes when harm has been ruthlessly
+done to the weak and helpless. For the artist had climbed the ladder
+many a time, and had laid his quiet hand upon the lower curve of the
+nest while Eve and Petro went on with their building at the upper edge.
+And he had seen the colors of their feathers and the shape of the pale
+crescent on their foreheads&mdash;the mark a man named Say had noticed many
+years before, when he named this swallow in Latin, <i>lunifrons</i>, because
+<i>luna</i> means moon and <i>frons</i> means front. And he had hoped to climb the
+ladder many a time again, and when there should be young in the nest, to
+see how they looked and watch what they did, so that he could draw
+pictures of the children of Eve and Petro.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Bad luck it brought to a writer of bird stories; and when she knew what
+had happened, something like an ache in her throat seemed to choke her,
+something that is called anger&mdash;the kind that comes when harm is done to
+little folk we love. For she had climbed the ladder many a time, and had
+rested her head against the top while she watched Eve and Petro push the
+pellets of mud from their mouths with their tongues and bunt the wall of
+their clay nest smooth on the inside with the top of their closed beaks,
+not stopping even though they brushed their pretty chestnut-colored
+cheeks against the sticky mud, or got specks on the feathers of their
+dainty foreheads that bore a mark shaped like a pale new moon. And she
+had hoped to climb the ladder many a time again, and watch Eve and Petro
+feed their children when the nest was done and lined and the eggs were
+laid and hatched; for this nest could be looked into, as the top was
+left open because the barn roof sheltered it and it needed no other
+cover.</p>
+
+<p>Now Eve and Petro were gone, and no more sketches could be made near
+enough to show how little cliff swallows looked in their nest. And
+nothing more could be written about such affairs of these two birds as
+could only be learned close to them. Nor, indeed, was there any way to
+learn those things from the rest of the colony; for it so chanced that
+Eve and Petro were the only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> pair who had built where a ladder could be
+placed. So bad luck had come not only to Eve and Petro, but to the story
+of their lives.</p>
+
+<p>But, most of all, the breaking of their nest brought bad luck to That
+Boy, himself. For as he stood at the top of the ladder, he might have
+curved the hollow of his hand gently upon the rounded outside of the
+nest and, waiting quietly, have watched the building birds. He might
+have seen Eve come flitting home with her tiny load of clay, poking it
+out of her mouth with her tongue and bunting it smooth in her own
+cunning way. He might have laid his head against the ladder and heard
+their cosy voices as they squeaked pleasantly together over the
+home-building. He might have looked at the colors of their feathers, and
+seen where they were glossy black with a greenish sheen, where rich
+purply chestnut, and where grayish white. He might have looked well at
+the pale feather moon on their foreheads, which the man named Say had
+noticed one hundred years before. He might, oh, he might have become one
+of the brotherhood of men, whom swallows of one kind or another have
+trusted since the far-off years of Bible times when they built at the
+altars of the Lord of Hosts.</p>
+
+<p>All this good luck he held, That Boy, in the hollow of his hand, and he
+threw it away when he struck the nest; and it fell, crumbled, with the
+broken bits of clay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i097.jpg" width="450" height="264" alt="Quaint Clay Pottery." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Quaint Clay Pottery.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>As for Eve and Petro, if fear and disappointment had driven trust from
+their hearts, they still had courage and patience and industry. They
+sought another and a different sort of cliff, and found one made of red
+brick and white stone. Near the very high top of this a large colony of
+swallows were building; and, because there was no closely protecting
+roof, these swallows were making the round part of their nest closed
+over at the top with a winding hallway to an outer doorway. They looked,
+indeed, like a row of quaint clay pottery, shaped like crook-necked
+gourds. For such were the nests these swallows built one hundred years
+ago on the wild rock cliffs, if they chose their house-lots where there
+was no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> overhanging shelter; and such are the nests they still build
+when there seems to be need of them.</p>
+
+<p>They were too far from the pleasant pasture to dig their clay out of the
+footprints of cows; but there was a track where the automobiles slushed
+through sticky mud, and they swirled down there and filled their little
+hods when the road was clear.</p>
+
+<p>Eve and Petro found a nook even higher up than the others, where a
+crook-necked jug of a nest did not seem to fit. When they had built
+their wall as high as need be, they closed it over with a little rounded
+dome, and at the side they left two doorways open, one facing the
+southwest and one facing the southeast. And some days after this was
+done, had you gone to the foot of their cliff and used a pair of
+field-glasses, you might have seen Eve's head sticking out of one door
+and Petro's at the other. Ah, they had, then, some good luck left them.
+They had had each other in their days of trouble, and now they rested
+from their building labors and sat happily together in their second
+home, each with a doorway to enjoy.</p>
+
+<p>And later on they had more good luck still. For there came a day when
+they spent no more time sitting at ease within doors, but flew hither
+and yon, and then, returning to the nest, clung outside with their tiny
+feet and stuck their heads in at the open doorway for a brief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> moment
+before they were off again. Their nest was too far up for anyone to hear
+or see what went on within; but there must have been some hungry little
+mouths yawning all day long, to keep Eve and Petro both so busy hunting
+the air for insects.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after this one of the doors was closed, sealed tight with clay.
+What had happened? Were the little ones inside crowding about too
+recklessly, so that there was danger of one falling out? Had Eve and
+Petro come upon an especially good mud-puddle and built a bit more just
+for the fun of it?</p>
+
+<p>It was not very many days after this that Eve and Petro and all their
+comrades ceased coming to the cliff where their curious nests were
+fastened. Their doorways knew them no more; but over the meadows from
+dawn till nearly dusk there flew beautiful old swallows bearing upon
+their foreheads the pale mark of a new moon, and with them were their
+young.</p>
+
+<p>At night they sought the marshes, where their little feet might cling to
+slender stems of bending reeds; and their numbers were very many.</p>
+
+<p>But winter would be coming, and if it still was a long way off, so were
+the hunting grounds of South America, where they must be flitting away
+the days when the northern marshes would be frozen over.</p>
+
+<p>So off they went, Eve and Petro and their young,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> looking so much like
+others of the swallow flock that we could not tell who they were, now
+that they had stopped coming to their nest with one open and one closed
+doorway.</p>
+
+<p>They would have far to travel, even if they took the direct over-water
+route, which many sorts of birds do. But what is distance to Petro,
+whose strong wings carry him lightly? A mile or a hundred or a thousand
+even are nothing if the hunting be good. Might just as well be flying
+south, as back and forth over the same meadow the livelong day, with now
+and then a rest on the roadside wires, which fit his little feet nearly
+as well as the reeds of the marsh. Some people think it is for the sake
+of the hunting that the route of the swallows lies overland, for they
+fly by day and catch their game all along the way.</p>
+
+<p>And as they journeyed, Eve and Petro and their flock, south and south
+and south, maybe the children, here and there, waved their hands to them
+and called, "Good hunting, little friends of the air, and <i>good luck</i>
+through all the winter till you come back to us again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 366px;">
+<img src="images/i101.jpg" width="366" height="500" alt="A Famous Landmark." title="" />
+<span class="caption">A Famous Landmark.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VI</h2>
+
+<h3>UNCLE SAM</h3>
+
+
+<p>Uncle Sam stood at the threshold of his home, with an air of dignity.
+There was enough to fill his breast with honest pride. His home had been
+a famous landmark for generations before he himself had fallen heir to
+it. It was the oldest one in the neighborhood. It had stood there
+seventy-five years before, when a white man had built a cabin within
+sight of it, for company. That cabin had been neglected and had fallen
+to bits years ago; but Uncle Sam's ancestors had taken care of their
+place, and had mended the weak spots each season, and had kept it in
+such repair that it was still as good as ever. It would last, indeed,
+with such treatment, as long as the post and the beams that supported it
+held. The post was the trunk of a tall old tree, and the beams were the
+branches, so near the top that it would be a very brave or a very
+foolish man who would try to climb so far; for there were no stairs.</p>
+
+<p>No stairs, and such a distance up! But Uncle Sam could find the path
+that led to it; for was he not a lord of the air, and could he not sail
+the roughest wind with those strong wings of his?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/i103.jpg" width="360" height="500" alt="Above all other creatures of this great land he had been
+honored." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Above all other creatures of this great land he had been
+honored.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Perhaps it was the sure strength of his wings that gave him a stately
+poise of pride even as he rested. It could not have been the honor men
+had bestowed upon him; for, although that was very great, he knew
+nothing about it.</p>
+
+<p>Soldiers had gone into battle for freedom and right, bearing the picture
+of Uncle Sam on their banners. Veterans had walked in Memorial Day
+parades, while over their gray heads floated the symbol of Uncle Sam and
+the Stars and Stripes. Yes, the people of a great and noble land,
+reaching from a sea on the east to a sea on the west, had honored Uncle
+Sam by choosing him for the emblem of their country. His picture was
+stamped on their paper money, and ornamented one side of the coins that
+came from the mint, with the words, "In God We Trust," on the other
+side. Above all other creatures of this great land he had been honored;
+and could he have understood, he might well have been justly proud of
+this tribute.</p>
+
+<p>But as it was, perhaps his emotions were centred only on his family; for
+his home was shared by his mate and two young sons. He bent his white
+head to look down at his twins. They were such hungry rascals and needed
+such a deal of care! They had needed care, indeed, ever since the day
+their little bodies had begun to form in the two bluish white eggs their
+mother had laid in the nest. They had stayed inside those shells for a
+month; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> they never could have lived and grown there if they had not
+been brooded and kept warm. Their mother had snuggled her feathers over
+them and kept them cosy; and, when she had needed a change and a rest,
+Uncle Sam had cuddled them close under his body; for a month is a long
+time to keep eggs from getting cold, and it was only fair that he should
+take his turn.</p>
+
+<p>He was no shirk in his family life. He had chosen his mate until death
+should part them; and whenever there were eggs in the nest, he was as
+patient about brooding them as she was; for did they not belong to both
+of them, and did they not contain two fine young eagles in the making?</p>
+
+<p>And never had they had finer children than the two who that moment were
+opening hungry mouths and begging for food. In answer to their teasing,
+Uncle Sam spread his great wings and took stately flight to the lake.
+For he was a fisherman. When a fish came to the surface, he would try to
+catch it in his strong claws, so that he might have food to take back to
+his waiting family. This was easy for him when the fish was wounded or
+weak and had come to the surface to die; but the quick fishes often
+escaped, because he was not so skillful at this sort of fishing as the
+osprey.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, the osprey was a wonderful fisherman, who could snatch a fish from
+the water in his sure claws. But for all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> that, he was not so wonderful
+as Uncle Sam, who could catch a fish in the air.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i106.jpg" width="450" height="333" alt="The Yankee-Doodle Twins." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>The Yankee-Doodle Twins.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Now, fishing in the air was a thrilling game that Uncle Sam loved. All
+the wild delight of a chase was in the sport. He used, sometimes, to sit
+high up on a cliff and watch the osprey swoop down to the water. Then,
+when the hawk mounted with the prize, Uncle Sam flew far above him and
+swept downward, commanding him to drop the fish. The smaller bird
+obeyed, and let the fish fall from his claws. But it never fell far.
+Uncle Sam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> closed his mighty wings and dropped with such speed that he
+caught the fish in mid-air; and the tree-tops swayed with the sudden
+wind his passing caused. Surely there was never a more exciting way of
+going fishing than this!</p>
+
+<p>And did the fish belong to the osprey or to Uncle Sam?</p>
+
+<p>What would you call a man who, by power of greater strength, took away
+the food another man had earned?</p>
+
+<p>Are we, then, to call Uncle Sam a thief and a bully?</p>
+
+<p>Ah, no; because it is not with an eagle as it is with a man.</p>
+
+<p>For the wild things of the world there is only one law, and that is the
+Law of Nature. They must live as they are made to live, and that is all
+that concerns them. There is nothing for bird or beast or blossom to
+learn about "right" or "wrong," as we learn about those things. All they
+need to do&mdash;any of them&mdash;is to live naturally.</p>
+
+<p>When we think about it that way, it is very easy to tell whether the
+fish belonged to the osprey or to Uncle Sam. Of course, to begin with,
+the fish belonged to itself as long as it could dive quickly enough or
+swim fast enough to keep itself free and safe. But the minute the osprey
+caught it, it belonged to the osprey, just as much as it would belong to
+you if you caught it with a net or a hook. Yes, the fish belonged to the
+osprey <i>more</i> than it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> would belong to you; for ospreys hunted food for
+themselves and for their young in that lake centuries and centuries
+before a white man even saw it, and before nets and hooks were invented;
+and besides, in most places, the children of men can live and grow if
+they never eat a fish, while the children of the osprey would die
+without such food. So we admire Fisherman Osprey for his strength and
+swiftness and skill, and are glad for him when he flies off with the
+prize, which is his very own as long as he can keep it.</p>
+
+<p>But when he drops it, it is his no longer, but the eagle's, who fishes
+wonderfully in the air&mdash;a game depending on the keenness of his sight,
+his strength, his quickness, and his skill; and the fish that belonged
+first to itself, and then to the osprey, belonged in the end to the
+eagle; and all this is according to the Law of Nature.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sam was not selfish about that fish. He gave it to his twins, and
+they did enjoy their dinner very, very much, indeed. A fresh brook
+trout, browned just right, never tasted better to you. For they had been
+hungry, and the food was good for them.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sam and his mate, whom the children who lived within sight of
+their nest named Aunt Samantha, had many a hunting and fishing trip to
+take while the twins were growing; for the bigger the young eagles
+became, the bigger their appetites were, too. But at last the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+youngsters were old enough and strong enough and brave enough to take
+their first flight. Think of them, then, standing there on the outer
+porch of their great home in the air, and daring to leave it, when it
+was so very high and they would have so very far to fall if their wings
+did not work right!</p>
+
+<p>Nonsense, an eagle fall! Had they not been stretching and exercising
+their muscles for days? And surely the twins would succeed, with Uncle
+Sam and Aunt Samantha to encourage and urge them forth.</p>
+
+<p>The day Uncle Sam cheered his young sons in their baby flight was a
+great day for all the country round. For not only were the sons of
+eagles flying, but the sons of men were flying, too. Yes, it was
+practice day near the lake, and across the water airships rose from the
+camp and sailed through the air, like mighty birds meant for mighty
+deeds. For Uncle Sam's country was at war, and many brave and noble lads
+thrilled with pride because they were going to help win a battle for
+Right.</p>
+
+<p>The bravest and noblest and most fearless of all the camp caught sight
+of Uncle Sam and smiled. "Emblem of my country!" the young man said.
+"King of the air in your strong flight! Great deeds are to be done, O
+Eagle with the snow-white head, and your banner will be foremost in the
+fight."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sam made no reply. He was too far away to hear, and he could not
+have understood if he had been near. He saw the distant airships, so big
+and strong, and led his family away to quieter places, without knowing
+at all what the big birds were, or what they meant to do. There was so
+much happening in the country that honored him, that Uncle Sam could not
+understand!</p>
+
+<p>He did not even know that, far to the northwest, there was a part of the
+country called Alaska, where eagles had lived in safety and had brought
+up their young in peace long after their haunts in most parts of the
+land had been disturbed. He did not know that the government of Alaska
+was at that moment paying people fifty cents for every eagle they would
+kill, and that in two years about five thousand of these noble birds
+were to die in that manner. He did not know that, if such deeds kept on,
+before many years there would be no eagles flying proudly through the
+air: there would be only pictures of eagles on our money and banners. If
+he could have been told what was happening, and that there was danger
+that the country would be without a living emblem, and that there might
+be only stuffed emblems in museums, would he not have thought, "Surely
+the strong, wise men who go forth to fight for right and liberty will
+see that the bird of freedom has a home in their land!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>No; Uncle Sam knew nothing about such matters, and so he busied his mind
+with the things he did know, and was not sad.</p>
+
+<p>He knew where the swamp was, and in the swamp the ducks were thick. They
+were good-tasting ducks, and there were so many of them that hunters
+with guns and dogs gathered there from all the country round. And the
+hunters wounded some birds that the dogs did not get, and these could
+not fly off at migrating time.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Uncle Sam and his family found the wounded ducks easy to catch, and
+they were nearly as well pleased with them for food as with fish. Of
+course their feathers had to be picked off first. No eagle would eat a
+duck with his feathers on, any more than you would. And Uncle Sam knew
+how to strip off the feathers as well as anyone.</p>
+
+<p>So it was interesting in the swamp, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha and
+the twins were satisfied with hunting there when they were not fishing
+in the lake.</p>
+
+<p>One day, when Uncle Sam went hunting, he flew near a field where there
+was a little lamb; and being a strong and powerful eagle, he was able to
+carry it away. Perhaps he felt very proud as he flew off with so much
+food at one time. Such strength is something to be pleased with when it
+is put to the right use, and getting food is as important for an eagle's
+life as it is for a man's.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He lifted his burden high in the air, holding it in his strong talons;
+and he did not falter once in his steady flight, although the load
+weighed nearly as much as he did, and he carried it two miles without
+resting once.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, I think Uncle Sam was proud of that day's hunting and happy with
+what he had caught; and the tender meat tasted good to him and his
+family.</p>
+
+<p>But the man who had owned the lamb before Uncle Sam caught it was not
+pleased. He happened to be coming out of the woods just in time to see
+the capture; and an hour later the boy and the girl who lived within
+sight of Uncle Sam's nest met the man and saw that he carried a gun.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm after a white-headed sheep thief," he said; "do you know which way
+he flew, after he reached the cliff?"</p>
+
+<p>The boy's face turned white in a second, and he held his fists together
+very still and very tight. The girl looked at her younger brother and
+then at the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we know," she said, "and we will not tell."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" asked the man. "He took the lamb I was going to roast when it was
+big enough."</p>
+
+<p>The girl chuckled a little merrily. "And Uncle Sam got ahead of you,"
+she said. "Never mind, I'll get the money to pay for his dinner. The
+eagles here usually eat fish from the lake, and sometimes game from the
+swamp; but once in a very, very long while they take a lamb.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> When that
+happens, the Junior Audubon Society at our school pays for their treat.
+I have the money, because I am treasurer."</p>
+
+<p>After the girl turned back to the house for the money, the boy looked
+hard at the gun. Then he swallowed to get rid of the lump that hurt his
+throat and said, "If you had shot Uncle Sam or Aunt Samantha or their
+young, the children for miles and miles NEVER would have liked you.
+Eagles have nested in that tree for more than seventy years, and nobody
+except a newcomer would think of shooting one."</p>
+
+<p>So they talked together for some time about eagles; and when the girl
+came back, the man did not charge so much for Uncle Sam's treat as we
+sometimes have to pay for our own lamb chops.</p>
+
+<p>And way off among the cliffs Uncle Sam ate in content, not knowing that
+his life had been in danger, and that he had been saved by a boy and a
+girl who were growing up "under the shadow of an eagle's wings," as they
+said to each other as they watched him sail the air in his journeys to
+and fro.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon, when they heard him call, "Cac, cac, cac," they said,
+"Uncle Sam is laughing." And when his mate answered in her harsh voice,
+they said, "Aunt Samantha would be happy if she knew we saved their
+lives."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Busy with the life Nature taught them to live, the twins grew up as
+Uncle Sam had grown before them.</p>
+
+<p>As they were hunters, there was nothing more interesting to them than
+seeking their food in wild, free places. They had no guns and dogs, but
+they caught game in the swamp. They had no cooks to prepare their ducks,
+so they picked off the feathers themselves. They had no fish-line and
+tackle, but they caught fish in the lake. And in time they caught fish
+in the air, too; which was even more thrilling, and a game they came to
+enjoy when they overtook the ospreys. Many times, too, they sought the
+fish that had been washed up on the lake shore, and so helped keep
+things sweet and clean. In this way they were scavengers; and it is
+always well to remember that a scavenger, whether he be a bird or beast
+or beetle, does great service in the world for all who need pure air to
+breathe.</p>
+
+<p>The first year they became bigger than their father, and bigger than
+they themselves would be when they were old. At first, too, their eyes
+were brown, and not yellow like their father's and mother's. And for two
+years their heads and tails were dark, so that they looked much more
+like "golden eagles" than they did like the old ones of their own kind.</p>
+
+<p>The soldiers at the training-camp caught sight of them now and then, and
+named them the "Yankee-Doodle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> Twins." When the twins were three years
+old, their molting season brought a remarkable change to them. The dark
+feathers of their heads and necks and tails dropped out, and in their
+places white feathers grew, so that by this time they looked like their
+own father and mother, who are what is called "bald eagles," though
+their heads are not bald at all, but well covered with feathers.</p>
+
+<p>These two birds that were hatched in the home that was more than seventy
+years old lived to see the end of the war the young soldiers were
+training for when they took their first flights together near the shore
+of the same lake. And perhaps they will live to a time when the people
+of their country learn to deal more and more justly with each other and
+with the great bird of freedom chosen by their forefathers to be the
+emblem of their proud land.</p>
+
+<p>Why, indeed, if the boys and girls of the neighborhood keep up a guard
+for the protection of Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha, should they not nest
+again, and yet again, in that tree-top home that has been so well taken
+care of for more than threescore years and ten; and bring up
+Yankee-Doodle Twins for their country in days of peace as they did in
+days of war?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VII</h2>
+
+<h3>CORBIE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Corbie's great-great-grandfather ruled a large flock from his look-out
+throne on a tall pine stump, where he could see far and wide, and judge
+for his people where they should feed and when they should fly.</p>
+
+<p>His great-grandfather was famous for his collections of old china and
+other rare treasures, having lived in the woods near the town dump,
+where he picked up many a bright trinket, chief among which was an old
+gold-plated watch-chain, which he kept hidden in a doll's red tea-cup
+when he was not using it.</p>
+
+<p>His grandfather was a handsome fellow, so glistening that he looked
+rather purple when he walked in the sunshine; and he had a voice so
+sweet and mellow that any minstrel might have been proud of it, though
+he seldom sang, and it is possible that no one but Corbie's grandmother
+heard it at its best. He was, moreover, a merry soul, fond of a joke,
+and always ready to dance a jig, with a chuckle, when anything very
+funny happened in crowdom.</p>
+
+<p>As for the wisdom and beauty of his grandmothers all the way back, there
+is so much to be said that, if I once began to tell about them, there
+would be no space left for the story of Corbie himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/i117.jpg" width="360" height="500" alt="In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Of course, coming from a family like that, Corbie was sure to be
+remarkable; for there is no doubt at all that we inherit many traits of
+our ancestors.</p>
+
+<p>Corbie knew very little about his own father and mother, for he was
+adopted into a human family when he was ten days old, and a baby at that
+age does not remember much.</p>
+
+<p>Although he was too young to realize it, those first ten days after he
+had come out of his shell, and those before that, while he was growing
+inside his shell, were in some ways the most important of his life, for
+it was then that he needed the most tender and skillful care. Well, he
+had it; for the gentleness and skill of Father and Mother Crow left
+nothing to be desired. They had built the best possible nest for their
+needs by placing strong sticks criss-cross high up in an old pine tree.
+For a lining they had stripped soft stringy bark from a wild grapevine,
+and had finished off with a bit of still softer dried grass.</p>
+
+<p>In this Mother Crow had laid her five bluish-green eggs marked with
+brown; and she and Father Crow had shared, turn and turn about, the long
+task of keeping their babies inside those beautiful shells warm enough
+so that they could grow.</p>
+
+<p>And grow they did, into five as homely little objects as ever broke
+their way out of good-looking eggshells.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> There was not down on their
+bodies to make them fluffy and pretty, like Peter Piper's children. They
+were just sprawling little bits of crow-life, so helpless that it would
+have been quite pitiful if they had not had a good patient mother and a
+father who seemed never to get tired of hunting for food.</p>
+
+<p>Now, it takes a very great deal of food for five young crows, because
+each one on some days will eat more than half his own weight and beg for
+more. Dear, dear! how they did beg! Every time either Father or Mother
+Crow came back to the nest, those five beaks would open so wide that the
+babies seemed to be yawning way down to the end of their red throats.
+Oh, the food that got stuffed into them! Good and nourishing, every bit
+of it; for a proper diet is as important to a bird baby as to a human
+one. Juicy caterpillars&mdash;a lot of them: enough to eat up a whole
+berry-patch if the crows hadn't found them; nutty-flavored
+grasshoppers&mdash;a lot of them, too; so many, in fact, that it looked very
+much as if crows were the reason the grasshoppers were so nearly wiped
+out that year that they didn't have a chance to trouble the farmers'
+crops; and now and then a dainty egg was served them in the most
+tempting crow-fashion, that is, right from the beak of the parent.</p>
+
+<p>For, as you no doubt have heard, a crow thinks no more of helping
+himself to an egg of a wild bird than we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> do of visiting the nests of
+tame birds, such as hens and geese and turkeys, and taking the eggs they
+lay. Of course, it would not occur to a crow that he didn't have a
+perfect right to take such food for himself and his young as he could
+find in his day's hunting. Indeed, it is not unlikely that, if a crow
+did any real thinking about the matter, he might decide that robins and
+meadowlarks were his chickens anyway. So what the other birds would
+better do about it is to hide their nests as well as ever they can, and
+be quiet when they come and go.</p>
+
+<p>That is the way Father and Mother Crow did, themselves, when they built
+their home where the pine boughs hid it from climbers below and from
+fliers above. And, though you might hardly believe it of a crow, they
+were still as mice whenever they came near it, alighting first on trees
+close by, and slipping up carefully between the branches, to be sure no
+enemy was following their movements. Then they would greet their babies
+with a comforting low "Caw," which seemed to mean, "Never fear, little
+ones, we've brought you a very good treat." Yes, they were shy, those
+old crows, when they were near their home, and very quiet they kept
+their affairs until their young got into the habit of yelling, "Kah,
+kah, kah," at the top of their voices whenever they were hungry, and of
+mumbling loudly, "Gubble-gubble-gubble," whenever they were eating.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>After that time comes, there is very little quiet within the home of a
+crow; and all the world about may guess, without being a bit clever,
+where the nest is. A good thing it is for the noisy youngsters that by
+that time they are so large that it does not matter quite so much.</p>
+
+<p>But it was before the "kah-and-gubble" habit had much more than begun
+that Corbie was adopted; and the nestlings were really as still as could
+be when the father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl climbed
+way, way, way up that big tree and looked into the round little room up
+there. There was no furniture&mdash;none at all. Just one bare nursery, in
+which five babies were staying day and night. Yet it was a tidy room,
+fresh and sweet enough for anybody to live in; for a crow, young or old,
+is a clean sort of person.</p>
+
+<p>The father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl looked over the
+five homely, floundering little birds, and, choosing Corbie, put him
+into his hat and climbed down with him. He was a nimble sort of father,
+or he never could have done it, so tall a tree it was, with no branches
+near the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Corbie, even at ten days old, was not like the spry children of Peter
+Piper, who could run about at one day old, all ready for picnics and
+teetering along the shore. No, indeed! He was almost as helpless and
+quite as floppy as a human baby, and he needed as good care,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> too. He
+needed warmth enough and food enough and a clean nest to live in; and he
+needed to be kept safe from such prowling animals as will eat young
+birds, and from other enemies. All these things his father and mother
+had looked out for.</p>
+
+<p>Now the little Corbie was kidnaped&mdash;taken away from his home and the
+loving and patient care of his parents.</p>
+
+<p>But you need not be sorry for Corbie&mdash;not very. For the Brown-eyed Boy
+and the Blue-eyed Girl adopted the little chap, and gave him food enough
+and warmth enough and a chance to keep his new nest clean; and they did
+it all with love and patience, too.</p>
+
+<p>Corbie kept them busy, for they were quick to learn that, when he opened
+his beak and said, "Kah," it was meal-time, even if he had had luncheon
+only ten minutes before. His throat was very red and very hollow, and
+seemed ready to swallow no end of fresh raw egg and bits of raw beef and
+earthworms and bread soaked in milk. Not that he had to have much at a
+time, but he needed so very many meals a day. It was fun to feed the
+little fellow, because he grew so fast and because he was so comical
+when he called, "Kah."</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before his body looked as if he had a crop of
+paint-brushes growing all over it; for a feather, when it first comes,
+is protected by a little case, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> end of the feather, which sticks
+out of the tip of the case, does look very much like the soft hairs at
+the end of a paint-brush, the kind that has a hollow quill stem, you
+know. After they were once started, dear me, how those feathers grew! It
+seemed no time at all before they covered up the ear-holes in the side
+of his head, and no time at all before a little bristle fringe grew down
+over the nose-holes in his long horny beak.</p>
+
+<p>He was nearly twenty days old before he could stand up on his toes like
+a grown-up crow. Before that, when he stood up in his nest and "kahed"
+for food, he stood on his whole foot way back to the heel, which looks
+like a knee, only it bends the wrong way. When he was about three weeks
+old, however, he began standing way up on his toes, and stretching his
+leg till his heels came up straight. Then he would flap his wings and
+exercise them, too.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, you can guess what that meant. It meant&mdash;yes, it meant that
+Corbie was getting ready to leave his nest; and before the Brown-eyed
+Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl really knew what was happening, Corbie went
+for his first ramble. He stepped out of his nest-box, which had been
+placed on top of a flat, low shed, and strolled up the steep roof of the
+woodshed, which was within reach. There he stood on the ridge-pole, the
+little tike, and yelled, "Caw," in almost a grown-up way, as if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> he felt
+proud and happy. Perhaps he did for a while. It really was a trip to be
+proud of for one's very first walk in the world.</p>
+
+<p>But the exercise made him hungry, and he soon yelled, "Kah!" in a tone
+that meant, "Bring me my luncheon this minute or I'll beg till you do."</p>
+
+<p>The Brown-eyed Boy took a dish of bread and milk to the edge of the low
+roof, where the nest-box had been placed, and the Blue-eyed Girl called,
+"Come and get it, Corbie."</p>
+
+<p>Not Corbie! He had always had his meals brought to him. He liked
+service, that crow. And besides, maybe he <i>couldn't</i> walk down the roof
+it had been so easy to run up. Anyway, his voice began to sound as if he
+were scared as well as hungry, and later as if he were more scared than
+hungry.</p>
+
+<p>Now it stood to reason that Corbie's meals could not be served him every
+fifteen minutes on the ridge-pole of a steep roof. So the long ladder
+had to be brought out, and the crow carried to the ground and advised to
+keep within easy reach until he could use his wings.</p>
+
+<p>It was only a few days until Corbie could fly down from anything he
+could climb up; and from that hour he never lacked for amusement. Of
+course, the greedy little month-old baby found most of his fun for a
+while in being fed. "Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> sun-down,
+keeping the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl busy digging
+earthworms and cutworms and white grubs, and soaking bread in milk for
+him. "Gubble-gubble-gubble," he said as he swallowed it&mdash;it was all so
+very good.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i125.jpg" width="450" height="277" alt="&quot;Kah! Kah! Kah!&quot; he called from sun-up to sun-down." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>&quot;Kah! Kah! Kah!&quot; he called from sun-up to sun-down.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The joke of it was that Corbie, even then, had a secret&mdash;his first one.
+He had many later on. But the very first one seems the most wonderful,
+somehow. Yes, he could feed himself long before he let his foster
+brother and sister know it; and I think, had he been a wild crow instead
+of a tame one, he would have fooled his own father and mother the same
+way&mdash;the little rascal.</p>
+
+<p>No one would think, to see him with beak up and open, and with
+fluttering wings held out from his sides, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> the little chap begging
+"Kah! kah! kah!" was old enough to do more than "gubble" the food that
+was poked into his big throat. But for all that, when the Brown-eyed Boy
+forgot the dish of earthworms and ran off to play, Corbie would listen
+until he could hear no one near, and then cock his bright eye down over
+the wriggling worms. Then, very slyly, he would pick one up with a jerk
+and catch it back into his mouth. One by one he would eat the worms,
+until he wanted no more; and then he would hide the rest by poking them
+into cracks or covering them with chips, crooning the while over his
+secret joke. "There-there-tuck-it-there," was what his croon sounded
+like; but if the Brown-eyed Boy or the Blue-eyed Girl came near, he
+would flutter out his wings at his sides and lift his open beak, his
+teasing "Kah" seeming to say, "Honest, I haven't had a bite to eat since
+you fed me last."</p>
+
+<p>When his body was grown so big with his stuffing that he was almost a
+full-sized crow, he stopped his constant begging for food. The days of
+his greed were only the days of his growth needs, and the world was too
+full of adventures to spend all his time just eating.</p>
+
+<p>It was now time for him to take pleasure in his sense of sight, and for
+a few, weeks he went nearly crazy with joy over yellow playthings. He
+strewed the vegetable garden with torn and tattered
+squash-blossoms&mdash;gorgeous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> bits of color that it was such fun to find
+hidden under the big green leaves! He strutted to the flower-garden, and
+pulled off all the yellow pansies, piling them in a heap. He jumped for
+the golden buttercups, nipping them from their stems. He danced for joy
+among the torn dandelion blooms he threw about the lawn. For Corbie was
+like a human baby in many ways. He must handle what he loved, and spoil
+it with his playing.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Corbie inherited his dancing from his grandfather. It may have
+come down to him with that old crow's merry spirit. Whether it was all
+his own or in part his grandfather's, it was a wonderful dance, so full
+of joy that the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl would leave their
+play to watch him, and would call the Grown-Ups of the household, that
+they, too, might see Corbie's "Happy Dance."</p>
+
+<p>If he was pleased with his cleverness in hiding some pretty beetle in a
+crack and covering it with a chip, he danced. If he spied the shiny
+nails in the tool-shed, he danced. If he found a gay ribbon to drag
+about the yard, he danced. But most and best he danced on a hot day when
+he was given a bright basin of water. Singing a lively chattering tune,
+he came to his bath. He cocked one bright eye and then the other over
+the ripples his beak made in the water. Plunging in, he splashed long,
+cooling flutters. Then he danced back and forth from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> the doorstep to
+his glistening pan, chattering his funny tune the while.</p>
+
+<p>Have you heard of a Highland Fling or a Sailor's Hornpipe? Well,
+Corbie's Happy Dance was as gay as both together, when he jigged in the
+dooryard to the tune of his own merry chatter. The Brown-eyed Boy and
+the Blue-eyed Girl laughed to see him, and the Grown-Ups laughed. And
+even as they laughed, their hearts danced with the little black crow&mdash;he
+made them feel so very glad about the bath. For he had been too warm and
+was now comfortable. The summer sun on his feathered body had tired him,
+and the cooling water brought relief. "Thanks be for the bath. O bird,
+be joyful for the bath!" he chattered in his own language, as he spread
+his wings and gave again and yet again his Happy Dance.</p>
+
+<p>But a basin, however bright, is not enough to keep a crow in the
+dooryard; for a crow is a bird of adventure.</p>
+
+<p>So it was that on a certain day Corbie flew over the cornfield and over
+the tree-tops to the river; and so quiet were his wings, that the
+Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl did not hear his coming, and they
+both jumped when he perched upon a tiny rock near by and screamed,
+"Caw," quite suddenly, as one child says, "Boo," to another, to surprise
+him. Then the bird sang his chatter tune, and found a shallow place near
+the bank, where he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> splashed and bathed. After that, the Blue-eyed Girl
+showed him a little water-snail. He turned it over in his beak and
+dropped it. It meant no more to him than a pebble. "I think you'll like
+to eat it, Corbie," said the Brown-eyed Boy, breaking the shell and
+giving it to him again; "even people eat snails, I've heard."</p>
+
+<p>Corbie took the morsel and swallowed it, and soon was cracking for
+himself all the snails his comrades gave him. But that was not enough,
+for their eyes were only the eyes of children and his bright bird eyes
+could find them twice as fast. So he waded in the river, playing "I spy"
+with his foster brother and sister, and beating them, too, at the game,
+though they had hunted snails as many summers as he had minutes.</p>
+
+<p>He enjoyed doing many of the same things the children did. It was that,
+and his sociable, merry ways, that made him such a good playfellow, and
+because he wanted them to be happy in his pleasure and to praise his
+clever tricks. Like other children, eating when he was hungry gave him
+joy, and at times he made a game of it that was fun for them all. Every
+now and then he would go off quietly by himself, and fill the hollow of
+his throat with berries from the bushes near the river-bank and, flying
+back to his friends, would spill out his fruit, uncrushed, in a little
+pile beside them while he crooned and chuckled about it. He seemed to
+have the same sort of good time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> picking berries in his throat cup and
+showing how many he had found that the children did in seeing which
+could first fill a tin cup before they sat down on the rocks to eat
+them.</p>
+
+<p>One day the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl were down by the
+river, hunting for pearls. A pearl-hunter had shown them how to open
+freshwater clamshells without killing the clams. Suddenly Corbie walked
+up and, taking one of these hard-shelled animals right out of their
+hands, he flew high overhead and dropped it down on the rocks near by.
+Of course that broke the shell and of course Corbie came down and ate
+the clam, without needing any vinegar or butter on it to make it taste
+good to him. How he learned to do this, the children never knew. Perhaps
+he found out by just happening to drop one he was carrying, or perhaps
+he saw the wild crows drop their clams to break the shells: for after
+nesting season they used often to come down from the mountainside to
+fish by the river for snails and clams and crayfish, when they were not
+helping the farmers by eating up insects in the fields.</p>
+
+<p>Corbie liked the crayfish, too, as well as people like lobsters and
+crabs, and he had many an exciting hunt, poking under the stones for
+them and pulling them out with his strong beak.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed to be no end of things Corbie could do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> with that beak of
+his. Sometimes it was a little crowbar for lifting stones or bits of
+wood when he wanted to see what was underneath; for as every outdoor
+child, either crow or human, knows, very, very interesting things live
+in such places. Sometimes it was a spade for digging in the dirt.
+Sometimes it was a pick for loosening up old wood in the hollow tree
+where he kept his best treasures. Sometimes it worked like a
+nut-cracker, sometimes like a pair of forceps, and sometimes&mdash;oh, you
+can think of a dozen tools that beak of Corbie's was like. He was as
+well off as if he had a whole carpenter's chest with him all the time.
+But mostly it served like a child's thumb and forefinger, to pick
+berries, or to untie the bright hair-ribbons of the Blue-eyed Girl or
+the shoe-laces of the Brown-eyed Boy. And once in a long, long while,
+when some stupid child or Grown-Up, who did not know how to be civil to
+a crow, used him roughly, his beak became a weapon with which to pinch
+and to strike until his enemy was black and blue. For Corbie learned, as
+every sturdy person must, in some way or other, how to protect himself
+when there was need.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Corbie's beak was wonderful. Of course, lips are better on people
+in many ways than beaks would be; but we cannot do one tenth so many
+things with our mouths as Corbie could with his. To be sure, we do not
+need to, for we have hands to help us out. If our arms had grown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> into
+wings, though, as a bird's arms do, how should we ever get along in this
+world?</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i132.jpg" width="450" height="421" alt="Corbie slipped off and amused himself." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Corbie slipped off and amused himself.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The weeks passed by. A happy time for Corbie, whether he played with the
+children or slipped off and amused himself, as he had a way of doing now
+and then, after he grew old enough to feel independent. The world for
+him was full of adventure and joy. He never once asked, "What can I do
+now to amuse me?" Never once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> His brain was so active that he could
+fill every place and every hour full to the brim of interest. He had a
+merry way about him, and a gay chatter that seemed to mean, "Oh, life to
+a crow is joy! JOY!" And because of all this, it was not only the
+Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl who loved him. He won the hearts
+of even the Grown-Ups, who had sometimes found it hard to be patient
+with him during the first noisy days, when he tired them with his
+frequent baby "kah-and-gubble," before he could feed himself.</p>
+
+<p>But, however bold and dashing he was during the day, whatever the sunny
+hours had held of mirth and dancing, whichever path he had trod or
+flown, whomever he had chummed with&mdash;when it was the time of dusk,
+little Corbie sought the one he loved best of all, the one who had been
+most gentle with him, and snuggling close to the side of the Blue-eyed
+Girl, tucked his head into her sleeve or under the hem of her skirt, and
+crooned his sleepy song which seemed to mean:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh! soft and warm the crow in the nest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Finds the fluff of his mother's breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh! well he sleeps, for she folds him tight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Safe from the owl that flies by night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh! far her wings have fluttered away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor does it matter in the day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But keep me, pray, till again 't is light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Safe from the owl that flies by night.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<p>Thus, long after he would have been weaned, for his own good, from such
+care, had he remained wild, Corbie, the tame crow, claimed protection
+with cunning, cuddling ways that taught the Blue-eyed Girl and her
+brother and the Grown-Ups, too, something about crows that many people
+never even guess. For all their rollicking care-free ways, there is,
+hidden beneath their black feathers, an affection very tender and
+lasting; and when they are given the friendship of humans, they find
+touching ways of showing how deep their trust can be.</p>
+
+<p>Before the summer was over, Corbie had as famous a collection as his
+great grandfather. The children knew where he kept it, and used
+sometimes to climb up to look at his playthings. They never disturbed
+them except to take out the knitting-needle, thimble, spoons, or things
+like that, which were needed in the house. The bright penny someone had
+given him, the shiny nails, the brass-headed tacks, the big white
+feather, the yellow marble, all the bits of colored glass, and an old
+watch, they left where he put them; for they thought that he loved his
+things, or he would not have hidden them together; and they thought, and
+so do I, that he had as much right to his treasures to look at and care
+for as the Brown-eyed Boy had to his collection of pretty stones and the
+Blue-eyed Girl to the flowers in her wild garden.</p>
+
+<p>After his feathers were grown, in the spring, Corbie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> had been really
+good-looking in his black suit; but by the first of September he was
+homely again. His little side-feather moustache dropped out at the top
+of his beak, so that his nostrils were uncovered as they had been when
+he was very young. The back of his head was nearly bald, and his neck
+and breast were ragged and tattered.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Corbie was molting, and he had a very unfinished sort of look while
+the new crop of paint-brushes sprouted out all over him. But it was
+worth the discomforts of the molt to have the new feather coat, all
+shiny black; and Corbie was even handsomer than he had been during the
+summer, when cold days came, and he needed his warm thick suit.</p>
+
+<p>At this time all the wild crows that had nested in that part of the
+country flew every night from far and wide to the famous crow-roost, not
+far from a big peach orchard. They came down from the mountain that
+showed like a long blue ridge against the sky. They flew across a road
+that looked, on account of the color of the dirt, like a pinkish-red
+ribbon stretching off and away. They left the river-edge and the fields.
+Every night they gathered together, a thousand or more of them. Corbie's
+father and mother were among them, and Corbie's two brothers and two
+sisters. But Corbie was not with those thousand crows.</p>
+
+<p>No cage held him, and no one prevented his flying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> whither he wished;
+but Corbie stayed with the folk who had adopted him. A thousand wild
+crows might come and go, calling in their flight, but Corbie, though
+free, chose for his comrades the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl.</p>
+
+<p>I thought all along it would be so if they were good to him; and that is
+why I said, the day he was kidnaped, that you need not be sorry for
+Corbie&mdash;not very.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>ARDEA'S SOLDIER</h3>
+
+
+<p>In years long gone by, soldiers called "knights" used to protect the
+rights of other people; and, when the weak were in danger, these
+soldiers went forth to fight for them. They were so brave, these knights
+of old, that there was nothing that could make them afraid. Dragons
+even, which looked like crocodiles, with leather wings and terrible
+snatching claws and fiery eyes and breath that smoked&mdash;dragons, even, so
+the stories go, could not turn a knight away from his path of duty.
+Mind, I am not telling you that there ever were creatures that looked
+like that; but certain it is that there were dangers dreadful to meet,
+and "dragon" is a very good name to call them by.</p>
+
+<p>You know, do you not, that there are soldiers, still, who protect the
+rights of others; and although we do not commonly call them "knights,"
+they still fight for the weak, and are so brave that dangers as fearsome
+as dragons, even, cannot scare them.</p>
+
+<p>There was such a soldier in Ardea's camp; and if he had lived in olden
+days, he would probably have been called "Knight of the Snowy Heron."</p>
+
+<p>Ardea was a bride that spring, and perhaps never was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> there one much
+lovelier. Her wedding garment was the purest white; and instead of a
+veil she wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of rare beauty,
+which reached to the bottom of her gown, where the dainty tips curled up
+a bit, then hung like the finest fringe.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i138.jpg" width="450" height="320" alt="She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of
+rare beauty." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of
+rare beauty.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The Soldier watched her as she stood alone at the edge of the water, so
+small and white and slender against the great cypress trees bearded with
+Spanish moss, and thought she made a picture he could never forget. And
+when her mate came out to her, in a white wedding-robe like her own,
+with its filmy cape of mist-fine plumes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Ardea's Soldier smiled gently,
+for he loved Heron Camp and shared, in his heart, the joys of their
+home-coming.</p>
+
+<p>Ardea and her mate took a pleasant trip, looking for a building place at
+the edge of a swamp. They did not object to neighbors; which was
+fortunate, as there were so many other herons in the camp that it would
+have been hard to find a very secret spot for their nest. After looking
+it over and talking about it a bit, they chose a mangrove bush for their
+very own. They had never built a house before, but they wasted no time
+in hunting for a carpenter or teacher, but went to work with a will,
+just as if they knew how. It was like playing a game of "five-six, pick
+up sticks"; only they did not lay them straight but in a scraggly
+criss-cross sort of platform, with big twigs twelve inches long at the
+bottom and smaller ones on top. Then, when it looked all ready for a
+nice soft lining, Ardea laid an egg right on the rough sticks. Rather
+lazy and shiftless, don't you think? or maybe they didn't know any
+better, poor young things who had never had a home before! Ah, but there
+was another pair of snowy herons building in the bush next door, and
+they didn't put in anything soft for their eggs, either; and six or
+eight bushes farther on, a little blue heron was already sitting on her
+blue eggs in almost exactly the same sort of nest.</p>
+
+<p>So that is the kind of carpenters herons are! Sticks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> laid tangled up in
+a mass is the way they build! Yes, that is all&mdash;just some old dead
+twigs. I mean that is all you could <i>see</i>; but never think for a minute
+that there wasn't something else about that nest; for Ardea and her mate
+had lined it well with love, and so it was, indeed, a home worth
+building.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i140.jpg" width="450" height="385" alt="Near Ardea&#39;s Home." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Near Ardea&#39;s Home.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>In less than a week there were four eggs beneath the white down
+comforter that Ardea tucked over them;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> and the little mother was as
+well pleased as if she had had five, like her neighbors, the other snowy
+heron and the little blue heron.</p>
+
+<p>If the eggs of the little blue heron were blue, would not those of the
+snowy herons be pure white? No, the color of eggs does not need to match
+the color of feathers; and Ardea's eggs and those of her next-bush
+neighbor were so much like the beautiful blue ones of the little blue
+heron, that it would be very hard for you to tell one from the other.
+Perhaps Ardea could not have told her own eggs if she had not remembered
+where she had built her nest. As it was, she made no mistake, but
+snuggled cosily over her pretty eggs, doubling up her long slender black
+legs and her yellow feet as best she could.</p>
+
+<p>If she found it hard to sit there day after day, she made no fuss about
+it; and probably she really wanted to do that more than anything else
+just then, since the quiet patience of the most active birds is natural
+to them when they are brooding their unhatched babies. Then, too, there
+was her beautiful mate for company and help; for when Ardea needed to
+leave the nest for food and a change, the father-bird kept house as
+carefully as need be.</p>
+
+<p>To her next-bush neighbors and the little blue herons Ardea paid no
+attention, unless, indeed, one of them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> chanced to come near her own
+mangrove bush. Then she and her mate would raise the feathers on the top
+of their heads until they looked rather fierce and bristly, and spread
+out their filmy capes of dainty plumes in a threatening way. That
+criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home after all, being
+lined, you will remember, with the love of Ardea and her mate; and they
+both guarded it as well as they were able.</p>
+
+<p>At last the quiet brooding days came to an end, and four funny little
+herons wobbled about in Ardea's nest. Their long legs and toes stuck out
+in all directions, and they couldn't seem to help sprawling around. If
+there had been string or strands of moss or grass in the nest, they
+would probably have got all tangled up. As it was, they sometimes nearly
+spilled out, and saved themselves only by clinging to the firm sticks
+and twigs. So it would seem that their home was a good sort for the
+needs of their early life, just as it was; and no doubt a heron's nest
+for a heron is as suitable a building as an oriole's is for an oriole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;">
+<img src="images/i143.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt="That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home,
+and they both guarded it." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home,
+and they both guarded it.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It would take some time before the babies of Ardea would be able to
+straighten up on their long, slim legs and go wading. Until that day
+came, their father and mother would have to feed them well and often.
+Now the marsh where the snowy herons went fishing, where the shallow
+water was a favorite swimming-place for little fishes, was ten miles or
+more from their nest. Some kinds of herons, perhaps most kinds, are
+quiet and stately when they hunt, standing still and waiting for their
+game to come to them, or moving very slowly and carefully. But Ardea and
+the other snowy herons ran about in a lively way, spying out the little
+fishes with their bright yellow eyes, and catching them up quickly in
+their black beaks. After swallowing a supply of food, Ardea took wing
+and returned across the miles to her young. Standing on the edge of her
+nest and reaching down with her long neck, she took the bill of one of
+her babies in her own mouth, and dropped part of what she had swallowed
+out of her big throat down into his small one. When she had fed her
+babies and preened her pretty feathers a bit, she was off again on the
+ten-mile flight; for many a long journey she and her mate must take ere
+their little ones could feed themselves. But ten miles over and over and
+over again were as nothing to the love she had for her children; and
+faithfully as she had brooded her eggs, she now began the task of
+providing their meals. She seemed so happy each time she returned, that
+perhaps she was a little bit worried while she was away; but there is no
+reason to think she really was afraid that any great harm could come to
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly she was unprepared for what she found when she flew back from
+her fourth fishing trip. Even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> when she reached Heron Camp, she did not
+understand. There are some things it is not given the mind of a bird to
+know.</p>
+
+<p>She could not know, poor dear, that there were people in the world who
+coveted her beautiful wedding plumes. Women there were, who wished to
+make themselves look better by wearing the feathers that Nature had
+given snowy herons for their very own. And men there were, who thought
+to make themselves grander in the dress of their organization by walking
+about with heron plumes waving on their heads. The two kinds of white
+herons with wonderful plumes that have been put to such uses are called
+Egrets and Snowy Egrets, and the feathers, when they are stripped from
+the birds, are called by the French name of <i>aigrette</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Now, of course, Ardea could not know about this, or that the
+Plume-Hunters had come to steal her wedding feathers. But she knew well
+enough that danger was at hand, and that in times of trouble a mother's
+place is beside her babies. Her heart beat quickly with a new terror,
+but she stayed, the brave bird stayed! And all about her the other
+herons stayed also. They had no way to fight for their lives, and they
+might have flown far and safely on their strong wings; but none of them
+would desert the home built with love while the frightened babies were
+calling to their fathers and mothers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>No, <i>they</i> could not fight for their lives, but there was one who could.
+For danger did not come to Heron Camp without finding Ardea's Soldier at
+his post.</p>
+
+<p>Now the Plume-Hunters did not have bodies like crocodiles and leather
+wings, you know; but they were dragons of a sort, for all that, for they
+carried brutal things in their hands that belched forth smoke and pain
+and death, and they were cruel of heart, and they had sold themselves to
+do evil for the sake of the dollars that covetous men and women would
+pay them for feathers.</p>
+
+<p>Dragons though they were, Ardea's Soldier met them bravely. I like to
+think how brave he was; for was not the fight he fought a fight for our
+good old Mother Earth, that she might not lose those beautiful children
+of hers? If the world should be robbed of Snowy Herons, it would be just
+so much less lovely, just so much less wonderful. And have they no right
+to life, since the same Power that gave life to men gave life to them?
+And when we think about it this way, who seems to have the better right
+to those plumes&mdash;herons, or men and women?</p>
+
+<p>The Soldier believed in Ardea's right to life, believed in it so deeply
+that he stood alone before the Plume-Hunters and told them that, while
+he lived, the birds of his camp should also live.</p>
+
+<p>And that is why they killed him&mdash;the dragons who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> were cruel of heart
+and had sold themselves to do evil for the sake of dollars that covetous
+men and women would pay for feathers.</p>
+
+<p>Because of his courage and because of the cause for which he died, I
+think, don't you, that Ardea's Soldier might well be called "Knight of
+the Snowy Heron."</p>
+
+<p>I said that he was alone, and it is true that no one was there at the
+camp to help him. But many there were in other places doing their bit in
+the same good fight. Another soldier, named Theodore Roosevelt, did much
+for these birds when he was President, by granting them land where no
+man had a right to touch them; for it makes a true soldier angry when
+the weak are oppressed, and he said, "It is a disgrace to America that
+we should permit the sale of aigrettes." Another man, named Woodrow
+Wilson, whose courage also was so great that he always did what he
+believed to be right, would not permit, when he was Governor of New
+Jersey, a company to sell aigrettes in that State; he said, "I think New
+Jersey can get along without blood-money."</p>
+
+<p>Many another great man, besides, served the cause of Ardea. So many, in
+fact, that there is not room here to tell about them all. But there is
+room to say that the children helped. For, you know, every Junior
+Audubon Society sends money to the National Association of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> Audubon
+Societies&mdash;not much, but a little; and when the Knight of the Snowy
+Heron was killed, that little helped the National Association to hire
+another soldier to take his place. Now, think of that! There was another
+soldier who so believed in the Herons' right to life and plumage, that
+he was ready to protect them though it meant certain danger to himself!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, there is to this very day a soldier at Heron Camp. Do you know a
+way to keep him safe? Why, you children of America can do it if you
+will, and it need not cost one of you a penny. You can do it with your
+minds. For if every girl makes up her mind for good and all that she
+will never wear a feather that costs a bird its life; and if every boy
+makes up his mind for good and all that he will never be a
+feather-hunting dragon&mdash;why there will not be <i>anybody</i> growing up in
+America to harm Ardea, will there? You can keep the Soldier of Heron
+Camp safe by just wishing it! That sounds wonderful as a fairy story
+come true, does it not? And like the knight in some old fairy tale,
+could not Ardea's new Soldier "live happily forever after"?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FLYING CLOWN</h3>
+
+
+<p>There are many accounts of the flying clown, in books, nearly all of
+which refer to him as bull-bat or nighthawk, and a member of the
+Goatsucker or Nightjar family. But he wasn't a bull and he wasn't a bat
+and he wasn't a hawk and he wasn't a jar; and he flew more by day than
+by night, and he never, never milked a goat in all his life. So for the
+purposes of this story we may as well give him a name to suit ourselves,
+and call him Mis Nomer.</p>
+
+<p>He was a poor skinny little thing, but you would not have guessed it to
+see him; for he always wore a loose fluffy coat, which made him look
+bigger and plumper than he really was. It was a gray and brown and
+creamy buff-and-white sort of coat, quite mottled, with a rather plain,
+nearly black, back. It was trimmed with white, there being a white
+stripe near the end of the coat-tail, a big, fine, V-shaped white place
+under his chin that had something the look of a necktie, and a bar of
+white reaching nearly across the middle of each wing.</p>
+
+<p>These bars would have made you notice his long, pointed wings if he had
+been near you, and they were well worth noticing; for besides just
+flying with them,&mdash;which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> was wonderful enough, as he was a talented
+flier,&mdash;he used them in a sort of gymnastic stunt he was fond of
+performing in the springtime.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps he did it to show off. I do not know. Certainly he had as good a
+right to be proud of his accomplishments as a turkey or a peacock that
+spreads its tail, or a boy who walks on his hands. Maybe a better right,
+for they have solid earth to strut upon and run no risks, while Mis did
+his whole trick in the air. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, though he
+had no gymnasium with bars or rings or tight rope, and there was no
+canvas stretched to catch him if he fell. A circus, with tents, and a
+gate-keeper to take your ticket, would have been lucky if it could have
+hired Mis to show his skill for money.</p>
+
+<p>But Mis couldn't be hired. Not he! He was a free, wild clown, performing
+only under Mother Nature's tent of wide-arched sky. If you wanted to see
+him, you could&mdash;ticket or no ticket. That was nothing to him; for Mis,
+the wild clown of the air, had no thought either of money or fame among
+people.</p>
+
+<p>Far, far up, he flew, hither and yon, in a matter-of-fact-enough way;
+and then of a sudden, with wings half-closed, he dropped toward the
+earth. Could he stop such speed, or must he strike and kill himself in
+his fall? Down, down he plunged; and then, at last, he made a sound as
+if he groaned a loud, deep "boom."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/i151.jpg" width="360" height="500" alt="The Flying Clown." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>The Flying Clown.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But just at the moment of this sound he was turning, and then, the first
+anyone knew, he was flying up gayly, quite gayly. Then it wasn't a groan
+of fear? Mis afraid! Why the rascal had but to move his wings this way
+and that, and go up instead of down. He might be within a second of
+dashing himself to death against the ground, but so sure were his wings
+and so strong his muscles, that a second was time and to spare for him
+to stop and turn and rise again toward the safe height from which he
+dived. A fine trick that! The fun of the plunge, and then the quick jerk
+at the end that sent the wind groaning against and between the feathers
+of his wings, with a "boom" loud and sudden enough to startle anyone
+within hearing.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, you might have seen the little clown at his tricks without a ticket
+at the wild-circus gate, for all he cared or knew. What did the children
+of men matter to him? Had not his fathers and grandfathers and
+great-grandfathers given high-air circus performances of a springtime,
+in the days when bison and passenger pigeons inherited their full share
+of the earth, before our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers
+had even seen America?</p>
+
+<p>Was it, then, just for the joy of the season that he played in the air,
+or was there, after all, someone besides himself to be pleased with the
+sport? Who knows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> whether the little acrobat was showing his mate what a
+splendid fellow he was, how strong of wing and skillful in the tricks of
+flight? Be that as it may, the mate of Mis was satisfied in some way or
+other, and went with him on a voyage of discovery one afternoon, when
+the sky was nicely cloudy and the light pleasantly dull.</p>
+
+<p>Now, like all good parents, Mis and his mate were a bit particular about
+what sort of neighborhood they should choose for their home; for the
+bringing up of a family, even if it is a small one, is most important.</p>
+
+<p>A peaceful place and a sunny exposure they must have; there must be good
+hunting near at hand; and one more thing, too, was necessary. Now, the
+house-lot they finally decided upon met all four of these needs, though
+it sounds like a joke to tell you where it was. But then, when a clown
+goes merrily forth to find him a home, we must not be surprised if he is
+funny about it. It was where the sun could shine upon it; though how Mis
+and his mate knew that, all on a dull, dark afternoon, I'm sure I can't
+tell. Maybe because there wasn't a tree in sight. And as for peace, it
+was as undisturbed as a deserted island. It was, in fact, a sort of
+island in a sea of air, and at certain times of the day and night there
+was game enough in this sea to satisfy even such hunters as they.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps they chuckled cosily together when they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> decided to take their
+peace and sunshine on the flat roof of a very high building in a very
+large city. Their house-lot was covered with pebbles, and it suited them
+exactly. So well that they moved in, just as it was.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, those two ridiculous birds set up housekeeping without any house.
+Mother Nomer just settled herself on the bare pebbles in a satisfied
+way, and that was all there was to it. Not a stick or a wisp of hay or a
+feather to mark the place! And as she sat there quietly, a queer thing
+happened. She disappeared from sight. As long as she didn't move, she
+couldn't be seen. Her dappled feathers didn't look like a bird. They
+looked like the light and dark of the pebbles of the flat roof. Ah, so
+<i>that</i> was the one thing more that was necessary for her home, besides
+sunshine and peace and good hunting. It must be where she could sit and
+not show; where she could hide by just looking like what was near her,
+like a sand-colored grasshopper on the sand in the sun,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> or a
+walking-stick on a twig,<a name="FNanchor_2_3" id="FNanchor_2_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> or a butterfly on the bark of a tree.<a name="FNanchor_2_4" id="FNanchor_2_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>
+
+<p>Yes, Mis's mate knew, in some natural wise way of her own, the secret of
+making use of what we call her "protective coloration." This is one of
+the very most important secrets Mother Nature has given her children,
+and many use it&mdash;not birds alone, but beasts and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> insects also. They use
+it in their own wild way and think nothing about it. We say that it is
+their instinct that leads them to choose places where they cannot easily
+be seen. If you do not understand exactly what instinct is, do not feel
+worried, for there are some things about that secret of Mother Nature
+that even the wisest men in the world have not explained. But this we do
+know, that when her instincts led Mother Nomer to choose the pebbly roof
+as a background for her mottled feathers, she did just naturally very
+much the same thing that the soldiers in the world-war did when they
+made use of great guns painted to look like things they were not, and
+ships painted to look like the waves beneath them and the clouds in the
+sky above. Only, the soldiers did not use their protective coloration
+naturally and by instinct. They did this by taking thought; and very
+proud they felt, too, of being able to do this by hard study. They
+talked about it a great deal and the French taught the world a new word,
+<i>camouflage</i>, to call it by. And their war-time camouflage <i>was</i>
+wonderful, even though it was only a clumsy imitation of what Mother
+Nature did when the feathers of Mother Nomer were made to grow dappled
+like little blotches of light and dark; or, to put it the other way
+about, when the bird was led, by her instinct, to choose for the
+nesting-time a place where she did not show.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Of course, it was not just the gravel on the flat roof that would match
+her feathers; for there isn't a house in the land that is nearly so old
+as one thousand years, and birds of this sort have been building much
+longer than that. No, so far as color went, Mother Nomer might have
+chosen a spot in an open field, where there were little broken sticks or
+stones to give it a mottled look&mdash;such a place, indeed, as her ancestors
+used to find for their nesting in the old days when there were no
+houses. Such a place, too, as most of this kind of bird still seek; for
+not all of them, by any means, are roof-dwellers in cities.</p>
+
+<p>Our bird with the dappled feathers, however, sat in one little spot on
+that large roof for about sixteen days and nights, with time enough off
+now and then to get food and water, and to exercise her wings. When she
+was away, Mis came and sat on the same spot. If you had been there to
+see them come and go, you would have wondered why they cared about that
+particular spot. It looked like the rest of the sunny roof&mdash;just little
+humps of light and dark. Ah, yes! but two of those little humps of light
+and dark were not pebbles: they were eggs; and if you couldn't have
+found them, Mis and his mate could, though I think even they had to
+remember where they were instead of eye-spying them.</p>
+
+<p>By the time sixteen days were over, there were no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> longer eggs beneath
+the fluffy feathers that had covered them. Instead, there were two
+little balls of down, though you couldn't have seen them either, unless
+you had been about near enough to touch them; for the downy children of
+Mis were as dappled as his mate and her eggs, and they had, from the
+moment of their hatching, the instinct for keeping still if danger came
+near.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i157.jpg" width="450" height="259" alt="Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days of Mother Nomer.
+Something of the noise and bustle, to be sure, of the city streets came
+up to her; but that was from far below, and things far off are not worth
+worrying about. Sometimes, too, the sound of voices<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> floated out from
+the upper windows of the building, quite near; but the birds soon became
+used to that.</p>
+
+<p>When the twins were but a few days old, however, their mother had a real
+scare. A man came up to take down some electric wires that had been
+fastened not far from the spot that was the Nomer home. He tramped
+heavily about, throwing down his tools here and there, and whistling
+loudly as he worked. All this frightened little Mother Nomer. There is
+no doubt about that, for her heart beat more and more quickly. But she
+didn't budge. She couldn't. It was a part of her camouflage trick to sit
+still in danger. The greater the danger, the stiller to sit! She even
+kept her eyes nearly shut, until, when the man had cut the last and
+nearest end of wire and put all his things together in a pile ready to
+take down, he came to look over the edge of the roof-wall. As he bent to
+do this, he brushed suddenly against her.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mother Nomer sprang into the air; and the man jumped, in such
+surprise that, had it not been for the wall, he would have fallen from
+the roof. It would be hard to tell which was the more startled for a
+moment&mdash;man or bird. But Mother Nomer did not fly far. She fell back to
+the roof some distance from her precious babies and fluttered pitifully
+about, her wings and tail spread wide and dragging as she moved lamely.
+She did not look like a part of the pebbly roof now. She showed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+plainly, for she was moving. She looked like a wounded bird, and the
+man, thinking he must have hurt her in some way, followed her to pick
+her up and see what the trouble was. Three times he almost got her.
+Almost, but not quite. Crippled as she seemed, she could still fumble
+and flutter just out of reach; and when at last the man had followed her
+to a corner of the roof far from her young, Mother Nomer sprang up, and
+spreading her long, pointed wings, took flight, whole and sound as a
+bird need be.</p>
+
+<p>The man understood and laughed. He laughed at himself for being fooled.
+For it wasn't the first time a bird had tricked him so. Once, when he
+was a country boy, a partridge, fluttering as if broken-winged, had led
+him through the underbrush of the wood-lot; and once a bird by the
+river-side stumbled on before him, crying piteously, "Pete! Pete!
+Pete-weet!" and once&mdash;Why, yes, he should have remembered that this is
+the trick of many a mother-bird when danger threatens her young.</p>
+
+<p>So he went back, with careful step, to where he had been before. He
+looked this way and that. There was no nest. He saw no young. The little
+Nomer twins were not the son and daughter of Mis, the clown, and Mother
+Nomer, the trick cripple, for nothing! They sat there, the little
+rascals, right before his eyes, and budged not; they could practice the
+art of camouflage, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i160.jpg" width="450" height="199" alt="The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>But as he stood and looked, a wistful light came into the eyes of the
+man. It had been many years since he had found nesting birds and watched
+the ways of them. His memory brought old pictures back to him. The
+crotch in the tree, where the robin had plastered her nest, modeling the
+mud with her feathered breast; the brook-edge willows, where the
+blackbirds built; the meadow, with its hidden homes of bobolinks; and
+the woods where the whip-poor-wills called o' nights. His thoughts made
+a boy of him again, and he forgot everything else in the world in his
+wish to see the little birds he felt sure must be among the pebbles
+before him. So he crept about carefully, here and there, and at last
+came upon the children of Mis. He picked up the fluffy little balls of
+down and snuggled them gently in his big hands for a moment. Then he put
+them back to their safe roof,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> and, gathering up his tools, went on his
+way, whistling a merry tune remembered from the days when he trudged
+down Long-ago Lane to the pasture, for his father's cows. Late of
+afternoon it used to be, while the nighthawks dashed overhead in their
+air-hunts, showing the white spots in their wings that looked like
+holes, and sometimes making him jump as they dropped and turned, with a
+sudden "boom."</p>
+
+<p>No sooner had the sound of his whistle gone from the roof, than Mother
+Nomer came back to her houseless home&mdash;any spot doing as well as
+another, now that the twins were hatched and able to walk about. As she
+called her babies to her and tucked them under her feathers, her heart
+still beating quickly with the excitement of her scare, it would be easy
+to guess from the dear way of her cuddling that it isn't a beautiful
+woven cradle or quaint walls of clay that matter most in the life of
+young birds, but the loving care that is given them. In this respect the
+young orioles, swinging in their hammock among the swaying tips of the
+elm tree, and the children of Eve and Petro, in their wonderful brick
+mansion, were no better off than the twins of Mis and Mother Nomer.</p>
+
+<p>Busy indeed was Mis in the twilights that followed the hatching of his
+children; and, though he was as much in the air as ever, it was not the
+fun of frolic and clownish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> tricks that kept him there. For, besides his
+own keen appetite, he had now the hunger of the twins to spur him on.
+Such a hunter as he was in those days! Why, he caught a thousand
+mosquitos on one trip; and meeting a swarm of flying ants, thought
+nothing at all of gobbling up five hundred before he stopped. Countless
+flies went down his throat. And when the big, brown bumping beetles,
+with hard, shiny wing-covers on their backs and soft, fuzzy velvet
+underneath, flew out at dusk, twenty or thirty of them, as likely as
+not, would make a luncheon for Mis the clown. For he was lean and
+hungry, and he ate and ate and ate; but he never grew fat. He hunted
+zigzag through the twilight of the evening and the twilight of the dawn.
+When the nights were bright and game was plenty, he hunted zigzag
+through the moonlight. When the day was dull and insects were on the
+wing, he hunted, though it was high noon. And many a midnight rambler
+going home from the theatre looked up, wondering what made the darting
+shadows, and saw Mis and his fellows dashing busily above where the
+night-insects were hovering about the electric lights of the city
+streets. He hunted long and he hunted well; but so keen was his appetite
+and so huge the hunger of his twins, that it took the mother, too, to
+keep the meals provided in the Nomer home.</p>
+
+<p>I think they were never unhappy about it, for there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> is a certain
+satisfaction in doing well what we can do; and there is no doubt that
+these birds were made to be hunters. Mis and his kind swept the air, of
+course, because they and their young were hungry; but the game they
+caught, had it gone free to lay its myriad eggs, would have cost many a
+farmer a fortune in sprays to save his crops, and would have added
+untold discomfort to dwellers in country and city alike.</p>
+
+<p>Although Mis, under his feathers, was much smaller than one would think
+to look at him, there were several large things about him besides his
+appetite. His mouth was almost huge, and reached way around to the sides
+of his head under his eyes. It opened up more like the mouth of a frog
+or a toad than like that of most birds. When he hunted he kept it
+yawning wide open, so that it made a trap for many an unlucky insect
+that flew straight in, without ever knowing what happened to it when it
+disappeared down the great hollow throat, into a stomach so enormous
+that it hardly seems possible that a bird less than twice the size of
+Mis could own it.</p>
+
+<p>There were other odd things about him, too&mdash;for instance, the comb he
+wore on his middle toe-nail. What he did with it, I can't say. He didn't
+seem to do very much with his feet anyway. They were rather feeble
+little things, and he never used them in carrying home anything he
+caught. He didn't even use them as most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> birds do when they stop to
+rest; for, instead of sitting on a twig when he was not flying, he would
+settle as if lying down. Sometimes he stayed on a large level branch,
+not cross-wise like most birds, but the long way; and when he did that,
+he looked like a humpy knot on the branch. When there were no branches
+handy, he would use a rail or a log or a wall, or even the ground; but
+wherever he settled himself, he looked like a blotch of light and dark,
+and one could gaze right at him without noticing that a bird was there.
+That was the way Mother Nomer did, too&mdash;clowns both of them and always
+ready for the wonderful game of camouflage!</p>
+
+<p>They had remarkable voices. There seemed to be just one word to their
+call. I am not going to tell you what that word is. There is a reason
+why I am not. The reason is, that I do not know. To be sure, I have
+heard nighthawks say it every summer for years, but I can't say it
+myself. It is a very funny word, but you will have to get one of them to
+speak it for you!</p>
+
+<p>They came by all their different kinds of queerness naturally enough,
+Mis and Mother Nomer did, for it seemed to run in the family to be
+peculiar, and all their relatives had oddities of one kind or another.
+Take Cousin Whip-poor-will, who wears whiskers, for instance; and Cousin
+Chuck-will's widow, who wears whiskers that branch. You could tell from
+their very names<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> that they would do uncommon things. And as for their
+more distant relatives, the Hummingbirds and Chimney Swifts, it would
+take a story apiece as long as this to begin to tell of their strange
+doings. But it is a nice, likable sort of queerness they all have; so
+very interesting, too, that we enjoy them the better for it.</p>
+
+<p>There is one more wonderful thing yet that Mis and his mate did&mdash;and
+their twins with them; for before this happened, the children had grown
+to be as big as their parents, and a bit plumper, perhaps, though not
+enough to be noticed under their feathers. Toward the end of a pleasant
+summer, they joined a company of their kind, a sort of traveling circus,
+and went south for the winter. Just what performances they gave along
+the way, I did not hear; but with a whole flock of flying clowns on the
+wing, it seems likely that they had a gay time of it altogether!</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See <i>Hexapod Stories</i>, pages 4, 110, 126.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
+<h2>X</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LOST DOVE</h3>
+
+<h4><i>One Thousand Dollars ($1000) Reward</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>That is the prize that has been offered for a nesting pair of Passenger
+Pigeons. No one has claimed the money yet, and it would be a great
+adventure, don't you think, to seek that nest? If you find it, you must
+not disturb it, you know, or take the eggs or the young, or frighten the
+father- or mother-bird; for the people who offered all that money did
+not want dead birds to stuff for a museum, but hoped that someone might
+tell them where there were live wild ones nesting.</p>
+
+<p>You see the news had got about that the dove that is called Passenger
+Pigeon was lost. No one could believe this at first, because there had
+been so very many&mdash;more than a thousand, more than a million, more than
+a billion. How could more than a billion doves be lost?</p>
+
+<p>They were such big birds, too&mdash;a foot and a half long from tip of beak
+to tip of tail, and sometimes even longer. Why, that is longer than the
+tame pigeons that walk about our city streets. How could doves as large
+as that be lost, so that no one could find a pair, not even for one
+thousand dollars to pay him for the time it took to hunt?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Their colors were so pretty&mdash;head and back a soft, soft blue; neck
+glistening with violet, red, and gold; underneath, a wonderful purple
+red fading into violet shades, and then into bluish white. Who would not
+like to seek, for the love of seeing so beautiful a bird, even though no
+one paid a reward in money?</p>
+
+<p>Shall we go, then, to Kentucky? For 'twas there the man named Audubon
+once saw them come in flocks to roost at night. They kept coming from
+sunset till after midnight, and their numbers were so great that their
+wings, even while still a long way off, made a sound like a gale of
+wind; and when close to, the noise of the birds was so loud that men
+could not hear one another speak, even though they stood near and
+shouted. The place where Audubon saw these pigeons was in a forest near
+the Green River; and there were so many that they filled the trees over
+a space forty miles long and more than three miles wide. They perched so
+thickly that the branches of the great trees broke under their weight,
+and went crashing to the ground; and their roosting-place looked as if a
+tornado had rushed through the forest.</p>
+
+<p>Must there not be wild pigeons, yet, roosting in Kentucky&mdash;some small
+flock, perhaps, descended from the countless thousands seen by Audubon?
+No, not one of all these doves is left, they tell us, in the woods in
+that part of the country. The rush of their wings has been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> stilled and
+their evening uproar has been silenced. Men may now walk beside the
+Green River, and hear each other though they speak in whispers.</p>
+
+<p>Would you like to seek the dove in Michigan in May? For there it was,
+and then it was, that these wild pigeons nested, so we are told by
+people who saw them, by hundreds of thousands, or even millions. They
+built in trees of every sort, and sometimes as many as one hundred nests
+were made in a single tree. Almost every tree on one hundred thousand
+acres would have at least one nest. The lowest ones were so near the
+ground that a man could reach them with his hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;">
+<img src="images/i169.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt="Suppose you should find just one pair." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Suppose you should find just one pair.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Suppose you should find, next May, just one pair nesting. Sire Dove, we
+think from what we have read, would help bring some twigs, and Dame Dove
+would lay them together in a criss-cross way, so that they would make a
+floor of sticks, sagging just a little in the middle. As soon as the
+floor of twigs was firm enough, so that an egg would not drop through,
+Dame Dove would put one in the shallow sagging place in the middle. It
+would be a white egg, very much like those our tame pigeons lay; and,
+because there would be no thick soft warm rug of dried grass on the
+floor, you could probably see it right through the nest, if you should
+stand underneath and look up. But you couldn't see it long, because,
+almost as soon as it was laid, Dame Dove would tuck the feather
+comforter she carried on her breast so cosily about that precious egg,
+that it would need no other padding to keep it warm. She would stay
+there, the faithful mother, from about two o'clock each afternoon until
+nine or ten o'clock the next morning. She would not leave for one
+minute, to eat or get a drink of water. Then, about nine or ten o'clock
+each morning, Sire Dove would slip onto the nest just as she moved off,
+and they would make the change so quickly that the egg could not even
+get cool. That one very dear egg would need two birds to take care of
+it, one always snuggling it close while the other ate and flew about and
+drank.</p>
+
+<p>So they would sit, turn and turn about, for fourteen days. All this
+while they would be very gentle with each other, saying softly,
+"Coo-coo," something as tame pigeons do, only in shorter notes, or
+calling, "Kee-kee-kee." And sometimes Sire Dove would put his beak to
+that of his nesting mate and feed her, very likely, as later they would
+feed their young. For when the two weeks' brooding should be over, there
+would be a funny, homely, sprawling, soft and wobbly baby dove within
+the nest.</p>
+
+<p>The father and mother of him would still have much to do, it seems; for
+hatching a dove out of an egg is only the easier half of the task. The
+wobbly baby must be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> brought up to become a dove of grace and beauty.
+That would take food.</p>
+
+<p>But you must not think to see Sire and Dame Dove come flying home with
+seeds or nuts or fruit or grain or earthworms or insects in their beaks.
+What else, then, could they bring? Well, nothing at all, indeed, in
+their beaks; for the food of a baby dove requires especial preparation.
+It has to be provided for him in the crop of his parent. So Dame Dove
+would come with empty beak but full crop, and the baby would be fed.
+Just exactly how, I have not seen written by those people who saw a
+million Passenger Pigeons. Perhaps they did not stop to notice.</p>
+
+<p>However, if you will watch a tame pigeon feed its young, you can guess
+how a wild one would do it. A tame mother-pigeon that I am acquainted
+with comes to her young (<i>she</i> has two) and, standing in or beside the
+nest, opens her beak very wide. One of her babies reaches up as far as
+he can stretch his neck and puts his beak inside his mother's mouth. He
+tucks it in at one side and crowds in his head as far as he can push it.
+Then the mother makes a sort of pumping motion, and pumps up soft baby
+food from her crop, and he swallows it. Sometimes he keeps his beak in
+his mother's mouth for as long as five minutes; and if anything startles
+her and she pulls away, the hungry little fellow scolds and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> whines and
+whimpers in a queer voice, and reaches out with his teasing wings, and
+flaps them against her breast, stretching up with his beak all the while
+and feeling for a chance to poke his head into her mouth again. And
+often, do you know, his twin sister gets her beak in one side of Mother
+Pigeon's mouth while he is feeding at the other side, and Mother just
+stands there and pumps and pumps. The two comical little birds, with
+feet braced and necks stretched up as far as they can reach, and their
+heads crowded as far in as they can push them, look so funny they would
+make you laugh to see them. Then, the next meal Father Pigeon feeds them
+the same way, usually one at a time, but often both together.</p>
+
+<p>Now, I think, don't you, because that is the way tame Father and Mother
+Pigeon serve breakfast and dinner and supper and luncheons in between
+whiles to their tame twins, that wild Dame and Sire Dove would give food
+in very much the same way to their one wild baby? It might not be
+exactly the same, because tame pigeons and wild Passenger Pigeons are
+not the same kind of doves; but they are cousins of a sort, which means
+that they must have some of the same family habits.</p>
+
+<p>If you should find a nest in Michigan in May, perhaps you can learn more
+about these matters, and watch to see whether, when the baby dove is all
+feathered out, Dame or Sire Dove pushes it out of the nest even before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
+it can fly, though it is fat enough to be all right until it gets so
+hungry it learns to find food for itself. Perhaps you can watch, too, to
+see why Dame and Sire Dove seem to be in such a hurry to have their
+first baby taking care of himself. Is it because they are ready to build
+another nest right straight away, or would Dame Dove lay another egg in
+the same nest? Tame Mother Pigeon often lays two more eggs in the next
+nest-box even before her twins are out of their nest. Then you may be
+sure Father and Mother Pigeon have a busy time of it feeding their
+eldest twins, while they brood the two eggs in which their younger twins
+are growing.</p>
+
+<p>It would be very pleasant if you could watch a pair of Passenger Pigeons
+and find out all these things about them. <i>If you could!</i> But I said
+only "perhaps," because the people who know most about the matter say
+that Michigan has lost more than a million, or possibly more than a
+billion, doves. They say that, if you should walk through all the woods
+in Michigan, you would not hear one single Passenger Pigeon call,
+"Kee-kee-kee" to his mate, or hear one pair talk softly together,
+saying, "Coo-coo." There are sticks and twigs enough for their nests
+lying about; but through all the lonesome woods, so we are told, there
+is not one Sire Dove left to bring them to his Dame; and never, never,
+never will there be another nest like the millions there used to be.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i174.jpg" width="450" height="311" alt="Through all the lonesome woods there is not one dove." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Through all the lonesome woods there is not one dove.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Well, then, if we cannot find them at sunset in their roosting-place in
+Kentucky or in their nests in Michigan in May, shall we give up the
+quest for the lost doves? Or shall we still keep hold of our courage and
+our hope and try elsewhere?</p>
+
+<p>Surely, if there are any of these birds anywhere, they must eat food!
+Shall we seek them at some feeding-place? This might be everywhere in
+North America, from the Atlantic Ocean as far west as the Great Plains.
+That is, everywhere in all these miles where the things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> they liked to
+eat are growing. So, if you keep out of the Atlantic Ocean, and get
+someone to show you where the Great Plains are, you might look&mdash;<i>almost
+anywhere</i>. Why, many of you would not need to take a steam-train or even
+a trolley-car. You could walk there. Most of you could. You could walk
+to a place where they used to stop to feed. Those that were behind in
+the great flock flew over the heads of all the others, and so were in
+front for a while. In that way they all had a chance at a well-spread
+picnic ground. Yes, you could easily walk to a place where that used to
+happen&mdash;most of you could.</p>
+
+<p>Do you know where acorns grow, or beechnuts, or chestnuts? Well,
+Passenger Pigeons used to come there to eat, for they were very fond of
+nuts! Do you know where elm trees grow wild along some riverway, or
+where pine trees live? Oh! that is where these birds used sometimes to
+get their breakfasts, when the trees had scattered their seeds. Do you
+know a tree that has a seed about the right size and shape for a knife
+at a doll's tea-party? Yes, that's the maple; and many and many a party
+the Passenger Pigeons used to have wherever they could find these
+cunning seed-knives. Only they didn't use them to cut things with. They
+ate them up as fast as ever they could.</p>
+
+<p>Have you ever picked wild berries? Why, more than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> likely Passenger
+Pigeons have picked other berries there or thereabouts before your day!</p>
+
+<p>Do you know a place where the wild rice grows? Ah, so did the Passenger
+Pigeons, once upon a time!</p>
+
+<p>But if you know none of these places, even then you can stand near where
+the flocks used to fly when they were on their journeys. All of you who
+live between the Atlantic Ocean and the Great Plains can go to the door
+or a window of the house you live in and point to the sky and think:
+"Once so many Passenger Pigeons flew by that the sound of their wings
+was like the sound of thunder, and they went through the air faster than
+a train on a track, and the numbers in their flocks were so many that
+they hid the sun like great thick clouds."</p>
+
+<p>When you do that, some of you will doubtless see birds flying over; but
+we fear that not even one of you will see even one Passenger Pigeon in
+its flight.</p>
+
+<p>What happened to the countless millions is recorded in so many books
+that it need not be written again in this one. This story will tell you
+just one more thing about these strange and wonderful birds, and that is
+that no <i>child</i> who reads this story is in any way to blame because the
+dove is lost. What boy or girl is not glad to think, when some wrong has
+been done or some mistake has been made, "It's not <i>my</i> fault"?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i177.jpg" width="450" height="299" alt="Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their wings was
+like the sound of thunder." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their wings was
+like the sound of thunder.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Even though this bird is gone forever and forever and forever, there are
+many other kinds living among us. If old Mother Earth has been robbed of
+some of her children, she still has many more&mdash;many wonderful and
+beautiful living things. And that she may keep them safe, she needs your
+help; for boys and girls are her children, too, and the power lies in
+your strong hands and your courageous hearts and your wise brains to
+help save some of the most wonderful and fairest of other living things.
+And what one among you all, I wonder, will not be glad to think that
+<i>you</i> help keep the world beautiful,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> when you leave the water-lilies
+floating on the pond; that it is the same as if <i>you</i> sow the seeds in
+wild gardens, when you leave the cardinal flowers glowing on the banks
+and the fringed gentians lending their blue to the marshes. For the life
+of the world, whether it flies through the air or grows in the ground,
+is greatly in your care; and though you may never win a prize of money
+for finding the dove that other people lost, there is a reward of joy
+ready for anyone who can look at our good old Mother Earth and say, "It
+will not be <i>my</i> fault if, as the years go by, you lose your birds and
+flowers."</p>
+
+<p>And it would be, don't you think, one of the greatest of adventures to
+seek and find and help keep safe such of these as are in danger, that
+they may not, like the dove, be lost?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XI</h2>
+
+<h3>LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Oh, the wise, wise look of him, with his big round eyes and his very
+Roman nose! He had sat in a golden silence throughout that dazzling day;
+but when the kindly moon sent forth a gentler gleam, he spoke, and the
+speech of little Solomon Otus was as silver. A quivering, quavering
+whistle thrilled through the night, and all who heard the beginning
+listened to the end of his song.</p>
+
+<p>It was a night and a place for music. The mellow light lay softly over
+the orchard tree, on an old branch of which little Solomon sat mooning
+himself before his door. He could see, not far away, the giant chestnut
+trees that shaded the banks of a little ravine; and hear the murmuring
+sound of Shanty Creek, where Nata<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> grew up, and where her
+grandchildren now played hide-and-seek. Near at hand stood a noble oak,
+with a big dead branch at the top that was famous the country round as a
+look-out post for hawks and crows; and maybe an eagle now and then had
+used it, in years gone by.</p>
+
+<p>But hawk and crow were asleep, and toads were trilling a lullaby from
+the pond, while far, far off in the heart of the woods, a whip-poor-will
+called once, twice, and again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Solomon loved the dusk. His life was fullest then and his sight was
+keenest. His eyes were wide open, and he could see clearly the shadow of
+the leaves when the wind moved them lightly from time to time. He was at
+ease in the great night-world, and master of many a secret that
+sleepy-eyed day-folk never guess. As he shook out his loose, soft coat
+and breathed the cool air, he felt the pleasant tang of a hunger that
+has with it no fear of famine.</p>
+
+<p>Once more he sent his challenge through the moonlight with quivering,
+quavering voice, and some who heard it loved the darkness better for
+this spirit of the night, and some shivered as if with dread. For
+Solomon had sounded his hunting call, and, as with the baying of hounds
+or the tune of a hunter's horn, one ear might find music in the note and
+another hear only a wail.</p>
+
+<p>Then, silent as a shadow, he left his branch. Solomon, a little lone
+hunter in the dark, was off on the chase. Whither he went or what he
+caught, there was no sound to tell, until, suddenly, one quick squeak
+way over beside the corn-crib might have notified a farmer that another
+mouse was gone. But the owner of the corn-crib was asleep, and dreaming,
+more than likely, that the cat, which was at that moment disturbing a
+pair of meadow bobolinks, was somehow wholly to be thanked for the
+scarcity of mice about the place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/i181.jpg" width="360" height="500" alt="Oh, the wise, wise look of him." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Oh, the wise, wise look of him.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Solomon was not wasteful about his food. He swallowed his evening
+breakfast whole. That is, he swallowed all but the tail, which was
+fairly long and stuck out of his mouth for some time, giving him rather
+a queer two-tailed look, one at each end! But there was no one about to
+laugh at him, and it was, in some respects, an excellent way to make a
+meal. For one thing, it saved him all trouble of cutting up his food;
+and then, too, there was no danger of his overeating, for he could tell
+that he had had enough as long as there wasn't room for the tail. And
+after the good nutritious parts of his breakfast were digested, he had a
+comfortable way of spitting out the skin and bones all wadded together
+in a tidy pellet. An owl is not the only kind of bird, by any means,
+that has a habit of spitting out hard stuff that is swallowed with the
+food. A crow tucks away many a discarded cud of that sort; and even the
+thrush, half an hour or so after a dainty fare of wild cherries, taken
+whole, drops from his bill to the ground the pits that have been
+squeezed out of the fruit by the digestive mill inside of him.</p>
+
+<p>After his breakfast, which he ate alone in the evening starlight and
+moonlight, Solomon passed an enjoyable night; for that world, which to
+most of us is lost in darkness and in sleep, is full of lively interest
+to an owl. Who, indeed, would not be glad to visit his starlit kingdom,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+with eyesight keen enough to see the folded leaves of clover like little
+hands in prayer&mdash;a kingdom with byways sweet with the scent and mellow
+with the beauty of waking primrose? Who would not welcome, for one
+wonderful night, the gift of ears that could hear the sounds which to
+little Solomon were known and understood, but many of which are lost in
+deafness to our dull ears?</p>
+
+<p>Of course, it may be that Solomon never noticed that clovers fold their
+leaves by night, or that primroses are open and fragrant after dusk. For
+he was an owl, and not a person, and his thoughts were not the thoughts
+of man. But for all that they were wise thoughts&mdash;wise as the look of
+his big round eyes; and many things he knew which are unguessed secrets
+to dozy day-folk.</p>
+
+<p>He was a successful hunter, and he had a certain sort of knowledge about
+the habits of the creatures he sought. He seldom learned where the day
+birds slept, for he did not find motionless things. But he knew well
+enough that mice visited the corn-crib, and where their favorite runways
+came out into the open. He knew where the cutworms crept out of the
+ground and feasted o' nights in the farmer's garden. He knew where the
+big brown beetles hummed and buzzed while they munched greedily of
+shade-tree leaves. And he knew where little fishes swam near the surface
+of the water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So he hunted on silent wings the bright night long; and though he did
+not starve himself, as we can guess from what we know about his
+breakfast of rare mouse-steak, still, the tenderest and softest
+delicacies he took home to five fine youngsters, who welcomed their
+father with open mouths and eager appetite. Though he made his trips as
+quickly as he could, he never came too soon to suit them&mdash;the hungry
+little rascals.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i184.jpg" width="450" height="246" alt="Solomon knew the runways of the mice." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Solomon knew the runways of the mice.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>They were cunning and dear and lovable. Even a person could see that, to
+look at them. It is not surprising that their own father was fond enough
+of them to give them the greater part of the game he caught. He had,
+indeed, been interested in them before he ever saw them&mdash;while they were
+still within the roundish white eggshells, and did not need to be fed
+because there was food<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> enough in the egg to last them all the days
+until they hatched.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, many a time he had kept those eggs warm while Mrs. Otus was away
+for a change; and many a time, too, he stayed and kept her company when
+she was there to care for them herself. Now, it doesn't really need two
+owls at the same time to keep a few eggs warm. Of course not! So why
+should little Solomon have sat sociably cuddled down beside her? Perhaps
+because he was fond of her and liked her companionship. It would have
+been sad, indeed, if he had not been happy in his home, for he was an
+affectionate little fellow and had had some difficulty in winning his
+mate. There had been, early in their acquaintance, what seemed to
+Solomon a long time during which she would not even speak to him. Why,
+'tis said he had to bow to her as many as twenty or thirty times before
+she seemed even to notice that he was about. But those days were over
+for good and all, and Mrs. Otus was a true comrade for Solomon as well
+as a faithful little mother. Together they made a happy home, and were
+quite charming in it.</p>
+
+<p>They could be brave, too, when courage was needed, as they gave proof
+the day that a boy wished he hadn't climbed up and stuck his hand in at
+their door-hole, to find out what was there. While Mrs. Otus spread her
+feathers protectingly over her eggs, Solomon lay on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> back, and,
+reaching up with beak and clutching claws, fought for the safety of his
+family. In the heat of the battle he hissed, whereupon the boy
+retreated, badly beaten, but proudly boasting of an adventure with some
+sort of animal that felt like a wildcat and sounded like a snake.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, courage when needed, health, affection, good-nature, and plenty
+of food were enough to keep a family of owls contented. To be sure, some
+folk might not have been so well satisfied with the way the household
+was run. A crow, I feel quite sure, would not have considered the place
+fit to live in. Mrs. Otus was not, indeed, a tidy housekeeper. The floor
+was dirty&mdash;very dirty&mdash;and was never slicked up from one week's end to
+another. But then, Solomon didn't mind. He was used to it. Mrs. Otus was
+just like his own mother in that respect; and it might have worried him
+a great deal to have to keep things spick and span after the way he had
+been brought up. Why, the beautiful white eggshell he hatched out of was
+dirty when he pipped it, and never in all his growing-up days did he see
+his mother or father really clean house. So it is no wonder he was
+rather shiftless and easy-going. Neither of them had shown what might be
+called by some much ambition when they went house-hunting early that
+spring; for although the place they chose had been put into fairly good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+repair by rather an able carpenter,&mdash;a woodpecker,&mdash;still, it had been
+lived in before, and might have been improved by having some of the
+rubbish picked up and thrown out. But do you think Solomon spent any of
+his precious evenings that way? No, nor Mrs. Otus either. They moved in
+just as it was, in the most happy-go-lucky sort of way.</p>
+
+<p>Well, whatever a crow or other particular person might think of that
+nest, we should agree that a father and mother owl must be left to
+manage affairs for their young as Nature has taught them; and if those
+five adorable babies of Solomon didn't prove that the way they were
+brought up was an entire success from an owlish point of view, I don't
+know what could.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i187.jpg" width="450" height="300" alt="Those five adorable babies of Solomon." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Those five adorable babies of Solomon.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Take them altogether, perhaps you could not find a much more interesting
+family than the little Otuses. As to size and shape, they were as much
+alike as five peas in a pod; but for all that, they looked so different
+that it hardly seemed possible that they could be own brothers and
+sisters. For one of the sons of Solomon and two of his daughters had
+gray complexions, while the other son and daughter were reddish brown.
+Now Solomon and Mrs. Otus were both gray, except, of course, what white
+feathers and black streaks were mixed up in their mottlings and dapples;
+so it seems strange enough to see two of their children distinctly
+reddish. But, then, one never can tell just what color an owl of this
+sort will be, anyway. Solomon himself, though gray, was the son of a
+reddish father and a gray mother, and he had one gray brother and two
+reddish sisters: while Mrs. Otus, who had but one brother and one
+sister, was the only gray member of her family. Young or old, summer or
+winter, Solomon and Mrs. Otus were gray, though, young or old, summer or
+winter, their fathers had both been of a reddish complexion.</p>
+
+<p>Now this sort of variation in color you can readily see is altogether a
+different matter from the way Father Goldfinch changes his feathers
+every October for a winter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> coat that looks much the same as that of
+Mother Goldfinch and his young daughters; and then changes every spring
+to a beautiful yellow suit, with black-and-white trimmings and a black
+cap, for the summer. It is different, too, from the color-styles of Bob
+the Vagabond, who merely wears off the dull tips of his winter feathers,
+and appears richly garbed in black and white, set off with a lovely bit
+of yellow, for his gay summer in the north. Again, it is something quite
+different from the color-fashions of Larie, who was not clothed in a
+beautiful white garment and soft gray mantle, like his father's and
+mother's, until he was quite grown up.</p>
+
+<p>No, the complexion of Solomon and his sons and daughters was a different
+matter altogether, because it had nothing whatever to do with season of
+the year, or age, or sex. But for all that it was not different from the
+sort of color-variations that Mother Nature gives to many of her
+children; and you may meet now and again examples of the same sort among
+flowers, and insects, and other creatures, too.</p>
+
+<p>But, reddish or gray, it made no difference to Solomon and Mrs. Otus.
+They had no favorites among their children, but treated them all alike,
+bringing them food in abundance: not only enough to keep them happy the
+night long, but laying up a supply in the pantry, so that the youngsters
+might have luncheons during the day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Although Solomon had night eyes, he was not blind by day. He passed the
+brightest hours quietly for the most part, dozing with both his outer
+eyelids closed, or sometimes sitting with those open and only the thin
+inner lid drawn sidewise across his eye. It seems strange to think of
+his having three eyelids; but, then, perhaps we came pretty near having
+a third one ourselves; for there is a little fold tucked down at the
+inner corner, which might have been a third lid that could move across
+the eye sidewise, if it had grown bigger. And sometimes, of a dazzling
+day in winter, when the sun is shining on the glittering snow, such a
+thin lid as Solomon had might be very comfortable, even for our day
+eyes, and save us the trouble of wearing colored glasses.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i190.jpg" width="450" height="313" alt="He passed the brightest hours dozing." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>He passed the brightest hours dozing.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lively as Solomon was by night, all he asked during the day was peace
+and quiet. He had it, usually. It was seldom that even any of the wild
+folk knew where his nest was; and when he spent the day outside, in some
+shady place, he didn't show much. His big feather-horns at such times
+helped make him look like a ragged stub of a branch, or something else
+he wasn't. It is possible for a person to go very close to an owl
+without seeing him; and fortunately for Solomon, birds did not find him
+every day. For when they did, they mobbed him.</p>
+
+<p>One day, rather late in the summer, Cock Robin found him and sent forth
+the alarm. To be sure, Solomon was doing no harm&mdash;just dozing, he was,
+on a branch. But Cock Robin scolded and sputtered and called him mean
+names; and the louder he talked, the more excited all the other birds in
+the neighborhood became. Before long there were twenty angry kingbirds
+and sparrows and other feather-folk, all threatening to do something
+terrible to Solomon.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Solomon had been having a good comfortable nap, with his feathers
+all hanging loose, when Cock Robin chanced to alight on the branch near
+him. He pulled himself up very thin and as tall as possible, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> his
+feathers drawn tight against his body. When the bird-mob got too near
+him, he looked at them with his big round eyes, and said, "Oh!" in a
+sweet high voice. But his soft tone did not turn away their wrath. They
+came at him harder than ever. Then Solomon showed his temper, for he was
+no coward. He puffed his feathers out till he looked big and round, and
+he snapped his beak till the click of it could be heard by his
+tormentors. And he hissed.</p>
+
+<p>But twenty enemies were too many, and there was only one thing to be
+done. Solomon did it. First thing those birds knew, they were scolding
+at nothing at all; and way off in the darkest spot he could find in the
+woods, a little owl settled himself quite alone and listened while the
+din of a distant mob grew fainter and fainter and fainter, as one by one
+those twenty birds discovered that there was no one left on the branch
+to scold at.</p>
+
+<p>If Solomon knew why the day birds bothered him so, he never told. He
+could usually keep out of their way in the shady woods in the summer;
+but in the winter, when the leaves were off all but the evergreen trees,
+he had fewer places to hide in. Of course, there were not then so many
+birds to worry him, for most of them went south for the snowy season.
+But Jay stayed through the coldest days and enjoyed every chance he had
+of pestering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> Solomon. I don't know that this was because he really
+disliked the little owl. Jay was as full of mischief as a crow, and if
+the world got to seeming a bit dull, instead of moping and feeling sorry
+and waiting for something to happen, Jay looked about for some way of
+amusing himself. He was something of a bully,&mdash;a great deal of a bully,
+in fact,&mdash;this dashing rascal in a gay blue coat; and the more he could
+swagger, the better he liked it.</p>
+
+<p>He seemed, too, to have very much the same feeling that we mean by joy,
+in fun and frolic. There was, perhaps, in the sight of a bird asleep and
+listless in broad daylight, something amusing. He was in the habit of
+seeing the feather-folk scatter at his approach. If he understood why,
+that didn't bother him any. He was used to it, and there is no doubt he
+liked the power he had of making his fellow creatures fly around. When
+he found, sitting on a branch, with two toes front and two toes back, a
+downy puff with big round eyes and a Roman nose and feather-horns
+sticking up like the ears of a cat, maybe he was a bit puzzled because
+it didn't fly, too. Perhaps he didn't quite know what to make of poor
+little Solomon, who, disturbed from his nap, just drew himself up slim
+and tall, and remarked, "Oh!" in a sweet high voice.</p>
+
+<p>But, puzzled or not, Jay knew very well what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> could do about it. He
+had done it so many times before! It was a game he liked. He stood on a
+branch, and called Solomon names in loud, harsh tones. He flew around as
+if in a terrible temper, screaming at the top of his voice. When he
+began, there was not another day bird in sight. Before many minutes, all
+the chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers within hearing had arrived,
+and had taken sides with Jay. Yes, even sunny-hearted Chick D.D. himself
+said things to Solomon that were almost saucy. I never heard that any of
+these mobs actually hurt our little friend; but they certainly disturbed
+his nap, and there was no peace for him until he slipped away. Where he
+went, there was no sound to tell, for his feathers were fringed with
+silent down. Perhaps some snow-bowed branch of evergreen gave him
+shelter, in a nook where he could see better than the day-eyed birds who
+tried to follow and then lost track of him.</p>
+
+<p>So Solomon went on with his nap, and Jay started off in quest of other
+adventures. The winter air put a keen edge on his appetite, which was
+probably the reason why he began to hunt for some of the cupboards where
+food was stored. Of course, he had tucked a goodly supply of acorns and
+such things away for himself; but he slipped into one hollow in a tree
+that was well stocked with frozen fish, which he had certainly had no
+hand in catching. But what did it matter to the blue-jacketed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> robber if
+that fish had meant a three-night fishing at an air-hole in the ice? He
+didn't care (and probably didn't know) who caught it. It tasted good on
+a frosty day, so he feasted on fish in Solomon's pantry, while the
+little owl slept.</p>
+
+<p>Well, if Jay, the bold dashing fellow, held noisy revel during the
+dazzling winter days, night came every once in so often; and then a
+quavering call, tremulous yet unafraid, told the listening world that an
+elf of the moonlight was claiming his own. And if some shivered at the
+sound, others there were who welcomed it as a challenge to enter the
+realm of a winter's night.</p>
+
+<p>For, summer or winter, the night holds much of mystery, close to the
+heart of which lives a little downy owl, who wings his way silent as a
+shadow, whither he will. And when he calls, people who love the stars
+and the wonders they shine down upon sometimes go out to the woods and
+talk with him, for the words he speaks are not hard even for a human
+voice to say. There was once a boy, so a great poet tells us, who stood
+many a time at evening beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake, and
+called the owls that they might answer him. While he listened, who knows
+what the bird of wisdom told him about the night?</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>Hexapod Stories</i>, page 89.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XII</h2>
+
+<h3>BOB THE VAGABOND</h3>
+
+
+<p>Bob had on his traveling suit, for a vagabond must go a-journeying. It
+would never do to stay too long in one place, and here it was August
+already. Why, he had been in Maine two months and more, and it is small
+wonder he was getting restless. Restless, though not unhappy! Bob was
+never that; for the joy of the open way was always before him, and
+whenever the impulse came, he could set sail and be off.</p>
+
+<p>The meadows of Maine had been his choice for his honeymoon, and a glad
+time of it he and May had had with their snug little home of woven
+grass. That home was like an anchor to them both, and held their hearts
+fast during the days it had taken to make five grown-sized birds out of
+five eggs. But now that their sons and daughters were strong of wing and
+fully dressed in traveling suits like their mother's, it was well that
+Bob had put off his gay wedding clothes and donned a garb of about the
+same sort as that worn by the rest of his family; for dull colors are
+much the best for trips.</p>
+
+<p>Now that they were properly dressed, there was nothing left to see to,
+except to join the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds. Of course no one can be a
+member of this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> band without the password; but there was nothing about
+that to worry Bob. When any of them came near, he called, "Chink," and
+the gathering flock would sing out a cheery "Chink" in reply: and that
+is the way he and his family were initiated into the Band of Bobolink
+Vagabonds. Anyone who can say "Chink" may join this merry company. That
+is, anyone who can pronounce it with just exactly the right sound!</p>
+
+<p>So, with a flutter of pleasant excitement, they were gone. Off, they
+were, for a land that lies south of the Amazon, and with no more to say
+about it than, "Chink."</p>
+
+<p>No trunk, no ticket, no lunch-box; and the land they would seek was four
+thousand miles or more away! Poor little Bob! had he but tapped at the
+door of Man with his farewell "Chink," someone could have let him see a
+map of his journey. For men have printed time-tables of the Bobolink
+Route, with maps to show what way it lies, and with the different
+Stations marked where food and rest can be found. The names of some of
+the most important Stations that a bobolink, starting from Maine, should
+stop at on the way to Brazil and Paraguay, are Maryland, South Carolina,
+Florida, Cuba, Jamaica, and Venezuela.</p>
+
+<p>Does it seem a pity that the little ignorant bird started off without
+knowing even the name of one of these places? Ah, no! A journeying
+bobolink needs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> no advice. "Poor," indeed! Why, Bob had a gift that made
+him fortunate beyond the understanding of men. Nature has dealt
+generously with Man, to be sure, giving him power to build ships for the
+sea and the air, and trains for the land, whereon he may go, and power
+to print time-tables to guide the time of travel. But to Bob also, who
+could do none of these things, Nature had, nevertheless, been generous,
+and had given him power to go four thousand miles without losing his
+way, though he had neither chart nor compass. What it would be like to
+have this gift, we can hardly even guess&mdash;we who get lost in the woods a
+mile from home, and wander in bewildered circles, not knowing where to
+turn! We can no more know how Bob found his way than the born-deaf can
+know the sound of a merry tune, or the born-blind can know the look of a
+sunset sky. Some people think that, besides the five senses given to a
+man, Nature gave one more to the bobolink&mdash;a sixth gift, called a "sense
+of direction."</p>
+
+<p>A wonderful gift for a vagabond! To journey hither and yon with never a
+fear of being lost! To go forty hundred miles and never miss the way! To
+sail over land and over sea,&mdash;over meadow and forest and mountain,&mdash;and
+reach the homeland, far south of the Amazon, at just the right time! To
+travel by starlight as well as by sunshine, without once mistaking the
+path!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>By starlight? What, Bob, who had frolicked and chuckled through the
+bright June days, and dozed o' nights so quietly that never a passing
+owl could see a motion to tempt a chase?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, when he joined the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds, the gates of the
+night, which had been closed to him by Sleep, were somehow thrown open,
+and Bob was free to journey, not only where he would, but when he
+would&mdash;neither darkness nor daylight having power to stop him then.</p>
+
+<p>Is it strange that his wings quivered with the joy of voyaging as surely
+as the sails of a boat tighten in the tugging winds?</p>
+
+<p>What would you give to see this miracle&mdash;a bobolink flying through the
+night? For it has been seen; there being men who go and watch, when
+their calendars tell them 't is time for birds to take their southward
+flight. Their eyes are too feeble to see such sights unaided; so they
+look through a telescope toward the full round moon, and then they can
+see the birds that pass between them and the light. Like a procession
+they go&mdash;the bobolinks and other migrants, too; for the night sky is
+filled with travelers when birds fly south.</p>
+
+<p>But though we could not see them, we should know when they are on their
+way because of their voices. What would you give to hear this miracle&mdash;a
+bobolink<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> calling his watchword through the night? For it has been
+heard; there being men who go to the hilltops and listen.</p>
+
+<p>As they hear, now and again, wanderers far above them calling, "Chink,"
+one to another, they know the bobolinks are on their way to a land that
+lies south of the Amazon, and that neither sleep nor darkness bars their
+path, which is open before them to take when and where they will.</p>
+
+<p>And yet Bob and his comrades did not hasten. The year was long enough
+for pleasure by the way. He and May had worked busily to bring up a
+family of five fine sons and daughters early in the summer; and now that
+their children were able to look out for themselves, there was no reason
+why the birds should not have some idle, care-free hours.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/i201.jpg" width="450" height="426" alt="It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Besides, it was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds, a ceremony that
+must be performed during the first weeks of the Migrant Flight; for it
+is a custom of the bobolinks, come down to them through no one knows how
+many centuries, to hold a farewell feast before leaving North America.
+If you will glance at a map of the Bobolink Route, you will see the
+names of the states they passed through. Our travelers did not know
+these names; but for all that, they found the Great Rice Trail and
+followed it. They found wild rice in the swamps of Maryland and the
+neighboring states. In South Carolina they found acres of cultivated
+rice. For rice is the favorite food during the Feast of the Vagabonds,
+and to them Nature has a special way of serving it. This same grain is
+eaten in many lands; taken in one way or another, it is said to be the
+principal food of about one half of all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> the people in the world. Bob
+didn't eat his in soup or pudding or chop-suey. He used neither spoon
+nor chop-sticks. He took his in the good old-fashioned way of his own
+folk&mdash;unripe, as most of us take our sweet corn, green and in the
+tender, milky stage, fresh from the stalk. He had been having a rather
+heavy meat diet in Maine, the meadow insects being abundant, and he
+relished the change. There was doubtless a good healthy reason for the
+ceremony of the Feast of the Vagabonds, as anyone who saw Bob may have
+guessed; for by the time he left South Carolina he was as fat as butter.</p>
+
+<p>In following the Great Rice Trail, Bob went over the same road that he
+had taken the spring before when he was northward bound; but one could
+hardly believe him to be the same bird, for he looked different and he
+acted differently. In the late summer, the departing bird was dull of
+hue and, except for a few notes that once in a great while escaped him,
+like some nearly forgotten echo of the spring, he had no more music in
+him than his mate, May. And when they went southward, they went all
+together&mdash;the fathers and mothers and sons and daughters in one great
+company.</p>
+
+<p>In the spring it had all been different: Bob had come north with his
+vagabond brothers a bit ahead of the sister-folk. And the vagabond
+brothers had been gay of garb&mdash;fresh black and white, with a touch of
+buff.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> And Bob and his band had been gay of voice. The flock of them had
+gathered in tree-tops and flooded the day with such mellow, laughing
+melodies as the world can have only in springtime&mdash;and only as long as
+the bobolinks last.</p>
+
+<p>The ways of the springtime are for the spring, and those of the autumn
+for the fall of the year. So Bob, who, when northward bound a few months
+before, had taken part in the grand Festival of Song, now that he was
+southward bound, partook of the great Feast of the Vagabonds, giving
+himself whole-heartedly to each ceremony in turn, as a bobolink should,
+for such are the time-honored customs of his folk.</p>
+
+<p>Honored for how long a time we do not know. Longer than the memory of
+man has known the rice-fields of South Carolina! Days long before that,
+when elephants trod upon that ground, did those great beasts hear the
+spring song of the bobolinks? Is the answer to that question buried in
+the rocks with the elephants? Bob didn't know. He flew over, with never
+a thought in his little head but for the Great Rice Trail leading him
+southward to Florida.</p>
+
+<p>While there, some travelers would have gone about and watched men cut
+sponges, and have found out why Florida has a Spanish name. But not Bob!
+The Feast of the Vagabonds, which had lasted well-nigh all the way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> from
+Maryland, was still being observed, and even the stupidest person can
+see that rice is better to eat than sponges or history.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as suddenly as if their "Chink, chink, chink" meant "One, two,
+three, away we go," the long feast was over, and their great flight
+again called them to wing their way into the night. How they found Cuba
+through the darkness, without knowing one star from another; what
+brought them to an island in the midst of the water that was everywhere
+alike&mdash;no man knows. But in Cuba they landed in good health and spirits.
+This was in September,&mdash;a very satisfactory time for a bird-visit,&mdash;and
+Bob and his comrades spent some little time there, it being October,
+indeed, when they arrived on the island of Jamaica. Now Jamaica, so
+people say who know the place, has a comfortable climate and thrilling
+views; but it didn't satisfy Bob. Not for long! Something south of the
+Amazon kept calling to him. Something that had called to his father and
+to his grandfather and to all his ancestors, ever since bobolinks first
+flew from North America to South America once every year.</p>
+
+<p>How many ages this has been, who knows? Perhaps ever since the icy
+glaciers left Maine and made a chance for summer meadows there. Long,
+long, long, it has been, that something south of the Amazon has called
+to bobolinks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> and brought them on their way in the fall of the year. So
+the same impulse quickened Bob's heart that had stirred all his fathers,
+back through countless seasons. The same quiver for flight came to all
+the Band of Vagabonds. Was it homesickness? We do not know.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i205.jpg" width="400" height="277" alt="Something south of the Amazon kept calling to him." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Something south of the Amazon kept calling to him.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>We only know that a night came when Bob and his companions left the
+mountains of Jamaica below them and then behind them. Far, far behind
+them lay the island, and far, far ahead the coast they sought. Five
+hundred miles between Jamaica and a chance for rest or food. Five
+hundred miles; and the night lay about and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> above them and the waters
+lay underneath. The stars shone clear, but they knew not one from
+another. No guide, no pilot, no compass, such as we can understand, gave
+aid through the hours of their flight. But do you think they were
+afraid? Afraid of the dark, of the water, of the miles? Listen, in your
+fancy, and hear them call to one another. "Chink," they say; and though
+we do not know just what this means, we can tell from the sound that it
+is not a note of fear. And why fear? There was no storm to buffet them
+that night. They passed near no dazzling lighthouse, to bewilder them.
+No danger threatened, and something called them straight and steady on
+their way.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, they were wonderful, that band! Perhaps among all living creatures
+of the world there is nothing more wonderful than a bird in his migrant
+flight&mdash;a bird whose blood is fresh with the air he breathes as only a
+bird can breathe; whose health is strong with the wholesome feast that
+he takes when and where he finds it; whose wings hold him in perfect
+flight through unweary miles; whose life is led, we know not how, on,
+on, on, and ever in the right direction.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Bob was wonderful when he flew from the mountains of Jamaica to the
+great savannas of Venezuela; but he made no fuss about it&mdash;seemed to
+feel no special pride. All he said was, "Chink," in the same
+matter-of-fact<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> way that his bobolink forefathers had spoken, back
+through all the years when they, too, had taken this same flight over
+sea in the course of their vagabond journey.</p>
+
+<p>From Venezuela to Paraguay there was no more ocean to cross, and there
+were frequent places for rest when Bob and his band desired. Groves
+there were, strange groves&mdash;some where Brazil nuts grew, and some where
+oranges were as common as apples in New England. There were chocolate
+trees and banana palms. There were pepper bushes, gay as our holly trees
+at Christmastime. Great flowering trees held out their blossom cups to
+brilliant hummingbirds hovering by hundreds all about them. Was there
+one among them with a ruby throat, like that of the hummingbird who
+feasted in the Cardinal-Flower Path near Peter Piper's home? Maybe 't
+was the self-same bird&mdash;who knows? And let's see&mdash;Peter Piper himself
+would be coming soon, would he not, to teeter and picnic along some
+pleasant Brazilian shore?</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Bob and Peter and the hummingbird, who had been summer neighbors
+in North America, would meet again now and then in that far south
+country. But I do not think they would know each other if they did. They
+had all seemed too busy with their own affairs to get acquainted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Besides the groves where the nuts and fruit and flowers grew, the
+vagabonds passed over forests so dense and tangled that Bob caught never
+a glimpse of the monkeys playing there: big brown ones, with heads of
+hair that looked like wigs, and tiny white ones, timid and gentle, and
+other kinds, too, all of them being very wise in their wild ways&mdash;as
+wise, perhaps, as a hand-organ monkey, and much, much happier.</p>
+
+<p>No, I don't think Bob saw the monkeys, but he must have caught glimpses
+of some members of the Parrot Family, for there were so many of them;
+and I'm sure he heard the racket they made when they talked together.
+One kind had feathers soft as the blue of a pale hyacinth flower, and a
+beak strong enough to crush nuts so hard-shelled that a man could not
+easily crack them with a hammer. But all that was as nothing to Bob. For
+'t was not grove or forest or beast or bird that the vagabonds were
+seeking.</p>
+
+<p>When they had crossed the Amazon River, some of the band stopped in
+places that seemed inviting. But Bob and the rest of the company went on
+till they crossed the Paraguay River; and there, in the western part of
+that country, they made themselves at home. A strange, topsy-turvy land
+it is&mdash;as queer in some ways as the Wonderland Alice entered when she
+went through the Looking-Glass; for in Paraguay January comes in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+middle of summer; and the hot, muggy winds blow from the north; and the
+cool, refreshing breezes come from the south; and some of the wood is so
+heavy that it will not float in water; and the people make tea with
+dried holly leaves! But to the Band of Vagabond Bobolinks it was not
+topsy-turvy, for it was home; and they found the Paraguay prairies as
+well suited to the comforts of their January summer as the meadows of
+the North had been for their summer of June.</p>
+
+<p>Bob was satisfied. He had flown four thousand miles from a meadow and
+had found a prairie! And if, in all that wonderful journey, he had not
+paid over much attention to anything along the way except swamps and
+marshes, do not scorn him for that. Remember always that Bob <i>found</i> his
+prairie and that Peter <i>found</i> his shore.</p>
+
+<p>It is somewhere written, "Seek and ye shall find." 'Tis so with the
+children of birds&mdash;they find what Nature has given them to seek. And is
+it so with the children of men? Never think that Nature has been less
+kind to boys and girls than to birds. Unto Bob was given the fields to
+seek, and he had no other choice. Unto Peter the shores, and that was
+all. But unto us is given a chance to choose what we will seek. If it is
+as far away as the prairies of Paraguay, shall we let a dauntless little
+vagabond put our faith to shame? If it is as near as our next-door
+meadow, shall we not find a full measure of happiness there&mdash;mixed with
+the bobolink's music of June?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 370px;">
+<img src="images/i210.jpg" width="370" height="500" alt="Nature has kept faith with him and brought him safely
+back to his meadow." title="" />
+<span class="caption"><i>Nature has kept faith with him and brought him safely
+back to his meadow.</i></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>For Bob comes back to the North again, bringing with him springtime
+melodies, which poets sing about but no human voice can mimic. Bob, who
+has dusted the dull tips from his feathers as he flew, and who, garbed
+for the brightness of our June, makes a joyful sound; for Nature has
+kept faith with him and brought him safely back to his meadow, though
+the journey from and to it numbered eight thousand miles!</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His trail is the open lane of the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the winds, they call him everywhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he wings him North, dear burbling Bob,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With throat aquiver and heart athrob;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he sings o' joy in the month of June<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough to keep the year in tune.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, when the rollicking young of his kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yearn for the paths that the vagabonds find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He leads them out over loitering ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the Southland beckons with luring days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wait till the laughter-like lilt of his song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is ripe for the North again&mdash;missing him long!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NOTES</h2>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p>
+<h3>CONSERVATION</h3>
+
+<p>We cannot read much nature literature of the present day without coming
+upon a plea, either implied or expressed, for "conservation." Even the
+child will wish to know&mdash;and there is grave need that he should
+know&mdash;why many people, and societies of people, are trying to save what
+it has so long been the common custom to waste. Boys and girls living in
+the Eastern States will be interested to know who is Ornithologist to
+the Massachusetts State Board of Agriculture, and what his duties are;
+those in the West will like to know why a publication called "California
+Fish and Game" should have for its motto, "Conservation of Wild Life
+through Education"; those between the East and the West will like to
+learn what is being done in their own states for bird or beast or
+blossom.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately the idea is not hard to grasp. Conservation is really but
+doing unto others as we would that others should do unto us&mdash;so living
+that other life also may have a fair chance. It was a child who wrote,
+from her understanding heart:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"When I do have hungry feels I feel the hungry feels the birds must be
+having. So I do have comes to tie things on the trees for them. Some
+have likes for different things. Little gray one of the black cap has
+likes for suet. And other folks has likes for other things."&mdash;From <i>The
+Story of Opal.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>CHICK, D.D.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Penthestes atricapillus</i> is the name men have given the bird who calls
+himself the "Chickadee."</p>
+
+<p><i>The Bird</i> (Beebe), page 186. "The next time you see a wee chickadee,
+calling contentedly and happily while the air makes you shiver from head
+to foot, think of the hard-shelled frozen insects passing down his
+throat, the icy air entering lungs and air-sacs, and ponder a moment on
+the wondrous little laboratory concealed in his mite of a body, which
+his wings bear up with so little effort, which his tiny legs support,
+now hopping along a branch, now suspended from some wormy twig.</p>
+
+<p>"Can we do aught but silently marvel at this alchemy? A little bundle of
+muscle and blood, which in this freezing weather can transmute frozen
+beetles and zero air into a happy, cheery little Black-capped Chickadee,
+as he names himself, whose trustfulness warms our hearts!</p>
+
+<p>"And the next time you raise your gun to needlessly take a feathered
+life, think of the marvellous little engine which your lead will stifle
+forever; lower your weapon and look into the clear bright eyes of the
+bird whose body equals yours in physical perfection, and whose tiny
+brain can generate a sympathy, a love for its mate, which in sincerity
+and unselfishness suffers little when compared with human affection."</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Studies with a Camera</i> (Chapman), pages 47-61.</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Nature-Study</i> (Comstock), pages 66-68.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nature Songs and Stories</i> (Creighton), pages 3-5.</p>
+
+<p><i>American Birds</i> (Finley), pages 15-22.</p>
+
+<p><i>Winter</i> (Sharp), chapter <span class="smcap">vi</span>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 61.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+<p>This story was first published in the <i>Progressive Teacher</i>, December,
+1920.</p>
+
+
+<h4>THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE</h4>
+
+<p><i>Larus argentatus</i>, the Herring Gull.</p>
+
+<p>Larie's "policeman," like Ardea's "soldier," is usually called a
+"warden." No thoughtful or informed person can look upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> "bird study"
+as merely a pleasant pastime for children and a harmless fad for the
+outdoor man and woman. It is a matter that touches, not only the
+&aelig;sthetic, but the economic welfare of the country: a matter that has
+concern for legislators and presidents as well as for naturalists. In
+this connection it is helpful to read some such discussion as is given
+in the first four references.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Study Book</i> (Pearson), pages 101-213; 200.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds in their Relation to Man</i> (Weed and Dearborn), pages 255-330.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird-Lore</i>, vol. 22, pages 376-380.</p>
+
+<p><i>Useful Birds and their Protection</i> (Forbush), pages 354-421.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of Ohio</i> (Dawson), pages 548-551; "Herring Gull."</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Book</i> (Eckstorm), pages 23-29; "The Herring Gull."</p>
+
+<p><i>American Birds</i> (Finley), pages 211-217; "Gull Habits."</p>
+
+<p><i>Game-Laws for 1920</i> (Lawyer and Earnshaw), pages 68-75; "Migratory-Bird
+Treaty Act."</p>
+
+<p><i>Tales from Birdland</i> (Pearson), pages 3-27; "Hardheart, the Gull."</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 29</i>; "The Herring Gull." (National Association
+of Audubon Societies.)</p>
+
+
+<h4>PETER PIPER</h4>
+
+<p><i>Actitis macularia</i>, the Spotted Sandpiper.</p>
+
+<p>Educational Leaflet No. 51. (National Association of Audubon Societies.)</p>
+
+<p>"A leisurely little flight to Brazil."</p>
+
+<p>Peter, the gypsy, and Bob, the vagabond, are both famous travelers, and
+might have passed each other on the way, coming and going, in Venezuela
+and in Brazil. Peter, like Bob, is a night migrant, stopping in the
+daytime for rest and food.</p>
+
+<p>For references to literature on bird-migration, the list under the notes
+to "Bob, the Vagabond," may be used.</p>
+
+
+<h4>GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE</h4>
+
+<p><i>Gavia immer</i>, the Loon.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Bird</i> (Beebe). "Hesperornis&mdash;a wingless, toothed, diving bird,
+about 5 feet in length, which inhabited the great seas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> during the
+Cretaceous period, some four millions of years ago." (Legend under
+colored frontispiece.)</p>
+
+<p><i>Life Histories of North American Diving Birds</i> (Bent), pages 47-60.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Book</i> (Eckstorm), pages 9-13.</p>
+
+<p><i>By-Ways and Bird-Notes</i> (Thompson), pages 170-71. "The cretaceous birds
+of America all appear to be aquatic, and comprise some eight or a dozen
+genera, and many species. Professor Marsh and others have found in
+Kansas a large number of most interesting fossil birds, one of them, a
+gigantic loon-like creature, six feet in length from beak to toe, taken
+from the yellow chalk of the Smoky Hill River region and from calcareous
+shale near Fort Wallace, is named <i>Hesperornis regalis</i>."</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 78.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+<p>If twenty years of undisputed possession seems long enough to give a man
+a legal title to "his" land, surely birds have a claim too ancient to be
+ignored by modern beings. Are we not in honor bound to share what we
+have so recently considered "ours," with the creatures that inherited
+the earth before the coming of their worst enemy, Civilization? And in
+so far as lies within our power, shall we not protect the free, wild
+feathered folk from ourselves?</p>
+
+
+<h4>EVE AND PETRO</h4>
+
+<p><i>Petrochelidon lunifrons</i>, Cliff-Swallow, Eave-Swallow.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Studies with a Camera</i> (Chapman), pages 89-105; "Where Swallows
+Roost."</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Nature-Study</i> (Comstock), pages 112-113.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Migration</i> (Cooke), pages 5, 9, 19-20, 26, 27; Fig. 6.</p>
+
+<p><i>Our Greatest Travelers</i> (Cooke), page 349; "Migration Route of the
+Cliff Swallows."</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Book</i> (Eckstorm), pages 201-12.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird-Lore</i>, vol. 21, page 175; "Helping Barn and Cliff Swallows to
+Nest."</p>
+
+
+<h4>UNCLE SAM</h4>
+
+<p><i>Hali&aelig;etus leucocephalus</i>, the Bald Eagle.</p>
+
+<p><i>Stories of Bird Life</i> (Pearson), pages 71-80; "A Pair of Eagles."</p>
+
+<p><i>The Fall of the Year</i> (Sharp), chapter <span class="smcap">v</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 82.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+<p>At the time this story goes to press, our national emblem is threatened
+with extermination. The following references indicate the situation in
+1920:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><i>Conservationist, The,</i> vol. 3, pages 60-61; "Our National Emblem."</p>
+
+<p><i>National Geographic Magazine,</i> vol. 38, page 466.</p>
+
+<p><i>Natural History,</i> vol. 20, pages 259 and 334; "The Dead Eagles of
+Alaska now number 8356."</p>
+
+<p><i>Science</i>, vol. 50, pages 81-84; "Zo&ouml;logical Aims and Opportunities," by
+Willard G. Van Name.</p>
+
+
+<h4>CORBIE</h4>
+
+<p><i>Corvus brachyrhynchos</i>, the Crow.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Bird</i> (Beebe), pages 153, 158, 172, 200-01, 209. "When the brain of
+a bird is compared with that of a mammal, there is seen to be a
+conspicuous difference, since the outer surface is perfectly smooth in
+birds, but is wound about in convolutions in the higher four-footed
+animals. This latter condition is said to indicate a greater degree of
+intelligence; but when we look at the brain of a young musk-ox or
+walrus, and find convolutions as deep as those of a five-year-old child,
+and when we compare the wonderfully varied life of birds, and realize
+what resource and intelligence they frequently display in adapting
+themselves to new or untried conditions, a smooth brain does not seem
+such an inferior organ as is often inferred by writers on the subject. I
+would willingly match a crow against a walrus any day in a test of
+intelligent behavior.... A crow... though with horny, shapeless lips,
+nose, and mouth, looks at us through eyes so expressive, so human, that
+no wonder man's love has gone out to feathered creatures throughout all
+his life on the earth."</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Nature-Study</i> (Comstock), pages 129-32.</p>
+
+<p><i>American Birds</i> (Finley), pages 69-77; "Jack Crow."</p>
+
+<p><i>The Crow and its Relation to Man</i> (Kalmbach).</p>
+
+<p><i>Outdoor Studies</i> (Needham), pages 47-53; "Not so Black as he is
+Painted."</p>
+
+<p><i>Tales from Birdland</i> (Pearson), pages 128-52; "Jim Crow of Cow
+Heaven."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Our Backdoor Neighbors</i> (Pellett), pages 181-98; "A Jolly Old Crow."</p>
+
+<p><i>Our Birds and their Nestlings</i> (Walker), pages 76-85; "The Children of
+a Crow."</p>
+
+<p><i>The Story of Opal</i> (Whiteley); "Lars Porsena."</p>
+
+<p><i>Gray Lady and the Birds</i> (Wright), pages 114-28.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Lore</i>, vol. 22 (1919), pages 203-04; "A Nation-Wide Effort to
+Destroy Crows."</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 77.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+
+<h4>ARDEA'S SOLDIER</h4>
+
+<p>Ardea's scientific name used to be <i>Ardea candidissima</i>, and the older
+references to this bird will be found under that name, though at present
+it is known as <i>Egretta candidissima</i>. It is commonly called the Snowy
+Egret, or the Snowy Heron. The other white heron wearing "aigrettes" is
+<i>Herodias egretta</i>. Ardea's "soldier," like Larie's "policeman," is
+usually spoken of as a "warden." With reference to this story there is
+much of interest in the following:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Study Book</i> (Pearson), pages 140-66, "The Traffic in Feathers";
+pages 167-89, "Bird Protection Laws"; pages 190-213, "Bird
+Reservations": pages 244-58, "Junior Audubon Classes."</p>
+
+<p><i>Stories of Bird Life</i> (Pearson), pages 153-60; "Levy, the Story of an
+Egret."</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds in their Relation to Man</i> (Weed and Dearborn), pages 237-38.</p>
+
+<p><i>Gray Lady and the Birds</i> (Wright), pages 67-80; "Feathers and Hats."</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflets Nos. 54 and 54A;</i> "The Egret" and "The Snowy
+Egret." (National Association of Audubon Societies.)</p>
+
+<p>To Mr. T. Gilbert Pearson, who has visited more egret colonies than any
+other person in the country, and who, in leading fights for their
+protection, has kept in very close touch with the egret situation, an
+expression of indebtedness and appreciation is due for his kindness in
+reading "Ardea's Soldier" while yet in manuscript, and for certain
+suggestions with reference to the story.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>THE FLYING CLOWN</h4>
+
+<p><i>Chordeiles virginianus</i>, the Nighthawk or Bull-bat.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Migration</i> (Cooke), pages 5, 7, 9.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nature Sketches in Temperate America</i> (Hancock), pages 246-48.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds in their Relation to Man</i> (Weed and Dearborn), pages 178-80.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird-Lore</i>, vol. 20 (1918), page 285.</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 1.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+
+<h4>THE LOST DOVE</h4>
+
+<p><i>Ectopistes migratorius</i>, the Passenger Pigeon.</p>
+
+<p>"How can a billion doves be lost?"</p>
+
+<p><i>History of North American Birds</i> (Baird, Brewer and Ridgway), vol. 3,
+pages 368-74.</p>
+
+<p><i>Michigan Bird Life</i> (Barrows), pages 238-51.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds that Hunt and are Hunted</i> (Blanchan), pages 294-96.</p>
+
+<p><i>Travels of Birds</i> (Chapman), pages 73-74.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of Ohio</i> (Dawson and Jones), pages 425-27.</p>
+
+<p><i>Passenger Pigeon</i> (Mershon).</p>
+
+<p><i>Natural History of the Farm</i> (Needham), pages 114-15. "The wild pigeon
+was the first of our fine game birds to disappear. Its social habits
+were its undoing, when once guns were brought to its pursuit. It flew in
+great flocks, which were conspicuous and noisy, and which the hunter
+could follow by eye and ear, and mow down with shot at every
+resting-place. One generation of Americans found pigeons in
+'inexhaustible supply'; the next saw them vanish&mdash;vanish so quickly,
+that few museums even sought to keep specimens of their skins or their
+nests or their eggs; the third generation (which we represent) marvels
+at the true tales of their aforetime abundance, and at the swiftness of
+their passing; and it allows the process of extermination to go on only
+a little more slowly with other fine native species."</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Study Book</i> (Pearson), pages 128-29. "Passenger Pigeons as late as
+1870 were frequently seen in enormous flocks. Their numbers during the
+periods of migration were one of the greatest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> ornithological wonders of
+the world. Now the birds are gone. What is supposed to have been the
+last one died in captivity in the Zo&ouml;logical Park of Cincinnati, at 2
+<span class="smcap">p.m.</span> on the afternoon of September 1, 1914. Despite the generally
+accepted statement that these birds succumbed to the guns, snares, and
+nets of hunters, there is a second cause, which doubtless had its effect
+in hastening the disappearance of the species. The cutting away of vast
+forests, where the birds were accustomed to gather and feed on mast,
+greatly restricted their feeding range. They collected in enormous
+colonies for the purpose of rearing their young; and after the forests
+of the Northern states were so largely destroyed, the birds seem to have
+been driven far up into Canada, quite beyond their usual breeding range.
+Here, as Forbush suggests, the summer probably was not sufficiently long
+to enable them to rear their young successfully."</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds in their Relation to Man</i> (Weed and Dearborn), pages 219-22.</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 6.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.) "Those who study with care the history of the extermination
+of the Pigeons will see, however, that all the theories brought forward
+to account for the destruction of the birds by other causes than man's
+agency are wholly inadequate. There was but one cause for the diminution
+of the birds, which was widespread, annual, perennial, continuous, and
+enormously destructive&mdash;their persecution by mankind. Every great
+nesting-ground was besieged by a host of people as soon as it was
+discovered, many of them professional pigeoners, armed with all the most
+effective engines of slaughter known. Many times the birds were so
+persecuted that they finally left their young to the mercies of the
+pigeoners; and even when they remained, most of the young were killed
+and sent to the market, and the hosts of the adults were decimated."</p>
+
+
+<h4>LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS</h4>
+
+<p><i>Otus asio</i>, the Screech Owl, are the scientific and common names of our
+little friend Solomon. Perhaps the fact that owls stand upright and gaze
+at one with both eyes to the front, accounts in part for their looking
+so wise that they have been used as a symbol of wisdom for many
+centuries.</p>
+
+<p>In the Library of Congress in Washington, there is a picture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> called
+"The Boy of Winander." When looking at this, or some copy of it, it is
+pleasant to remember the lines of Wordsworth's poem:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And islands of Winander!&mdash;many a time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At evening, when the earliest stars began<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To move along the edges of the hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rising or setting, would he stand alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blew music hootings to the silent owls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That they might answer him.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Following are a few references to Screech Owls:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Nature-Study</i> (Comstock), pages 104-07.</p>
+
+<p><i>Some Common Game, Aquatic and Rapacious Birds</i> (McAtee and Beal), pages
+27-28.</p>
+
+<p><i>Our Backdoor Neighbors</i> (Pellet), pages 63-74; "The Neighborly Screech
+Owls."</p>
+
+<p><i>My Pets</i> (Saunders), pages 11-33.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds in their Relation to Man</i> (Weed and Dearborn), page 199.</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 11.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+
+<h4>BOB, THE VAGABOND</h4>
+
+<p><i>Dolichonyx oryzivorus</i>, the Bobolink.</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflet No. 38.</i> (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)</p>
+
+<p><i>The Bobolink Route</i></p>
+
+<p>Maps, showing the route of migrant bobolinks may be found in <i>Bird,
+Migration</i> (Cooke), page 6;</p>
+
+<p><i>Our Greatest Travelers</i> (Cooke), page 365.</p>
+
+<p>Other interesting accounts of bird-migrations may be found in <i>Travels
+of Birds</i> (Chapman).</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Study Book</i> (Pearson), chapter <span class="smcap">IV</span>.</p>
+
+<p>History tells us when Columbus discovered Cuba and when Sebastian Cabot
+sailed up the Paraguay River; but when bobolinks discovered that island,
+or first crossed that river, no man can ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> know. The physical
+perfection that permits such journeys as birds take is cause for
+admiration. In this connection much of interest will be found in</p>
+
+<p><i>The Bird</i> (Beebe), chapter <span class="smcap">VII</span>, "The Breath of a Bird," from which we
+make a brief quotation. "Birds require, comparatively, a vastly greater
+strength and 'wind' in traversing such a thin, unsupporting medium as
+air than animals need for terrestrial locomotion. Even more wonderful
+than mere flight is the performance of a bird when it springs from the
+ground, and goes circling upward higher and higher on rapidly beating
+wings, all the while pouring forth a continuous series of musical
+notes.... A human singer is compelled to put forth all his energy in his
+vocal efforts; and if, while singing, he should start on a run even on
+level ground, he Would become exhausted at once.... The average person
+uses only about one seventh of his lung capacity in ordinary breathing,
+the rest of the air remaining at the bottom of the lung, being termed
+'residual.' As this is vitiated by its stay in the lung, it does harm
+rather than good by its presence.... As we have seen, the lungs of a
+bird are small and non-elastic, but this is more than compensated by the
+continuous passage of fresh air, passing not only into but entirely
+<i>through</i> the lungs into the air-sacs, giving, therefore, the very best
+chance for oxygenation to take place in every portion of the lungs. When
+we compare the estimated number of breaths which birds and men take in a
+minute,&mdash;thirteen to sixteen in the latter, twenty to sixty in
+birds,&mdash;we realize better how birds can perform such wonderful feats of
+song and flight."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A BOOK LIST</h2>
+
+
+<p>For getting acquainted with birds, we no more need books than we need
+books for getting acquainted with people. One bird, if rightly
+known,&mdash;as with one person understood,&mdash;will teach us more than we can
+learn by reading. But since no one has time to learn for himself more
+than a few things about many birds, or many things about a few birds, it
+is pleasant and companionable and helpful to have even a second-hand
+share in what other people have learned. For myself, I like to watch
+both the bird in the bush through my own eyes and the bird in the book
+through the eyes of some other observer. So it seems but fair to share
+the names of books that have interested me in one way or another during
+the preparation of my own. If it seems to anyone a short list, I can but
+say that I do not know all the good books about birds, and therefore
+many (and perhaps some of the best) have been omitted. If it seems to
+anyone a long list, I would suggest that, if it contains more than you
+may find in your public library, or more than you care to put on your
+own shelves, or more than can be secured for the school library, the
+list may be helpful for selection&mdash;perhaps some of them will be where
+you can find and use them. Certain of them, as their titles indicate,
+are devoted exclusively to birds; and others include other outdoor
+things as well&mdash;as happens many a time when we start out on a bird-quest
+of our own, and find other treasures, too, in plenty.</p>
+
+<p>If I could have but two of the books on the list, they would be "The
+Story of Opal," the nature-word of a child who well may lead us, and
+"Handbook of Nature-Study," the nature-word of a wise teacher of
+teachers.</p>
+
+
+<h4>BOOKS, BULLETINS, AND LEAFLETS</h4>
+
+<p><i>American Birds</i>, Studied and Photographed from Life. <span class="smcap">Lovell Finley</span>.
+Charles Scribner's Sons.</p>
+
+<p><i>Attracting Birds about the Home.</i> Bulletin No. 1: The National
+Association of Audubon Societies.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird, The.</i> <span class="smcap">C. William Beebe</span>. Henry Holt and Company</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Book.</i> <span class="smcap">Fannie Hardy Eckstorm</span>. D. C. Heath &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Houses and How to Build Them.</i> <span class="smcap">Ned Dearborn</span>. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture; Farmer's Bulletin 609.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Migration.</i> <span class="smcap">Wells W. Cooke</span>. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Bulletin
+185.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Neighbors.</i> <span class="smcap">Neltje Blanchan</span>. Doubleday, Page &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Studies with a Camera.</i> <span class="smcap">Frank M. Chapman</span>. D. Appleton &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bird Study Book.</i> <span class="smcap">T. Gilbert Pearson</span>. Doubleday, Page &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds in their Relation to Man.</i> <span class="smcap">Clarence M. Weed</span> and <span class="smcap">Ned Dearborn</span>. J.
+B. Lippincott Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of Maine.</i> <span class="smcap">Ora Willis Knight</span>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of New York.</i> <span class="smcap">Elon Howard Eaton</span>. Memoir 12; N.Y. State Museum.</p>
+
+<p>(The 106 colored plates by Louis Agassiz Fuertes can be secured
+separately.)</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of Ohio.</i> <span class="smcap">William Leon Dawson</span>. The Wheaton Publishing Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of Village and Field.</i> <span class="smcap">Florence A. Merriam</span>. Houghton Mifflin Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Birds of the United States,</i> East of the Rocky Mountains. <span class="smcap">Austin C.
+Apgar</span>. American Book Company.</p>
+
+<p><i>Burgess Bird Book for Children.</i> <span class="smcap">Thornton W. Burgess</span>. Little, Brown &amp;
+Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>By-Ways and Bird Notes.</i> <span class="smcap">Maurice Thompson</span>. United States Book Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Chronology and Index of the More Important Events in American Game
+Protection,</i> 1776-1911. <span class="smcap">T. S. Palmer</span>. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture;
+Biological Survey Bulletin 41.</p>
+
+<p><i>Common Birds of Town and Country.</i> National Geographic Society.</p>
+
+<p><i>Conservation Reader.</i> <span class="smcap">Harold W. Fairbanks</span>. World Book Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Crow, The, and its Relation to Man.</i> <span class="smcap">E. R. Kalmbach</span>. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture; Bulletin 621.</p>
+
+<p><i>Educational Leaflets</i> of The National Association of Audubon Societies.</p>
+
+<p>More than one hundred of these have been issued, each giving an
+illustrated account of a bird. (These are for sale at a few cents each,
+and a list may be obtained upon application to the National
+Association.)</p>
+
+<p><i>Everyday Adventures.</i> <span class="smcap">Samuel Scoville, Jr.</span> The Atlantic Monthly Press.</p>
+
+<p><i>Fall of the Year, The.</i> <span class="smcap">Dallas Lore Sharp</span>. Houghton Mifflin Co.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Federal Protection of Migratory Birds.</i> <span class="smcap">George A. Lawyer</span>. Separate from
+Yearbook of the Dept. of Agriculture, 1918, No. 785.</p>
+
+<p><i>Food of Some Well-Known Birds of Forest, Farm, and Garden.</i> <span class="smcap">F. E. L.
+Beal</span> and <span class="smcap">W. L. McAtee</span>. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers' Bulletin 506.</p>
+
+<p><i>Game Laws for 1920.</i> U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers' Bulletin 1138.</p>
+
+<p><i>Gray Lady and the Birds.</i> <span class="smcap">Mabel Osgood Wright.</span> The Macmillan Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America.</i> <span class="smcap">Frank M. Chapman</span>. D.
+Appleton &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Birds of Western United States.</i> <span class="smcap">Florence M. Bailey</span>.
+Houghton Mifflin Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Handbook of Nature-Study.</i> <span class="smcap">Anna Botsford Comstock</span>. Comstock Publishing
+Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Hardenbergh's Bird Playmates.</i> Charles Scribner's Sons. Two sets: Land
+Birds and Water Birds. (Two large scenic backgrounds in color, with
+colored birds that can be slipped into place to complete the picture;
+for use during bird lessons, as a record of birds seen by the children,
+etc.)</p>
+
+<p><i>History of North American Birds.</i> <span class="smcap">S. F. Baird</span>, <span class="smcap">T. M. Brewer</span>, and <span class="smcap">R.
+Ridgway</span>. Three volumes. Little, Brown &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Life Histories of North American Diving Birds.</i> <span class="smcap">Arthur Cleveland Bent</span>.
+U.S. National Museum Bulletin 107.</p>
+
+<p><i>Michigan Bird Life.</i> <span class="smcap">Walter Bradford Barrows</span>. Michigan Agricultural
+College.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mother Nature's Children.</i> <span class="smcap">Allen Walton Gould</span>. Ginn &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>My Pets.</i> <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>. The Griffith and Rowland Press.</p>
+
+<p><i>Natural History of the Farm.</i> <span class="smcap">James G. Needham</span>. The Comstock Publishing
+Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nature Sketches in Temperate America.</i> <span class="smcap">Joseph Lane Hancock</span>. A. C.
+McClurg Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nature Songs and Stories.</i> <span class="smcap">Katherine Creighton</span>. The Comstock Publishing
+Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nestlings of Forest and Marsh.</i> <span class="smcap">Irene Grosvenor Wheelock</span>. Atkinson,
+Mentzer, and Grover.</p>
+
+<p><i>Our Backdoor Neighbors.</i> <span class="smcap">Frank C. Pellett</span>. The Abingdon Press.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Our Birds and their Nestlings.</i> <span class="smcap">Margaret Coulson Walker</span>. American Book
+Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Our Greatest Travelers.</i> <span class="smcap">Wells W. Cooke</span>. (Reprinted in <i>Common Birds of
+Town and Country.</i>)</p>
+
+<p><i>Outdoor Studies.</i> <span class="smcap">James G. Needham</span>. American Book Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Passenger Pigeon, The.</i> <span class="smcap">W. B. Mershon</span>. The Outing Publishing Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Primer of Bird-Study.</i> <span class="smcap">Ernest Ingersoll</span>. The National Association of
+Audubon Societies.</p>
+
+<p><i>Propagation of Wild-Duck Foods.</i> <span class="smcap">W. L. McAtee</span>. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture Bulletin 465.</p>
+
+<p><i>Sharp Eyes.</i> <span class="smcap">William Hamilton Gibson</span>. Harper and Brothers.</p>
+
+<p><i>Short Cuts and By-Paths.</i> <span class="smcap">Horace Lunt</span>. D. Lothrop Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Some Common Game, Aquatic, and Rapacious Birds in Relation to Man.</i> <span class="smcap">W.
+L. McAtee</span> and <span class="smcap">F. E. L. Beal</span>. U. S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers'
+Bulletin 497.</p>
+
+<p><i>Spring of the Year, The.</i> <span class="smcap">Dallas Lore Sharp</span>. Houghton Mifflin Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Stories of Bird Life.</i> <span class="smcap">T. Gilbert Pearson</span>. B. F. Johnson Publishing Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Story of Opal, The.</i> <span class="smcap">Opal Whiteley</span>. G. P. Putnam's Sons. (The Journal
+of a child, who watched the comings and the goings of the little
+wood-folk and waved greetings to the plant-bush-folk, and who danced
+when the wind did play the harps in the forest&mdash;this being "a very
+wonderful world to live in.")</p>
+
+<p><i>Summer.</i> <span class="smcap">Dallas Lore Sharp</span>. Houghton Mifflin Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Tales from Birdland.</i> <span class="smcap">T. Gilbert Pearson</span>. Doubleday, Page &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Travels of Birds.</i> <span class="smcap">Frank M. Chapman</span>. D. Appleton and Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Useful Birds and their Protection.</i> <span class="smcap">Edward H. Forbush</span>. Massachusetts
+Board of Agriculture.</p>
+
+<p><i>Wild Life Conservation.</i> <span class="smcap">William T. Hornaday</span>. Yale University Press.</p>
+
+<p><i>Winter.</i> <span class="smcap">Dallas Lore Sharp</span>. Houghton Mifflin Co.</p>
+
+<p><i>Wit of the Wild.</i> <span class="smcap">Ernest Ingersoll</span>. Dodd, Mead &amp; Co.</p>
+
+
+<h4>PERIODICALS</h4>
+
+<p><i>Bird-Lore.</i> Official Organ of the Audubon Societies. D. Appleton &amp; Co.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Conservationist, The.</i> New York State Conservation Commission, Albany.</p>
+
+<p><i>Guide to Nature, The.</i> The Agassiz Association, Arcadia, Sound Beach,
+Conn.</p>
+
+<p><i>Natural History.</i> Journal of the American Museum of Natural History.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nature-Study Review.</i> Official Organ of the American Nature-Study
+Society, Ithaca, New York.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bird Stories, by Edith M. Patch
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,5281 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bird Stories, by Edith M. Patch
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bird Stories
+
+Author: Edith M. Patch
+
+Illustrator: Robert J. Sim
+
+Release Date: May 26, 2008 [EBook #25600]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Josephine Paolucci
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BIRD STORIES
+
+[Illustration: _Chick, D.D. in his pulpit._]
+
+
+
+
+_LITTLE GATEWAYS TO SCIENCE_
+
+BIRD STORIES
+
+BY EDITH M. PATCH
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+
+ROBERT J. SIM
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BOSTON
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+1926
+
+Copyright, 1921, by
+
+THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS
+
+First Impression, May, 1921
+Second Impression, May, 1922
+Third Impression, March, 1926
+
+THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS PUBLICATIONS
+
+ARE PUBLISHED BY
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+
+IN ASSOCIATION WITH
+
+THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY
+
+
+_Printed in the United States of America_
+
+TO
+
+JUNIOR AUDUBON CLASSES
+
+AND TO
+
+ALL OTHER BOYS AND GIRLS THROUGHOUT THE
+LAND WHO ARE FRIENDLY TO BIRDS
+
+
+
+
+ACKNOWLEDGMENT
+
+
+For help in planning this book, for sharing his bird-notes with the
+writer, and for a critical reading of the manuscript, acknowledgment
+should be made to Mr. Robert J. Sim. Certain events in the lives of Eve
+and Petro and little Solomon Otus are told with reference to his
+observations of eave-swallows and screech owls; his trip to an island
+off the Maine coast for gull-sketches added greatly to an acquaintance
+with Larie; and but for his six-weeks' visit with the loons of "Immer
+Lake," much of the story of Gavia could not have been told. Since Mr.
+Sim contributed not only the pictures to the book, but many items of
+interest to the narrative, it gives the writer pleasure to acknowledge
+his cooperation, both as artist and as field-naturalist.
+
+EDITH M. PATCH
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+I. CHICK, D.D.                     1
+
+II. THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE      18
+
+III. PETER PIPER                  33
+
+IV. GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE           49
+
+V. EVE AND PETRO                  66
+
+VI. UNCLE SAM                     86
+
+VII. CORBIE                      100
+
+VIII. ARDEA'S SOLDIER            121
+
+IX. THE FLYING CLOWN             133
+
+X. THE LOST DOVE                 150
+
+XI. LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS          163
+
+XII. BOB, THE VAGABOND           180
+
+NOTES
+
+CONSERVATION                     198
+
+NOTES TO THE STORIES             199
+
+A BOOK LIST                      208
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+_Chick, D.D. in his pulpit_            _Frontispiece_
+
+_Firs that pointed to the sky_                       2
+
+_"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm"_                4
+
+_Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds_         25
+
+_Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to
+whom he talked pleasantly_                          28
+
+_After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into
+the air and then drop it_                           30
+
+_It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate
+lived that spring_                                  31
+
+_One was named Peter, for his father_               34
+
+_The spot she teetered to most of all_              43
+
+_Dallying happily along the river-edge_             47
+
+_Immer Lake_                                        51
+
+_Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells,
+hidden among the rushes_                            53
+
+_While their children were napping, Gavia and
+Father Loon went to a party_                        61
+
+_At Work in the Plaster Pit_                        72
+
+_The Hunting Flight_                                74
+
+_They always chatted a bit and then went on with
+their work, placing their plaster carefully_        77
+
+_Quaint Clay Pottery_                               81
+
+_A Famous Landmark_                                 85
+
+_Above all other creatures of this great land he had
+been honored_                                       87
+
+_The Yankee-Doodle Twins_                           90
+
+_In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs_            101
+
+_"Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to
+sun-down_                                          109
+
+_Corbie slipped off and amused himself_            116
+
+_She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes
+of rare beauty_                                    122
+
+_Near Ardea's Home_                                124
+
+_That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear
+home, and they both guarded it_                    127
+
+_The Flying Clown_                                 135
+
+_Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding
+days_                                              141
+
+_The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage_                                        144
+
+_Suppose you should find just one pair_            153
+
+_Through all the lonesome woods there is not
+one dove_                                          158
+
+_Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their
+wings was like the sound of thunder_               161
+
+_Oh, the wise, wise look of him_                   165
+
+_Solomon knew the runways of the mice_             168
+
+_Those five adorable babies of Solomon_            171
+
+_He passed the brightest hours dozing_             174
+
+_It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds_       185
+
+_Something south of the Amazon kept calling to
+him_                                               189
+
+_Nature has kept faith with him and brought him
+safely back to his meadow_                         195
+
+
+
+
+BIRD STORIES
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+CHICK, D.D.
+
+
+Right in the very heart of Christmas-tree Land there was a forest of
+firs that pointed to the sky as straight as steeples. A hush lay over
+the forest, as if there were something very wonderful there, that might
+be meant for you if you were quiet and waited for it to come. Perhaps
+you have felt like that when you walked down the aisle of a church, with
+the sun shining through the lovely glass in the windows. Men have often
+called the woods "temples"; so there is, after all, nothing so very
+strange in having a preacher live in the midst of the fir forest that
+grew in Christmas-tree Land.
+
+And the sermon itself was not very strange, for it was about peace and
+good-will and love and helping the world and being happy--all very
+proper things to hear about while the bells in the city churches, way,
+way off, were ringing their glad messages from the steeples.
+
+But the minister was a queer one, and his very first words would have
+made you smile. Not that you would have laughed at him, you know. You
+would have smiled just because he had a way of making you feel happy
+from the minute he began.
+
+He sat on a small branch, and looked down from his pulpit with a dear
+nod of his little head, which would have made you want to cuddle him in
+the hollow of your two hands.
+
+[Illustration: _Firs that pointed to the sky._]
+
+His robe was of gray and white and buff-colored feathers, and he wore a
+black-feather cap and bib.
+
+He began by singing his name. "Chick, D.D.," he called. Now, when a
+person has "D.D." written after his name, we have a right to think that
+he is trying to live so wisely that he can teach us how to be happier,
+too. Of course Minister Chick had not earned those letters by studying
+in college, like most parsons; but he had learned the secret of a happy
+heart in his school in the woods.
+
+Yes, he began his service by singing his name; but the real sermon he
+preached by the deeds he did and the life he lived. So, while we listen
+to his happy song, we can watch his busy hours, until we are acquainted
+with the little black-capped minister who called himself "Chick, D.D."
+
+Chick's Christmas-trees were decorated, and no house in the whole world
+had one lovelier that morning than the hundreds that were all about him
+as far as he could see. The dark-green branches of the pines and cedars
+had held themselves out like arms waiting to be filled, and the snow had
+been dropped on them in fluffy masses, by a quiet, windless storm. It
+had been very soft and lovely that way--a world all white and green
+below, with a sky of wonderful blue that the firs pointed to like
+steeples. Then, as if that were not decoration enough, another storm had
+come, and had put on the glitter that was brightest at the edge of the
+forest where the sun shone on it. The second storm had covered the soft
+white with dazzling ice. It had swept across the white-barked birch
+trees and their purple-brown branches, and had left them shining all
+over. It had dripped icicles from the tips of all the twigs that now
+shone in the sunlight brighter than candles, and tinkled like little
+bells, when the breezes clicked them together, in a tune that is called,
+"Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm."
+
+[Illustration: "_Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm._"]
+
+That is the tune that played all about the black-capped bird as he
+flitted out of the forest, singing, "Chick, D.D.," as he came. The
+clear cold air and the exercise of flying after his night's sleep had
+given Chick a good healthy appetite, and he had come out for his
+breakfast.
+
+He liked eggs very well, and there were, as he knew, plenty of them on
+the birch trees, for many a time he had breakfasted there. Eggs with
+shiny black shells, not so big as the head of a pin; so wee, indeed,
+that it took a hundred of them or more to make a meal for even little
+Chick.
+
+But he wasn't lazy. He didn't have to have eggs cooked and brought to
+his table. He loved to hunt for them, and they were never too cold for
+him to relish; so out he came to the birch trees, with a cheery "Chick,
+D.D.," as if he were saying grace for the good food tucked here and
+there along the branches.
+
+When he alighted, though, it wasn't the bark he found, but a hard, thick
+coating of ice. The branches rattled together as he moved among them and
+the icicles that dangled down rang and clicked as they struck one
+another. The ice-storm had locked in Chick's breakfast eggs, and, try as
+he would with his little beak, he couldn't get through to find them.
+
+So Chick's Christmas Day began with hardship: for, though he sang gayly
+through the coldest weather, he needed food to keep him strong and warm.
+He was not foolish enough to spend his morning searching through the
+icy birch trees, for he had a wise little brain in his head and soon
+found out that it was no use to stay there. But he didn't go back to the
+forest and mope about it. Oh, no. Off he flew, down the short hill
+slope, seeking here and there as he went.
+
+Where the soil was rocky under the snow, some sumachs grew, and their
+branches of red berries looked like gay Christmas decorations. The snow
+that had settled heavily on them had partly melted, and the soaked
+berries had stained it so that it looked like delicious pink ice-cream.
+Some of the stain had dripped to the snow below, so there were places
+that looked like pink ice-cream there, too. Then the ice-storm had
+crusted it over, and now it was a beautiful bit of bright color in the
+midst of the white-and-green-and-blue Christmas.
+
+Chick stopped hopefully at the sumach bushes, not because he knew
+anything about ice-cream or cared a great deal about the berries; but
+sometimes there were plump little morsels hidden among them, that he
+liked to pull out and eat. If there was anything there that morning,
+though, it was locked in under the ice; and Chick flew on to the willows
+that showed where the brook ran in summer.
+
+Ah, the willow cones! Surely they would not fail him! He would put his
+bill in at the tip and down the very middle, and find a good tasty bit
+to start with, and then he would feel about in other parts of the cone
+for small insects, which often creep into such places for the winter.
+The flight to the willows was full of courage. Surely there would be a
+breakfast there for a hungry Chick!
+
+But the ice was so heavy on the willows that it had bent them down till
+the tips lay frozen into the crust below.
+
+So from pantry to pantry Chick flew that morning, and every single one
+of them had been locked tight with an icy key. The day was very cold.
+Soon after the ice-storm, the mercury in the thermometer over at the
+Farm-House had dropped way down below the zero mark, and the wind was in
+the north. But the cold did not matter if Chick could find food. His
+feet were bare; but that did not matter, either, if he could eat.
+Nothing mattered to the brave little black-capped fellow, except that he
+was hungry, oh, so hungry! and he had heard no call from anywhere to
+tell him that any other bird had found a breakfast, either.
+
+No, the birds were all quiet, and the distant church-bells had stopped
+their chimes, and the world was still. Still, except for the click of
+the icicles on the twigs when Chick or the wind shook them.
+
+Then, suddenly, there was a sound so big and deep that it seemed to fill
+all the space from the white earth below to the blue sky above. A
+roaring BOOOOOOOM, which was something like the waves rushing against a
+rocky shore, and something like distant thunder, and something like the
+noise of a great tree crashing to the earth after it has been cut, and
+something like the sound that comes before an earthquake.
+
+It is not strange that Chick did not know that sound. No one ever hears
+anything just like it, unless he is out where the snow is very light and
+very deep and covered with a crust.
+
+Then, if the crust is broken suddenly in one place, it may settle like
+the top of a puffed-up pie that is pricked; and the air that has been
+prisoned under the crust is pushed out with a strange and mighty sound.
+
+So that big BOOOOOOOM meant that something had broken the icy crust
+which, a moment before, had lain over the soft snow, all whole, for a
+mile one way and a mile another way, and half a mile to the Farm-House.
+
+Yes, there was the Farmer Boy coming across the field, to the orchard
+that stood on the sandy hillside near the fir forest. He was walking on
+snowshoes, which cracked the crust now and then; and twice on the way to
+the orchard he heard a deep BOOOOOOOM, which he loved just as much as he
+loved the silence of the field when he stopped to listen now and then.
+For the winter sounds were so dear to the Farmer Boy who lived at the
+edge of Christmas-tree Land, that he would never forget them even when
+he should become a man. He would always remember the snowshoe tramps
+across the meadow; and in after years, when his shoulders held burdens
+he could not see, he would remember the bulky load he carried that
+morning without minding the weight a bit; for it was a big bag full of
+Christmas gifts, and the more heavily it pressed against his shoulder,
+the lighter his heart felt.
+
+When he reached the orchard, he dropped the bag on the snow and opened
+it. Part of the gifts he spilled in a heap near the foot of a tree, and
+the rest he tied here and there to the branches. Then he stood still and
+whistled a clear sweet note that sounded like "Fee-bee."
+
+Now, Chick, over by the willows had not known what BOOOOOOOM meant, for
+that was not in his language. But he understood "Fee-bee" in a minute,
+although it was not nearly so loud. For those were words he often used
+himself. They meant, perhaps, many things; but always something
+pleasant. "Fee-bee" was a call he recognized as surely as one boy
+recognizes the signal whistle of his chum.
+
+So, of course, Chick flew to the orchard as quickly as he could and
+found his present tied fast to a branch. The smell of it, the feel of
+it, the taste of it, set him wild with joy. He picked at it with his
+head up, and sang "Chick, D.D." He picked at it with his head down and
+called, "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.D.D., Chick, D.D." He flew here and there, too
+gay with happiness to stay long anywhere, and found presents tied to
+other branches, too. At each one he sang "Chick, D.D., Chick, D.D.D. Dee
+Deee Deeee." It was, "indeed" the song of a hungry bird who had found
+good rich suet to nibble.
+
+The Farmer Boy smiled when he heard it, and waited, for he thought
+others would hear it, too. And they did. Two birds with black-feather
+cap and bib heard it and came; and before they had had time to go
+frantic with delight and song, three others just like them came, and
+then eight more, and by that time there was such a "Chick"-ing and
+"D.D."-ing and such a whisking to and fro of black caps and black bibs,
+that no one paid much attention when Minister Chick, D.D., himself,
+perched on a branch for a minute, and gave the sweetest little warble
+that was ever heard on a winter's day. Then he whistled "Fee-bee" very
+clearly, and went to eating again, heeding the Farmer Boy no more than
+if he were not there at all.
+
+And he wasn't there very long; for he was hungry, too; and that made him
+think about the good whiff he had smelled when he went through the
+kitchen with the snowshoes under his arm, just before he strapped them
+over his moccasins outside the door.
+
+Yes, that was the Farmer Boy going away with a clatter
+over the snow-crust; but who were these coming through
+the air, with jerky flight, and with a jerky note something like
+"Twitterty-twit-twitterty-twit-twitterty-twitterty-twitterty-twit"? They
+flew like goldfinches, and they sounded like goldfinches, both in the
+twitterty song of their flight and their "Tweeet" as they called one
+another. But they were not goldfinches. Oh, my, no! For they were
+dressed in gray, with darker gray stripes at their sides; and when they
+scrambled twittering down low enough to show their heads in the
+sunlight, they could be seen to be wearing the loveliest of crimson
+caps, and some of them had rosy breasts.
+
+The redpolls had come! And they found on top of the snow a pile of dusty
+sweepings from the hay-mow, with grass-seeds in it and some cracked corn
+and crumbs. And there were squash-seeds, and sunflower-seeds, and seedy
+apple-cores that had been broken up in the grinder used to crunch bones
+for the chickens; and there were prune-pits that had been cracked with a
+hammer.
+
+The joy-songs of the birds over the suet and seeds seemed a signal
+through the countryside; and before long others came, too.
+
+Among them there was a black-and-white one, with a patch of scarlet on
+the back of his head, who called, "Ping," as if he were speaking through
+his nose. There was one with slender bill and bobbed-off tail, black
+cap and white breast, grunting, "Yank yank," softly, as he ate.
+
+But there was none to come who was braver or happier than Chick, D.D.,
+and none who sang so gayly. After that good Christmas feast he and his
+flock returned each day; and when, in due time, the ice melted from the
+branches, it wasn't just suet they ate. It was other things, too.
+
+That is how it happened that when, early in the spring, the Farmer Boy
+examined the apple-twigs, to see whether he should put on a nicotine
+spray for the aphids and an arsenical spray for the tent caterpillars,
+he couldn't find enough aphids to spray or enough caterpillars, either.
+Chick, D.D. and his flock had eaten their eggs.
+
+Again, late in the summer, when it was time for the yellow-necked
+caterpillars, the red-humped caterpillars, the tiger caterpillars, and
+the rest of the hungry crew, to strip the leaves from the orchard, the
+Farmer Boy walked among the rows, to see how much poison he would need
+to buy for the August spray. And again he found that he needn't buy a
+single pound. Chick, D.D. and his family were tending his orchard!
+
+Yes, Minister Chick was a servant in the good world he lived in. He
+saved leaves for the trees, he saved rosy apples for city girls and
+boys to eat, and he saved many dollars in time and spray-money for the
+Farmer Boy.
+
+And all he charged was a living wage: enough suet in winter to tide him
+over the icy spells, and free house-rent in the old hollow post the
+Farmer Boy had nailed to the trunk of one of the apple trees.
+
+That old hollow post was a wonderful home. Chick, D.D. had crept into it
+for the first time Christmas afternoon, when he had eaten until dusk
+overtook him before he had time to fly back to the shelter of the fir
+forest. He found that he liked that post. Its walls were thick and they
+kept out the wind; and, besides, was it not handy by the suet?
+
+In the spring he liked it for another reason, too--the best reason in
+the world. It gave great happiness to Mrs. Chick. "Fee-bee?" he had
+asked her as he called her attention to it; and "Fee-bee," she had
+replied on looking it over. So he said, "Chick, D.D." in delight, and
+then perched near by, while he warbled cosily a brief song jumbled full
+of joy.
+
+Chick and his mate had indeed chosen well, for it is a poor wall that
+will not work both ways. If the sides of the hollow post had been thick
+enough to keep out the coldest of the winter cold, they were also thick
+enough to keep out the hottest of the summer heat. If they kept out the
+wet of the driving storm, they held enough of the old-wood moisture
+within so that the room did not get too dry. Of course, it needed a
+little repair. But, then, what greater fun than putting improvements
+into a home? Especially when it can be done by the family, without
+expense!
+
+So Mr. and Mrs. Chick fell to work right cheerily, and dug the hole
+deeper with their beaks. They didn't leave the chips on the ground
+before their doorway, either. They took them off to some distance, and
+had no heap near by, as a sign to say, "A bird lives here." For,
+sociable as they were all winter, they wanted quiet and seclusion within
+the walls of their own home.
+
+And such a home it was! After it had been hollowed to a suitable depth,
+Chick had brought in a tuft of white hair that a rabbit had left among
+the brambles. Mrs. Chick had found some last year's thistle-down and
+some this year's poplar cotton, and a horse-hair from the lane. Then
+Chick had picked up a gay feather that had floated down from a scarlet
+bird that sang in the tree-tops, and tore off silk from a cocoon. So,
+bit by bit, they gathered their treasures, until many a woodland and
+meadow creature and plant had had a share in the softness of a nest
+worthy of eight dear white eggs with reddish-brown spots upon them. It
+was such a soft nest, in fact, with such dear eggs in it, that Chick
+brooded there cosily himself part of the time, and was happy to bring
+food to his mate when she took her turn.
+
+In eleven or twelve days from the time the eggs were laid, there were
+ten birds in that home instead of two. The fortnight that followed was
+too busy for song. Chick and his mate looked the orchard over even more
+thoroughly than the Farmer Boy did; and before those eight hungry babies
+of theirs were ready to leave the nest, it began to seem as if Chick had
+eaten too many insect eggs in the spring, there were so few caterpillars
+hatching out. But the fewer there were, the harder they hunted; and the
+harder they hunted, the scarcer became the caterpillars. So when Dee,
+Chee, Fee, Wee, Lee, Bee, Mee, and Zee were two weeks old, and came out
+of the hollow post to seek their own living, the whole family had to
+take to the birches until a new crop of insect eggs had been laid in the
+orchard. This was no hardship. It only added the zest of travel and
+adventure to the pleasure of the days. Besides, it isn't just orchards
+that Chick, D.D. and his kind take care of. It is forests and
+shade-trees, too.
+
+Hither and yon they hopped and flitted, picking the weevils out of the
+dead tips of the growing pine trees, serving the beech trees such a good
+turn that the beechnut crop was the heavier for their visit, doing a bit
+for the maple-sugar trees, and so on through the woodland.
+
+Not only did they mount midget guard over the mighty trees, but they
+acted as pilots to hungry birds less skillful than themselves in finding
+the best feeding-places. "Chick, D.D.D.D.D.," they called in
+thanksgiving, as they found great plenty; and warblers and kinglets and
+creepers and many a bird beside knew the sound, and gathered there to
+share the bountiful feast that Chick, D.D. had discovered.
+
+The gorgeous autumn came, the brighter, by the way, for the leaves that
+Chick had saved. The Bob-o-links, in traveling suits, had already left
+for the prairies of Brazil and Paraguay, by way of Florida and Jamaica.
+The strange honk of geese floated down from V-shaped flocks, as if they
+were calling, "Southward Ho!" The red-winged blackbirds gave a wonderful
+farewell chorus. Flock by flock and kind by kind, the migrating birds
+departed.
+
+_WHY?_
+
+Well, never ask Chick, D.D. The north with its snows is good enough for
+him. Warblers may go and nuthatches may come. 'Tis all one to Chick. He
+is not a bird to follow fashions others set.
+
+This bird-of-the-happy-heart has courage to meet the coldest day with a
+joyous note of welcome. The winter is cheerier for his song. And, as you
+have guessed, it is not by word alone that he renders service. The trees
+of the north are the healthier for his presence. Because of him, the
+purse of man is fatter, and his larder better stocked. He has done no
+harm as harm is counted in the world he lives in. It is written in books
+that, in all the years, not one crime, not even one bad habit, is known
+of any bird who has called himself "Chick, D.D."
+
+Because the world is always better for his living in it; and because no
+one can watch the black-capped sprite without catching, for a moment at
+least, a message of cheer and courage and service, does he not name
+himself rightly a minister?
+
+Yes, surely, the little parson who dwells in the heart of Christmas-tree
+Land has a right to his "D.D.," even though he did not earn it in a
+college of men.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE
+
+
+Larie was all alone in a little world. He had lived there many days, and
+had spent the time, minute by minute and hour by hour, doing nothing at
+all but growing. That one thing he had done well. There is no doubt
+about that; for he had grown from a one-celled little beginning of life
+into a creature so big that he filled the whole of his world crammed
+full. It was smooth, and it was hard, and its sides were curved around
+and about him so tightly that he could not even stretch his legs. There
+was no door. Larie was a prisoner. The prison-walls of his world held
+him so fast that he could not budge. That is, he could not budge
+anything but his head. He could move that a little.
+
+Now, that is what we might call being in a fairly tight place. But you
+don't know Larie if you think he could not get out of it. There are few
+places so tight that we can't get out of them if we go about it the
+right way, and make the best of what power we have. That is just what
+Larie did. He had power to move his head enough to tap, with his beak,
+against the wall of his world that had become his prison. So he kept
+tapping with his beak. On the end of it was a queer little knob. With
+this he knocked against the hard smooth wall.
+
+"Tap! tip tip!" went Larie's knob. Then he would rest, for it is not
+easy work hammering and pounding, all squeezed in so tight. But he kept
+at it again and again and again. And then at last he cracked his
+prison-wall; and lo, it was not a very thick wall after all! No thicker
+than an eggshell!
+
+That is the way with many difficulties. They seem so very hard at first,
+and so very hopeless, and then end by being only a way to something
+very, very pleasant.
+
+So here was Larie in his second world. Its thin, soft floor and its
+thick, soft sides were made of fine bright-green grass, which had turned
+yellowish in drying. It had no roof. The sun shone in at the top. The
+wind blew over. There had been no sun or wind in his eggshell world. It
+was comfortable to have them now. They dried his down and made it
+fluffy. There was plenty of room for its fluffiness. He could stretch
+his legs, too, and could wiggle his wings against his sides. This felt
+good. And he could move his head all he cared to. But he did not begin
+thumping the sides of his new world with it. He tucked it down between
+two warm little things close by, and went to sleep. The two warm little
+things were his sister and brother, for Larie was not alone in his
+nest-world.
+
+The sun went down and the wind blew cold and the rain beat hard from the
+east; but Larie knew nothing of all this. A roof had settled down over
+his world while he napped. It was white as sea foam, and soft and dry
+and, oh, so very cosy, as it spread over him. The roof to Larie's second
+world was his mother's breast.
+
+The storm and the night passed, and the sun and the fresh spring breeze
+again came in at the top of the nest. Then something very big stood near
+and made a shadow, and Larie heard a strange sound. The something very
+big was his mother, and the strange sound was her first call to
+breakfast. When Larie heard that, he opened his mouth. But nothing went
+into it. His brother and sister were being fed. He had never had any
+food in his mouth in all the days of his life. To be sure, his egg-world
+was filled with nourishment that he had taken into his body and had used
+in growing; but he had never done anything with his beak except to knock
+with the knob at the end of it against the shell when he pipped his way
+out. What a handy little knob that had been--just right for tapping.
+But, now that there was no hard wall about him to break, what should he
+use it for? Well, nothing at all; for the joke of it is, there was no
+knob there. It had dropped off, and he could never have another.
+
+Never mind: he could open his beak just as well without it; and
+by-and-by his mother came again with a second call for breakfast, and
+that time Larie got his share. After that, there were calls for luncheon
+and for dinner, and luncheon again between that and supper; and part of
+the calls were from Mother and part from Father Gull.
+
+Larie's second world, it seems, was a place where he and his brother and
+sister were hungry and were fed. This is a world in which dwell, for a
+time, all babies, whether they have two legs, like you and Larie, or
+four, like a pig with a curly tail, or six, like Nata who lived in
+Shanty Creek.[1] An important world it is, too; for health and strength
+and growing up, all depend upon it.
+
+There was, however, only a rim of soft fine dry grass to show where
+Larie's nest-world left off and his third world began. So it is not
+surprising that, as soon as their legs were strong enough, Larie and his
+brother and sister stepped abroad; for what baby does not creep out of
+his crib as soon as ever he can?
+
+They could not, for all this show of bravery, feed themselves like the
+sons of Peter Pan, or swim the waters like Gavia's two Olairs at Immer
+Lake. However grown up the three youngsters may have felt when they
+began to walk, Father and Mother Gull made no mistake about the matter,
+but fed them breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, and stuffed them so full
+of luncheons between meals, that the greedy little things just had to
+grow, so as to be able to swallow all that was brought them.
+
+There were times, certainly, when Larie still felt very much a baby,
+even though he ran about nimbly enough. For instance, when he made a
+mistake and asked some gull, that was not his father or mother, for
+food, and got a rough beating instead of what he begged for!
+
+Oh, then he felt like a forlorn little baby, indeed; for it was not
+pleasant to be whipped, and that sometimes cruelly, when he didn't know
+any better; for all the big gulls looked alike, with their foam-white
+bodies and their pearl-gray capes, and they were all bringing food; so
+how could he know who were and who were not his Father and Mother Gull?
+Well, he must learn to be careful, that was all, and stay where his very
+own could find and feed him; for gulls can waste no time on the young of
+other gulls--their own keep them busy enough, the little greedies!
+
+Again, Larie must have felt very wee and helpless whenever a big man
+walked that way, shaking the ground with his heavy step and making a
+dark shadow as he came. Then, oh, then, Larie was a baby, and hid near a
+tuft of grass or between two stones, tucking his head out of sight, and
+keeping quite still as an ostrich does, or,--yes,--as perhaps a shy
+young human does, who hides his head in the folds of his mother's skirt
+when a stranger asks him to shake hands.
+
+But few men trod upon Larie's island-world, and no man came to do him
+harm; for _the regulations under the Migratory-Bird Treaty Act prohibit
+throughout the United States the killing of gulls at any time_. That
+means that the laws of our country protect the gull, as of course you
+will understand, though Larie knew nothing about the matter.
+
+Yes, think of it! There was a law, made at Washington in the District of
+Columbia, which helped take care of little downy Larie way off in the
+north on a rocky island.
+
+I said "helped take care of"; for no law, however good it may be, can
+more than help make matters right. There has to be, besides, some sort
+of policeman to stand by the law and see that it is obeyed.
+
+So Larie, although he never knew that, either, had a policeman; and the
+law and the policeman together kept him quite safe from the dangers
+which not many years ago most threatened the gulls on our coast islands.
+In those days, before there were gull-laws and gull-policemen, people
+came to the nests and took their eggs, which are larger than hens' eggs
+and good to eat; and people came, too, and killed these birds for their
+feathers. Then it was that the beautiful stiff wing-feathers, which
+should have been spread in flight, were worn upon the hats of women; and
+the soft white breast-feathers, which should have been brooding brownish
+eggs all spattered over with pretty marks, were stuffed into
+feather-beds for people to sleep on.
+
+Well it was for Larie that he lived when he did; for his third world was
+a wonderful place and it was right that he should enjoy it in safety.
+When Larie first left his nest and went out to walk, he stepped upon a
+shelf of reddish rock, and the whole wall from which his shelf stuck out
+was reddish rock, too. Beyond, the rocks were greenish, and beyond that
+they were gray. Oh! the reddish and greenish and grayish rocks were
+beautiful to see when the fog lifted and the sun shone on them.
+
+But Larie's island-world was not all rock of different colors: for over
+there, not too far away to see, was a dark-green spruce tree. Because
+rough winds had swept over this while it was growing, its branches were
+scraggly and twisted. They could not grow straight and even, like a tree
+in a quiet forest. But never think, for all of that, that Larie's spruce
+was not good to look upon. There is something splendid about a tree
+which, though bending to the will of the mighty winds that work their
+force upon it, grows sturdy and strong in spite of all. Such trees are
+somehow like boys and girls, who meet hardships with such courage when
+they are young, that they grow strong and sturdy of spirit, and warm of
+heart, with the sort of mind that can understand trouble in the world,
+and so think of ways to help it.
+
+[Illustration: _Birds, too, that had lived in rough winds._]
+
+Yes, perhaps Larie's tree was an emblem of courage. However that may be,
+it was a favorite spot on the island. Often it could be seen, that dark,
+rugged tree, which had battled with winds from its seedling days and
+grown victoriously, with three white gulls resting on its squarish
+top--birds, too, that had lived in rough winds and had grown strong in
+their midst.
+
+There was more on the island than rocks and trees. Over much of it lay a
+carpet of grass. Soft and fine and vivid green it was, of the kind that
+had been gathered for Larie's nest and had turned yellowish in drying.
+Under the carpet, in underground lanes as long as a man's long arm,
+lived Larie's young neighbor-folk--little petrels, sometimes called
+"Mother Carey's Chickens."
+
+There was even more on the island yet: for high on the rocks stood a
+lighthouse; and the man who kept the signal lights in order was no other
+than Larie's policeman himself. A useful life he lived, saving ships of
+the sea by the power of light, and birds of the sea by the power of law.
+
+So that was Larie's third world--an island with a soft rug of
+bright-green grass, and big shelfy rocks of red and green and gray, and
+rugged dark-green trees, with white gulls resting on the branches, and a
+lighthouse with its signal.
+
+All around and about that island lay Larie's fourth world--the sea.
+When his great day for swimming came, he slipped off into the water; and
+after that it was his, whenever he wished--his to swim or float upon,
+the wide-away ocean reaching as far as any gull need care to swim or
+float.
+
+All over and above the sea stretched Larie's fifth world--the air. When
+his great day for flying came, he rose against the breeze, and his wings
+took him into that high-away kingdom that lifted as far as any gull need
+care to fly.
+
+Now that Larie could both swim and fly, he was large, and acted in many
+ways like an old gull; but the feathers of his body were not white, and
+he did not wear over his back and the top of his spread wings a
+pearl-gray mantle.
+
+Nor was he given the garb of his father and mother for a traveling suit,
+that winter when he went south with the others, to a place where the
+Gulf Stream warmed the water whereon he swam and the air wherein he
+flew.
+
+But there came a time when Larie had put off the clothes of his youth
+and donned the robe of a grown gull. And as he sailed in the breezes of
+his fifth world, which blew over the cold sea, and across the island
+with a carpet of green and rocks of red and green and gray,--for he was
+again in the North,--he was beautiful to behold, the flight of a gull
+being so wonderful that the heart of him who sees quickens with joy.
+
+Larie was not alone. There were so many with him that, when they flew
+together in the distance, they looked as thick as snowflakes in the air;
+and when they screamed together, the din was so great that people who
+were not used to hearing them put their hands over their ears.
+
+And more than that, Larie was not alone; for there sailed near him in
+the air and floated beside him in the sea another gull, at whom he did
+not scream, but to whom he talked pleasantly, saying, "me-you," in a
+musical tone that she understood.
+
+[Illustration: _Floated beside him in the sea another gull, to whom he
+talked pleasantly._]
+
+Larie and his mate found much to do that spring. One game that never
+failed to interest them was meeting the ships many, many waves out at
+sea, and following them far on their way. For on the ships were men who
+threw away food they could not use, and the gulls gathered in flocks to
+scramble and fight for this. Children on board the ships laughed merrily
+to see them, and tossed crackers and biscuits out for the fun of
+watching the hungry-birds come close, to feed.
+
+Many a feast, too, the fishermen gave the gulls, when they sorted the
+contents of their nets and threw aside what they did not want.
+
+Besides this, Larie and his mate and their comrades picnicked in high
+glee at certain harbors where garbage was left; for gulls are thrifty
+folk and do not waste the food of the world.
+
+From their feeding habits you will know that these beautiful birds are
+scavengers, eating things which, if left on the sea or shore, would make
+the water foul and the air impure. Thus it is that Nature gives to a
+scavenger the duty of service to all living creatures; and the freshness
+of the ocean and the cleanness of the sands of the shore are in part a
+gift of the gulls, for which we should thank and protect them.
+
+Relish as they might musty bread and mouldy meat, Larie and his mate
+enjoyed, too, the sport of catching fresh food; and many a clam hunt
+they had in true gull style. They would fly above the water near the
+shore, and when they were twenty or thirty feet high, would plunge down
+head-first. Then they would poke around for a clam, with their heads and
+necks under water and their wings out and partly unfolded, but not
+flopping; and a comical sight they were!
+
+[Illustration: _After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air
+a hundred feet or so, and then drop it._]
+
+[Illustration: _It was not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived
+that spring._]
+
+After Larie found a clam, he would fly high into the air a hundred feet
+or so above the rocks, and then, stretching way up with his head, drop
+the clam from his beak. Easily, with wings fluttering slightly, Larie
+would follow the clam, floating gracefully, though quickly, down to
+where it had cracked upon the rocks. The morsel in its broken shell was
+now ready to eat, for Larie and his mate did not bake their sea-food or
+make it into chowder. Cold salad flavored with sea-salt was all they
+needed.
+
+Exciting as were these hunts with the flocks of screaming gulls, it was
+not for food alone that Larie and his mate lived that spring. For under
+the blue of the airy sky there was an ocean, and in that ocean there was
+an island, and on that island there was a nest, and in that nest there
+was an egg--the first that the mate of Larie had ever laid. And in that
+egg was a growing gull, their eldest son--a baby Larie, alone inside his
+very first world.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 1: _Hexapod Stories_, page 80.]
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+PETER PIPER
+
+
+One was named Sandy, because Sandy is a Scotch name and there were
+blue-bells growing on the rocks; so it seemed right that one of them
+should have a Scotch name, and what could be better, after all, than
+Sandy for a sandpiper? One was named Pan, because he piped sweetly among
+the reeds by the river. One, who came out of his eggshell before his
+brothers, was named Peter, for his father.
+
+But Mother Piper never called her children Sandy and Pan and Peter. She
+called them all "Pete." She was so used to calling her mate "Pete," that
+that name was easier than any other for her to say.
+
+The three of them played by the river all day long. Each amused himself
+in his own way and did not bother his brothers, although they did not
+stray too far apart to talk to one another. This they did by saying,
+"Peep," now and then.
+
+About once an hour, and sometimes oftener, Mother Piper came flying over
+from Faraway Island, crying, "Pete, Pete, Pete," as if she were worried.
+It is no wonder that she was anxious about Sandy and Peter and Pan, for,
+to begin with, she had had four fine children, and the very first night
+they were out of their nest, the darlings, a terrible prowling animal
+named Tom or Tabby had killed one of her babies.
+
+[Illustration: _One was named Peter, for his father._]
+
+But Peter and Pan and Sandy were too young to know much about being
+afraid. So they played by the river all day long, care-free and happy.
+Their sweet little voices sounded contented as they said, "Peep," one
+to another. Their queer little tails looked frisky as they went
+bob-bob-bob-bing up and down every time they stepped, and sometimes when
+they didn't. Their dear little heads went forward and back in a merry
+sort of jerk. There were so many things to do, and every one of them a
+pleasure!
+
+Oh! here was Sandy clambering up the rocky bank, so steep that there was
+roothold only for the blue-bells, with stems so slender that one name
+for them is "hair-bell." But Sandy did not fall. He tripped lightly up
+and about, with sure feet; and where the walking was too hard, he
+fluttered his wings and flew to an easier place. Once he reached the top
+of the bank, where the wild roses were blossoming. And wherever he went,
+and wherever he came, he found good tasty insects to eat; so he had
+picnic-luncheons all along the way.
+
+Ho! here was Pan wandering where the river lapped the rocky shore. His
+long slender legs were just right for wading, and his toes felt
+comfortable in the cool water. There was a pleasing scent from the
+sweet-gale bushes, which grew almost near enough to the river to go
+wading, too; and there was a spicy smell when he brushed against the
+mint, which wore its blossoms in pale purple tufts just above the leaves
+along the stem. And every now and then, whether he looked at the top of
+the water or at the rocks on the shore-edge, he found tempting bits of
+insect game to eat as he waded along.
+
+Oho! here was Peter on an island as big as an umbrella, with a
+scooped-out place at one side as deep as the hollow in the palm of a
+man's hand. This was shaped exactly right for Peter's bathtub, and as
+luck would have it, it was filled to the brim with water. Such a cool
+splashing--once, twice, thrice, with a long delightful flutter; and then
+out into the warm sunshine, where the feathers could be puffed out and
+dried! These were the very first real feathers he had ever had, and he
+hadn't had them very long; and my, oh, my! but it was fun running his
+beak among them, and fixing them all fine, like a grown-up bird. And
+when he was bathed and dried, there was a snack to eat near by floating
+toward him on the water.
+
+Oh! Ho! and Oho! it was a day to be gay in, with so many new amusements
+wherever three brave, fearless little sandpipers might stray.
+
+Then came sundown; and in the pleasant twilight Peter and Pan and Sandy
+somehow found themselves near each other on the bank, still walking
+forth so brave and bold, and yet each close enough to his brothers to
+hear a "Peep," were it ever so softly whispered.
+
+Did it just happen that about that time Mother Piper came flying low
+over the water from Faraway Island to Nearby Island, calling, "Pete,
+Pete, Pete," in a different tone, a sort of sundown voice?
+
+Was that the way to speak to three big, 'most-grown-up sandpiper sons,
+who had wandered about so free of will the livelong day?
+
+Ah, but where were the 'most-grown-up sons? Gone with the sun at
+sundown; and, instead, there were three cosy little birds, with their
+heads still rumpled over with down that was not yet pushed off the ends
+of their real feathers, and a tassel of down still dangling from the tip
+of each funny tail.
+
+And three dear, sweet, little voices answered, "Peep," every time Mother
+Piper called, "Pete"; and three little sons tagged obediently after her
+as she called them from place to place all round and all about Nearby
+Island, teaching them, perhaps, to make sure there was no Tabby and no
+Tommy on their camping-ground.
+
+So it was that, after twilight, when darkness was at hand and the curfew
+sounded for human children to be at home, Peter and Pan and Sandy
+settled down near each other and near Mother Piper for the night.
+
+And where was Peter Piper, who had been abroad the day long, paying
+little attention to his family? He, too, at nightfall, had come flying
+low from Faraway Island; and now, with his head tucked behind his wing,
+was asleep not a rod away from Mother Piper and their three sons.
+
+Somehow it was very pleasant to know that they were near together
+through the starlight--the five of them who had wandered forth alone by
+sunlight.
+
+But not for long was the snug little Nearby Island to serve for a night
+camp. Mother Piper had other plans. Like the wise person she was, she
+let her children find out many things for themselves, though she kept in
+touch with them from time to time during the day, to satisfy herself
+that they were safe. And at night she found that they were willing
+enough to mind what they were told to do, never seeming to bother their
+heads over the fact that every now and then she led them to a strange
+camp-ground.
+
+So they did not seem surprised or troubled when, one night soon, Mother
+Piper, instead of calling them to Nearby Island, as had been her wont,
+rested patiently in plain sight on a stump near the shore and, with
+never a word, waited for the sunset hour to reach the time of dusk. Then
+she flew to the log where Peter Piper had been teetering up and down,
+and what she said to him I do not know. But a minute later, back she
+flew, this time rather high overhead, and swooped down toward the little
+ones with a quick "Pete-weet." After her came Peter Piper flying, also
+rather high overhead, and swooping down toward his young. Then Mother
+and Peter Piper went in low, slow flight to Faraway Island.
+
+Were they saying good-night to their babies? Were their sons to be left
+on the bank by themselves, now that they had shaken the last fringe of
+down from their tails and lost the fluff from their heads? Did they need
+no older company, now that they looked like grown-up sandpipers except
+that their vests had no big polka dots splashed over them?
+
+Ah, no! At Mother Piper's "Pete-weet," Peter answered, "Peep," lifted
+his wings, and flew right past Nearby Island and landed on a rock on
+Faraway Island. And, "Peep," called Sandy, fluttering after. And,
+"Peep," said Pan, stopping himself in the midst of his teetering, and
+flying over Nearby Island on his way to the new camp-ground.
+
+That is how it happened that they had their last luncheon on the shore
+of Faraway Island before snuggling down to sleep that night.
+
+One of the haunts of Peter and Pan and Sandy was Cardinal-Flower Path.
+This lovely place was along the marshy shore not far from Nearby Island.
+It was almost white with the fine blooms of water-parsnip, an
+interesting plant from the top of its blossom head to the lowest of its
+queer under-water leaves. And here and there, among the lacy white, a
+stalk of a different sort grew, with red blossoms of a shade so rich
+that it is called the cardinal flower. Every now and then a
+ruby-throated hummingbird darted quickly above the water-parsnips
+straight to the cardinal throat of the other flower, and found
+refreshment served in frail blossom-ware of the glorious color he loved
+best of all.
+
+And it would be well for all children of men to know that, although
+three bright active children of sandpipers ran teetering about
+Cardinal-Flower Path many and many a day, the place was as lovely to
+look upon at sundown as at sunrise, for not one wonderful spray had been
+broken from its stem. So it happened, because the children who played
+there were Sandy and Peter and Pan, that the cardinal flowers lived
+their life as it was given them by Nature, serving refreshments for
+hummingbirds through the summer day, and setting seeds according to
+their kind for other cardinal flowers and other hummingbirds another
+year.
+
+But even the charms of Cardinal-Flower Path did not hold Pan and Peter
+and Sandy many weeks. They seemed to be a sort of gypsy folk, with the
+love of wandering in their hearts; and it is pleasant to know that, as
+soon as they were grown enough, there was nothing to prevent their
+journeying forth with Peter and Mother Piper.
+
+Of all the strange and wonderful plants and birds and insects they met
+upon the way I cannot tell you, for, in all my life, I have not traveled
+so far as these three children went long before they were one year old.
+They went, in fact, way to the land where the insects live that are so
+hard and beautiful and gemlike that people sometimes use them for
+jewels. These are called "Brazilian beetles," and you can tell by that
+name where the Pipers spent the winter, though it may seem a very far
+way for a young bird to go, with neither train nor boat to give him a
+lift.
+
+Not even tired they were, from all accounts, those little feather-folk;
+and why, indeed, should they be tired? A jaunt from a northern country
+to Brazil was not too much for a healthy bird, with its sure breath and
+pure rich blood. There was food enough along the trail--they chose their
+route wisely enough for that, you may be sure; and they were in no great
+haste either going or coming.
+
+"Coming," did I say? Why, surely! You didn't think those sandpipers
+_stayed_ in Brazil? What did they care for green gem-like beetles, after
+all? The only decorations they ever wore were big dark polka dots on
+their vests. Perhaps they were all pleased with them, when their old
+travel-worn feathers dropped out and new ones came in. Who can tell?
+They had a way of running their bills through their plumage after a
+bath, as if they liked to comb their pretty feathers.
+
+Be that as it may, there was something beneath their feathers that
+quickened like the heart of a journeying gypsy when, with nodding heads
+and teetering tails, they started again for the north.
+
+Did they dream of a bank where the blue-bells grew, and a shore spiced
+with the fragrance of wild mint?
+
+No one will ever know just how Nature whispers to the bird, "Northward
+ho!" But we know they come in the springtime, and right glad are we to
+hear their voices.
+
+So Peter Piper, Junior, came back again to the shore of Nearby Island.
+And do you think Sandy and Pan walked behind him for company, calling,
+"Peep," one to another? And do you think Mother Piper and Father Peter
+showed him the way to Faraway Island at sun-down, and guarded him o'
+nights? Not they! They were busy, every one, with their own affairs, and
+Peter would just have to get along without them.
+
+Well, Peter could--Peter and Dot. For of course he was a grown-up
+sandpiper now, with a mate of his own, nodding her wise little head the
+livelong day, and teetering for joy all over the rocks where the red
+columbine grew.
+
+[Illustration: _The spot she teetered to most of all._]
+
+The spot she teetered to most of all was a little cup-shaped hollow high
+up on the border of the ledge, where the sumachs were big as small trees
+and where the sweet fern scented the air. The hollow was lined tidily
+and softly with dried grass, and made a comfortable place to sit, no
+doubt. At least, Dot liked it; and Peter must have had some fondness for
+it, too, for he slipped on when Dot was not there herself. It just
+fitted their little bodies, and there were four eggs in it of which any
+sandpiper might well have been proud; for they were much, much bigger
+than most birds the size of Dot could ever lay. In fact, her little body
+could hardly have covered them snugly enough to keep them warm if they
+had not been packed just so, with the pointed ends pushed down into the
+middle of the rather deep nest.
+
+The eggs were creamy white, with brown spots splashed over them--the
+proper sort of eggs (if only they had been smaller) to tuck beneath a
+warm breast decorated with pretty polka dots. But still, they must have
+been her very own, or Dot could not have taken such good care of them.
+
+Because of this care, day by day the little body inside each shell grew
+from the wonderful single cell it started life with, to a many-celled
+creature, all fitted out with lungs and a heart and rich warm blood, and
+very slender legs, and very dear heads with very bright eyes, and all
+the other parts it takes to make a bird. When the birds were all made,
+they broke the shells and pushed aside the pieces. And four more capable
+little rascals never were hatched.
+
+Why, almost before one would think they had had time to dry their down
+and stretch their legs and get used to being outside of shells instead
+of inside, those little babies walked way to the edge of the river, and
+from that time forth never needed their nest.
+
+And look! the fluffy, cunning little dears are nodding their heads and
+teetering their tails! Yes, that proves that they must be sandpipers,
+even if we did have doubts of those eggs. Ah! Dot knew what she was
+about all along. The size of her eggs might fool a person, but she had
+not worried. Why, indeed, should she be troubled? Those big shells had
+held food-material enough, so that her young, when hatched, were so
+strong and well-developed that they could go wandering forth at once.
+They did not lie huddled in their nest, helplessly begging Peter Piper
+and Mother Dot to bring them food. Not they! Out they toddled, teetering
+along the shore, having picnics from the first--the little gypsy babies!
+
+Tabby did not catch any of them, though one night she tried, and gave
+Dot an awful scare. It was while they were still tiny enough to be
+tucked under their mother's feathers after sundown, and before they
+could manage to get, stone by stone, to Nearby Island. So they were
+camped on the shore, and the prowling cat came very near. So near, in
+fact, that Mother Dot fluttered away from her young, calling back to
+them, in a language they understood, to scatter a bit, and then lie so
+still that not even the green eyes of the cat could see a motion. The
+four little Pipers obeyed. Not one of them questioned, "Why, Mother?" or
+whined, "I don't want to," or whimpered, "I'm frightened," or boasted,
+"Pooh, there's nothing here."
+
+Dot led the crouching enemy away by fluttering as if she had a broken
+wing, and she called for help with all the agony of her mother-love.
+"Pete," she cried, "Pete," and "Pete, Pete, Pete!"
+
+No one who hears the wail of a frightened sandpiper begging protection
+for her young can sit unmoved.
+
+Someone at the Ledge House heard Dot, and gave a low whistle and a quick
+command. Then there was a dashing rush through the bushes, that sounded
+as if a dog were chasing a cat. A few minutes later Dot's voice again
+called in the dark--this time, not in anguish of heart, but very cosily
+and gently. "Pete-weet?" she whispered; and four precious little babies
+murmured, "Peep," as they snuggled close to the spotted breast of their
+mother.
+
+So it happened that two sons and two daughters of Peter Piper, Junior,
+played and picnicked and bathed by the river. The one who had first
+pipped his eggshell was named Peter the Third, for his father and his
+grandfather, and a finer young sandpiper never shook the fluff of down
+from his head or the fringe from his tail, when his real feathers pushed
+into their places.
+
+What his brother and sisters were named, I never knew; and it didn't
+matter much, for their mother called them all "Pete."
+
+[Illustration: _Dallying happily along the river-edge._]
+
+Peter the Third and the others grew up as Pan and Peter and Sandy had
+grown, dallying happily along the river-edge, and as happily accepting
+the guidance of their mother, who made her slow flight from Faraway
+Island every now and then, usually so low that her spotted breast was
+reflected in the clear water as she came, the white markings in her
+wings showing above and below.
+
+Of course, as soon as the season came for their migration journey, the
+four of them started cheerfully off with Peter and Dot, for a leisurely
+little flight to Brazil and back--to fill the days, as it were, with
+pleasant wanderings, from the time the hummingbird fed at the feast of
+the cardinal flower in late summer, until he should be hovering over the
+columbine in the spring.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE
+
+
+Once upon a time, it was four millions of years ago. There were no
+people then all the way from Florida to Alaska. There was, indeed, in
+all this distance, no land to walk upon, except islands in the west
+where the Rocky Mountains are now. That is the only place where the
+country that is now the United States of America stuck up out of the
+water. Everywhere else were the waves of the sea. There were no people,
+even on the Rocky Mountain Islands. None at all.
+
+No, the creatures that visited those island shores in those old days
+were not people, but birds. Nearly as large as men they were, and they
+had teeth on their long slender jaws, and they had no wings. They came
+to the islands, perhaps, only at nesting-time; for their legs and feet
+were fitted for swimming and not walking, and they lived upon fish in
+the sea. So they dwelt, with no man to see them, on the water that
+stretched from sea to sea; and what their voices were like, no man
+knows.
+
+A million years, perhaps, passed by, and then another million, and maybe
+another million still; and the birds without wings and with teeth were
+no more. In their places were other birds, much smaller--birds with
+wings and no teeth; but something like them, for all that: for their
+feet also were fitted for swimming and not walking, and they, too,
+visited the shore little, if at all, except at nesting-time, and they
+lived upon fish in the water.
+
+And what their voices were like, all men may know who will go to the
+wilderness lakes and listen; for, wonderful as it may seem, these second
+birds have come down to us through perhaps a million years, and live
+to-day, giving a strange clear cry before a storm, and at other times
+calling weirdly in lone places, so that men who are within hearing
+always say, "The loons are laughing."
+
+Gavia was a loon who had spent the winter of 1919-1920 on the Atlantic
+Ocean. There had hardly been, perhaps, in a million years a handsomer
+loon afloat on any sea. Even in her winter coat she was beautiful; and
+when she put on her spring suit, she was lovelier still.
+
+She and her mate had enjoyed the sea-fishing and had joined a company of
+forty for swimming parties and other loon festivities; for life on the
+ocean waves has many interests, and there is never a lack of
+entertainment. The salt-water bathing, diving, and such other activities
+as the sea affords, were pleasant for them all. Then, too, the winter
+months made a chance for rest, a change from home-duties, and a freedom
+from looking out for the children, that gave the loons a care-free
+manner as they rode the waves far out at sea.
+
+[Illustration: Immer Lake.]
+
+Considering all this, it seems strange, does it not, that when the
+spring of 1920 had gone no further than to melt the ice in the northern
+lakes, Gavia and her mate left the sea and took strong flight inland.
+
+What made them go, I cannot explain. I do not understand it well enough.
+I do not really know what urges the salmon to leave the Atlantic Ocean
+in the spring and travel up the Penobscot or the St. John River. I never
+felt quite sure why Peter Piper left Brazil for the shore where the
+blue-bells nod. All I can tell you about it is that a feeling came over
+the loons that is called a migration instinct; and, almost before Gavia
+and her mate knew what was happening to them, they had flown far and far
+from the Ocean, and were laughing weirdly over the cold waters of Immer
+Lake.
+
+The shore was dark with the deep green of fir trees, whose straight
+trunks had blisters on them where drops of fragrant balsam lay hidden in
+the bark. And here and there trees with white slender trunks leaned out
+over the water, and the bark on these peeled up like pieces of thin and
+pretty paper. Three wonderful vines trailed through the woodland, and
+each in its season blossomed into pink and fragrant bells. But what
+these were, and how they looked, is not a part of this story, for Gavia
+never wandered among them. Her summer paths lay upon and under the water
+of the lake, as her winter trails had been upon and under the water of
+the sea.
+
+Ah, if she loved the water so, why did she suddenly begin to stay out of
+it? If she delighted so in swimming and diving and chasing wild
+wing-races over the surface, why did she spend the day quietly in one
+place?
+
+Of course you have guessed it! Gavia was on her nest. She had hidden her
+two babies among the bulrushes for safety, and must stay there herself
+to keep them warm. They were not yet out of their eggshells, so the only
+care they needed for many a long day and night was constant warmth
+enough for growth. They lay near each other, the two big eggs, of a
+color that some might call brown and some might call green, with
+dark-brown spots splashed over them.
+
+[Illustration: _Two babies, not yet out of their eggshells, hidden among
+the rushes._]
+
+The nest Gavia and her mate had prepared for them was a heap of old wet
+reeds and other dead water-plants, which they had piled up among the
+stems of the rushes until it reached six inches or more out of the
+water. They were really in the centre of a nest island, with water all
+about them. So, you see, Gavia was within splashing distance of her
+fishing-pool after all.
+
+She and her mate, indeed, were in the habit of making their nests here
+in the cove; though the two pairs of Neighbor Loons, who built year
+after year farther up the lake, chose places on the island near the
+water-line in the spring; and when the water sank lower later on, they
+were left high and dry where they had to flounder back and forth to and
+from the nest, as awkward on land as they were graceful in the water.
+
+Faithful to her unhatched young as Gavia was, it is not likely that she
+alone kept them warm for nearly thirty days and nights; for Father Loon
+remained close at hand, and would he not help her with this task?
+
+Gavia, sitting on her nest, did not look like herself of the early
+winter months when she had played among the ocean waves. For her head
+and neck were now a beautiful green, and she wore two white striped
+collars, while the back of her feather coat was neatly checked off with
+little white squarish spots. Father Loon wore the same style that she
+did. Summer and winter, they dressed alike.
+
+Yes, a handsome couple, indeed, waited that long month for the birth of
+their twins, growing all this time inside those two strong eggshells. At
+last, however, the nest held the two babies, all feathered with down
+from the very first, black on their backs and gray shading into white
+beneath.
+
+Did I say the nest held them? Well, so it did for a few hours. After
+that, they swam the waters of Immer Lake, and their nest was home no
+longer. Peter Piper's children themselves were not more quick to run
+than Gavia's twins were to swim and dive.
+
+I think, perhaps, they were named Olair; for Gavia often spoke in a very
+soft mellow tone, saying, "Olair"; and her voice, though a bit sad, had
+a pleasing sound. So we will call them the two Olairs.
+
+They were darlings, those baby loons, swimming about (though not very
+fast at first), and diving out of sight in the water every now and then
+(but not staying under very long at the beginning). Then, when they were
+tired or in a hurry, they would ride on the backs of Gavia and Father
+Loon: and they liked it fine, sailing over the water with no trouble at
+all, just as if they were in a boat, with someone else to do the rowing.
+
+Oh, yes, they were darlings! Had you seen one of them, you could hardly
+have helped wanting to cuddle him. But do you think you could catch one,
+even the youngest? Not a bit of it. If you had given chase in a boat,
+the wee-est loon would have sailed off faster yet on the back of his
+father; and when you grew tired and stopped, you would have heard, as if
+mocking you, the old bird give, in a laughing voice, the _Tremble Song:_
+
+    "O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--
+     O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--O, ha-ha-ha, ho!--"
+
+If you had tried again a few days later, the young loon would have been
+able to dive and swim by himself out of sight under water, the old ones
+giving him warning of danger and telling him what to do.
+
+But no child chased the two Olairs and no lawbreaker fired a shot at
+Gavia or Father Loon. They had frights and narrow escapes in plenty
+without that; but those were of the sorts that loons get used to century
+after century, and not modern disasters, like guns, that people have
+recently brought into wild places. For the only man who dwelt on the
+shore of Immer Lake was a minister.
+
+Because he loved his fellow men, this minister of Immer Lake spent part
+of his days among them, doing such service to the weak of spirit as only
+a minister can do, who has faith that there is some good in every
+person. At such times he was a sort of servant to all who needed him.
+
+Because he loved, also, his fellow creatures who had lived in the
+beautiful wild places of this land much longer than any man whatsoever,
+he spent part of his days among them. At such times he was a sort of
+hermit.
+
+Then no handy trolley rumbled by to take him on his near way. No train
+shrieked its departure to distant places where he might go. There was no
+interesting roar of mill or factory making things to use. There was no
+sociable tread of feet upon the pavement, to give him a feeling of human
+companionship.
+
+But, for all that, it was not a silent world the minister found at Immer
+Lake. On sunny days the waves, touching the rocks on the shore, sang
+gently, "Bippo-bappo, bippo-bappo." The trees clapped their leaves
+together as the breezes bade them. The woodpeckers tapped tunes to each
+other on their hollow wooden drums. The squirrels chattered among the
+branches. At dawn and at dusk the thrushes made melodies everywhere
+about.
+
+On stormy nights the waves slapped loudly upon the rocks. The branches
+whacked against one another at the mighty will of the wind. The thunder
+roared applause at the fireworks the lightning made. And best of all,
+like the very spirit of the wild event, there rang the strange, sweet
+moaning _Storm Song of the Loon_:--
+
+    "A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la.
+     A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la. A-a-ah l-u-u-u-u-u-u' la."
+
+The minister of Immer Lake liked that song, and he liked the other
+music that they made. So it was that he sat before his door through many
+a summer twilight, and played on his violin until the loons answered
+with the _Tremble Song_:--
+
+    "O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!
+     O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"
+
+Then they would swim up and up, until they floated close to his cottage,
+feeding unafraid near by, while he played softly.
+
+Often, when Gavia and her mate were resting there or farther up the
+lake, some other loon would fly over; and then Father Loon would throw
+his head way forward and give another sort of song. "Oh-a-lee'!" he
+would begin, with his bill wide open; and then, nearly closing his
+mouth, he would sing, "Cleo'-pe''-a-rit'." The "Oh" starts low and then
+rises in a long, drawn way. Perhaps in all the music of Immer Lake there
+is nothing queerer than the _Silly Song of Father Loon_:--
+
+    "Oh-a-lee'! Cleo'-p''-a-rit', cleo'-pe''-a-rit', cleo'-per''-wer-wer!
+     Oh-a-lee'! Cleo'-p''-a-rit', cleo'-pe''-a-rit', cleo'-pe''-wer-wer!"
+
+Such were the songs the two Olairs heard often and again, while they
+were growing up; and they must have added much to the interest of their
+first summer.
+
+Altogether they had endless pleasures, and were as much at ease in the
+water as if there were no more land near them than there had been near
+those other young birds that had teeth and no wings, four million years
+or so ago. Their own wings were still small and flipper-like when, about
+the first of August, they were spending the day, as they often did, in a
+small cove. They were now about two-thirds grown, and their feathers
+were white beneath and soft bright brown above, with bars of white spots
+at their shoulders. They had funny stiff little tails, which they stuck
+up out of the water or poked out of sight, as they wished. They swam
+about in circles, and preened their feathers with their bills, which
+were still small and gray, and not black like those of the old birds.
+
+After a time Gavia came swimming toward them, all under water except her
+head. Suddenly Father Loon joined her, and they both began diving and
+catching little fishes for the two Olairs. For the vegetable part of
+their dinner they had shreds of some waterplant, which Gavia brought
+them, dangling from her bill. Surely never a fresher meal was served
+than fish just caught and greens just pulled! No wonder it was that the
+young loons grew fast, and were well and strong. After the twins were
+fed, Gavia and Father Loon sank from sight under the water, heads and
+all, and the Olairs saw no more of them for two hours or so, though they
+heard them now and then singing, sometimes the _Tremble Song_ and
+sometimes the _Silly Song_.
+
+They were good children, and did not try to tag along or sulk because
+they were left behind. First they dabbled about and helped themselves,
+for dessert, to some plant growing under water, gulping down rather
+large mouthfuls of it. Then they grew drowsy; and what could have been
+pleasanter than going to sleep floating, with the whole cove for a
+cradle?
+
+You could never guess how those youngsters got ready for their nap. Just
+like a grown-up! Each Olair rolled over on one side, till the white
+under-part of his body showed above water. Then he waved the exposed leg
+in the air, and tucked it away, with a quick flip, under the feathers of
+his flank. Thus one foot was left in the water, for the bird to paddle
+with gently while he slept, so that he would not be drifted away by the
+wind. But that day one of the tired water-babies went so sound asleep
+that he didn't paddle enough, and the wind played a joke on him by
+shoving him along to the snaggy edge of the cove and bumping him against
+a log. That was a surprise, and he woke with a start and swam quickly
+back to the middle of the cove, where the other Olair was resting in the
+open water.
+
+While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon went to a
+party. On the way, they stopped for a bit of fishing by themselves.
+Gavia began by suddenly flapping around in a big circle, slapping the
+water with wing-tips and feet, and making much noise as she spattered
+the spray all about. Then she quickly poked her head under water, as if
+looking for fish. Father Loon, who had waited a little way off, dived a
+number of times, as if to see what Gavia had scared in his direction.
+
+[Illustration: _While their children were napping, Gavia and Father Loon
+went to a party._]
+
+Then they both dove deep, and swam under water until they came near the
+four Neighbor Loons, who had left their two families of young dozing,
+and had also come out for a good time.
+
+When Father Loon caught sight of his four neighbors, he sang the _Silly
+Song_, after which the six birds ran races on the water. They all
+started about the same time and went pell-mell in one direction, their
+feet and wings going as if they hardly knew whether to swim or fly, and
+ending by doing both at once. Then they would all stop, as suddenly as
+if one of them had given a signal, and turning, would dash in the
+opposite direction, racing to and fro again and again and again. Oh! it
+was a grand race, and there is no knowing how long they would have kept
+it up, had not something startled them so that they all stopped and sang
+the _Tremble Song_, which sounds like strange laughter. They opened
+their mouths quite wide and, wagging the lower jaw up and down with
+every "ha," they sang "O, ha-ha-ha, ho!" so many times that it seemed as
+if they would never get through. And, indeed, how could they tell when
+the song was ended, for every verse was like the one before?
+
+Then all at once they stopped singing and began some flying stunts. A
+stiff breeze was blowing, and, facing this, they pattered along, working
+busily with wings and feet, until they could get up speed enough to
+leave the water and take to flight. Though it was rather a hard matter
+to get started, when they were once under way they flew wonderfully
+well, and the different pairs seemed to enjoy setting their wings and
+sailing close together around a large curve. They went so fast part of
+the time that, when they came down to the surface of the water again,
+they plunged along with a splash and ploughed a furrow in the water
+before they could come to a stop.
+
+Of course, by that time they were hungry enough for refreshments! So
+Gavia went off to one side and stirred the water up as if she were
+trying to scare fish toward the others, who waited quietly. Then they
+all dived, and what their black sharp-pointed bills found under water
+tasted good to those hungry birds.
+
+After that the loon party broke up, and each pair went to their own home
+cove, where they had left their young. It had been a pleasant way to
+spend the time sociably together; and loons like society very much, if
+they can select their own friends and have their parties in a wilderness
+lake. But gay and happy as they had been at their merrymaking, Gavia and
+her mate were not sorry to return to the two Olairs, who had long since
+wakened from their naps and were glad to see their handsome father and
+mother again.
+
+By the time the two Olairs were full grown, Gavia had molted many of her
+prettiest feathers and was looking rather odd, as she had on part of her
+summer suit and part of her winter one. Father Loon had much the same
+appearance; for, of course, birds that live in the water cannot shed
+their feathers as many at a time as Corbie could, but must change their
+feather-wear gradually, so that they may always have enough on to keep
+their bodies dry. And summer and winter, you may be sure that a loon
+takes good care of his clothes, oiling them well to keep them
+waterproof.
+
+Fall grew into winter, and the nest where Gavia had brooded the spring
+before now held a mound of snow in its lap. The stranded log against
+which the little Olair had been bumped while he was napping, months ago,
+was glazed over with a sparkling crust. The water where Gavia and Father
+Loon had fished for their children, and had played games and run races
+with Neighbor Loons, was sealed tight with a heavy cover of ice.
+
+And it may be, if you should sail the seas this winter, that you will
+see the two Olairs far, far out upon the water. What made them leave the
+pleasures of Immer Lake just when they did, I cannot explain. I do not
+understand it well enough. I never felt quite sure why Peter Piper left
+the shore where the cardinal flowers glowed, for far Brazil. All I can
+tell you about it is that a feeling came over the loons that is called a
+migration instinct, and, almost before they knew what was happening to
+them, they were laughing weirdly through the ocean storms.
+
+If you see them, you will know that they are strange birds whose
+ancestors reach back and back through the ages, maybe a million years.
+You will think--as who would not?--that a loon is a wonderful gift that
+Nature has brought down through all the centuries; a living relic of a
+time of which we know very little except from fossils men find and guess
+about.
+
+It is small wonder their songs sound strange to our ears, for their
+voices have echoed through a world too old for us to know. It makes us a
+bit timid to think about all this, as it does the minister of Immer
+Lake, who sits before his door through many a summer twilight, playing
+on his violin until the loons answer him with their _Tremble Song_:--
+
+    "O, ha-ha-ha, ho! O, ha-ha-ha, ho!"
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+EVE AND PETRO
+
+
+If swallows studied history, 1920 would have been an important date for
+Eve and Petro. It was the one hundredth anniversary of the year when a
+man named Long visited cliff swallows among the Rocky Mountains.
+
+The century between 1820 and 1920 had given what we call civilization a
+chance to make many changes in the wild world of birds. During that time
+lifeless hummingbirds had been made to perch upon the hats of
+fashionable women; herring gulls had been robbed of their eggs and
+killed for their feathers; shooting movements had been organized to kill
+crows with shotgun or rifle, in order that more gunpowder might be sold;
+the people of Alaska had been permitted to kill more than eight thousand
+eagles in the last great breeding-place left to our National Emblem;
+uncounted millions of Passenger Pigeons had been slaughtered, and these
+wonderful birds done away with forever; and the methods by which egrets
+had been murdered were too horrible to write about in books for children
+to read.
+
+But however shamefully civilization had treated, and had brought up
+children to treat, these and many other of their fellow creatures of the
+world, who had a right to the life that had been given them as surely
+as it had been given to men, the years since 1820 had been happy ones
+for the ancestors of Eve and Petro.
+
+Eve and Petro, themselves, were happy as any two swallows need be that
+spring of 1920, when they started forth to seek a cliff, just as their
+ancestors had done for the hundred years or so since man began to notice
+their habits, and no man knows for how many hundreds of years before
+that.
+
+Of course they found it as all cliff swallows must, for cliff-hunting is
+a part of their springtime work. It was very high and very straight. Its
+wall was of boards, and the gray shingled roof jutted out overhead just
+as if inviting Eve and Petro to its shelter.
+
+It was a good cliff, and mankind had been so busy building the same sort
+all across the country for the past hundred years that there was no lack
+of them anywhere, and swallows could now choose the ones that pleased
+them best. Yes, civilization had been kind to them and had made more
+cliffs than Nature had built for them; though perhaps it was Mother
+Nature, herself, who taught the birds that these structures men called
+barns and used inside for hay or cattle were, after all, only cliffs
+outside, and that people were harmless creatures who would not hurt the
+swallow kind.
+
+However all that may be, it is quite certain that Eve and Petro
+squeaked pleasantly for joy when they chose their building site,
+undisturbed by the ladder that was soon put near, and unafraid of the
+people who climbed up to watch them at their work. They were too happily
+busy to worry, and besides, there is a tradition that men folk and
+swallow folk are friendly, each to the other.
+
+How old this tradition is, we do not know; but we do know that swallows
+of one kind and another were welcomed in the Old World in the old days
+to heathen temples before there were Christian churches, and that to-day
+in the New World they play in and out of the dark arches in the great
+churches of far Brazil and flash across the gilding of the very
+tabernacle, reminding us of the passage in the Psalms where it is
+written that the swallow hath found a nest for herself, where she may
+lay her young--even thine altars, O Lord of Hosts!
+
+So it is not strange that far and wide over the world people have the
+idea that swallows bring luck to the house. I think so myself, don't
+you?--that it is very good fortune, indeed, to have these birds of
+friendly and confiding ways beneath our shelter.
+
+Of course the ancestors of cliff swallows had not known the walls and
+roofs of man so long as other kinds of swallows; but the associations of
+one short century had been pleasant enough to call forth many cheerful
+squeakings of joy, just like those of Eve and Petro that pleasant day
+in June when they started their nest under the roof near the top of the
+ladder.
+
+To be sure, they made no use of that ladder, even though they were
+masons and had their hods of plaster to carry way up near the top of
+their cliff. No, they needed no firmer ladder than the air, and their
+long wings were strong enough to climb it with.
+
+They lost little time in beginning, each coming with his first hod of
+plaster. How? Balanced on their heads as some people carry burdens? No.
+On their backs, then? No. In their claws? Oh, no, their feet were far
+too feeble for bearing loads. Do you remember what Corbie used for a
+berry-pail when he went out to pick fruit? Why, of course! the hod of
+the swallow mason is none other than his mouth, and it holds as much as
+half a thimbleful.
+
+First, Eve had to mark the place where the curved edge of the nest would
+be; and how could she mark it without any chalk, and how could she make
+a curve without any compasses? Well, she clung to the straight wall with
+her little feet, which she kept nearly in one place, and, swinging her
+body about, hitch by hitch, she struck out her curve with her beak and
+marked it with little dabs of plaster. Then she and Petro could tell
+where to build and, taking turns, first one and then the other, they
+began to lay the wall of their home.
+
+It was slow work, for it must be thick and strong, and the place where
+they gathered the plaster was not handy by, and it took a great great
+many trips, their hods being so small.
+
+At first, while the nest was shallow, only one could work at a time; and
+if Petro came back with his plaster before Eve had patted the last of
+hers into place, she would squeak at him in a fidgety though not fretful
+voice, as if saying, "Now, don't get in my way and bother me, dear." So
+he would have to fly about while he waited for her to go. The minute she
+was ready to be off, he would be slipping into her place; and this time
+she would give him a cosy little squeak of welcome, and he would reply,
+with his mouth full of plaster, in a quick and friendly way, as if he
+meant, "I'll build while you fetch more plaster, and we'd both better
+hurry, don't you think?"
+
+After worrying a bit about the best place to dump his hodful, he went to
+work. He opened his beak and, in the most matter-of-fact way, pushed out
+his lump of plaster with his tongue, on top of the nest wall. Then he
+braced his body firmly in the nest and began to use his trowel, which
+was his upper beak, pushing the fresh lump all smooth on the inside of
+the nest.
+
+Have you ever seen a dog poke with the top of his nose, until he got the
+dirt heaped over a bone which he had buried? Well, that's much the way
+Petro bunted his plaster smooth--rooted it into place with the top of
+his closed beak. He got his face dirty doing it, too, even the pretty
+pale feather crescent moon on his forehead. But that didn't matter.
+Trowels, if they do useful work, have to get dirty doing it, and Petro
+didn't stop because of that. If he had, his nest would have been as
+rough on the inside as it was outside, where a humpy little lump showed
+for each mouthful of plaster.
+
+Although Eve and Petro did not fly off to the plaster pit together, they
+did not go alone, for there was a whole colony of swallows building
+under the eaves of that same barn; and while some of them stayed and
+plastered, the rest flew forth for a fresh supply.
+
+They knew the place, every one of them; and swiftly over the meadow and
+over the marsh they flew, until they came to a pasture. There, near a
+spring where the cows had trampled the ground until it was oozy and the
+water stood in tiny pools in their hoof prints, the swallows stopped.
+They put down their beaks into the mud and gathered it in their mouths;
+and all the time they held their wings quivering up over their beautiful
+blue backs, like a flock of butterflies just alighting with their wings
+atremble.
+
+So their plaster pit was just a mud-puddle. Yes, that is all; only it
+had to be a particularly sticky kind of mud, which is called clay; for
+the walls of their homes were a sort of brick something like that the
+people made in Egypt years and years ago. And do you remember how the
+story goes that the folk in Pharaoh's day gathered straws to mix with
+the clay, so that their bricks would be stronger? Well, Eve and Petro
+didn't know that story, but they gathered fibres of slender roots and
+dead grass stems with their clay, which doubtless did their brick
+plaster no harm.
+
+[Illustration: _At Work in the Plaster Pit._]
+
+Men brick-makers nowadays bake their bricks in ovens called kilns,
+which are heated with fire. Eve and Petro let their brick bake, too, and
+the fire they used was the same one the Egyptians used in the days of
+Pharaoh--a fire that had never in all that time gone out, but had glowed
+steadily century after century, baking many bricks for folk and birds.
+Of course you know what fire that is, for you see it yourself every day
+that the sun shines.
+
+Every now and again Eve and Petro and all the rest of the swallow colony
+left off their brick-building and went on a hunting trip. They hunted
+high in the air and they hunted low over the meadow. They hunted afar
+off along the stream and they hunted near by in the barnyard. And all
+the game they caught they captured on the wing, and they ate it fresh at
+a gulp without pausing in their flight. As they sailed and swirled, they
+were good to watch, for a swallow's strong long wings bear him right
+gracefully.
+
+Why did they stop for the hunting flight? Perhaps they were hungry.
+Perhaps their mouths were tired of being hods for clay they could not
+eat. Perhaps the fresh plaster on the walls of their homes needed time
+to dry a bit before more was added.
+
+Be that as it may, they made the minutes count even while they rested
+from their building work. For they used this time getting their meals;
+and whenever they were doing that, they were working for the owner of
+the barn, paying their rent for the house-lot on the wall by catching
+grass insects over the meadow, and mosquitoes and horseflies and
+house-flies by the hundreds, and many another pest, too.
+
+[Illustration: _The Hunting Flight._]
+
+Ah, yes, there may be some reason for the belief that swallows bring
+good luck to men. I once heard of a farmer who said he didn't dare
+disturb these birds because of a superstition that, if he did, his cows
+wouldn't give so much milk. Well, maybe they wouldn't if all the flies
+a colony of swallows could catch were alive to pester his herd; for the
+happier and more comfortable these animals are, the healthier they are
+and the more milk they give.
+
+The hunting flights of Eve and Petro and their comrades lasted about
+fifteen minutes each time they took a recess from their building.
+
+After two days the nest was big enough, so that there was room for both
+swallows to build at once; and after that, Petro didn't have to fly
+around with his mouth full of plaster waiting for Eve to go if he
+chanced to come before she was through. They always chatted a bit and
+then went on with their work, placing their plaster carefully and
+bunting it smooth on the inside, modeling with clay a house as well
+suited to their needs as is the concrete mansion a human architect makes
+suited to the needs of man.
+
+And if you think it is a simple matter to make a nest of clay, just go
+to the wisest architect you know and ask him these questions. How many
+hodfuls of clay, each holding as much as half a thimble, would it take
+to build the wall of a room just the right shape for a swallow to sit in
+while she brooded her eggs? How large would it have to be inside, to
+hold four or five young swallows grown big enough for their first
+flight? How thick would the walls have to be to make it strong enough?
+What sort of curve would be best for its support against a perfectly
+straight wall? How much space would have to be allowed for lining the
+room, to make it warm and comfortable? How can the clay be handled so
+that the drying sun and wind will not crack the walls? What is the test
+for telling whether the clay is sticky enough to hold together? How much
+of the nest must be stuck to the cliff so that the weight of it will not
+make it fall?
+
+If the architect can answer all those questions, ask him one more: ask
+him if he could make such a nest with the same materials the birds used,
+and with no more tools?
+
+Well, Eve and Petro could and did. It was big enough and strong enough
+and shaped just right; and when it was nearly done and nearly ready for
+the soft warm lining, That Boy climbed the ladder and knocked it down
+with his hand.
+
+There it lay, Eve and Petro's wonderfully modeled nest of clay, broken
+to bits on the ground and spoiled, oh, quite spoiled. There is a saying
+that it brings bad luck to do harm to a swallow. What bad luck, then,
+had the hand of That Boy brought to the world that day?
+
+[Illustration: _They always chatted a bit and then went on with their
+work, placing their plaster carefully._]
+
+Bad luck it brought to Eve and Petro, who had toiled patiently and
+unafraid beside the ladder-top, with faith in those who climbed quietly
+to watch the little feathered masons at their work. But now the walls of
+their home were broken and crumbled, and their faith was broken and
+crumbled, too. In dismay they cried out when they saw what was
+happening, and in dismay their swallow comrades cried out with them.
+Fear and disappointment entered their quick hearts, which had been
+beating in confidence and hope. People who climbed ladders were not
+beings to trust, after all, but frightful and destroying creatures. This
+had the hand of That Boy brought to Eve and Petro, who looked at the
+empty place where their nest had been, and went away.
+
+Bad luck it brought to an artist who drew pictures of birds; and when he
+knew what had happened, a sudden light flamed in his eyes. The name of
+this light is anger--the kind that comes when harm has been ruthlessly
+done to the weak and helpless. For the artist had climbed the ladder
+many a time, and had laid his quiet hand upon the lower curve of the
+nest while Eve and Petro went on with their building at the upper edge.
+And he had seen the colors of their feathers and the shape of the pale
+crescent on their foreheads--the mark a man named Say had noticed many
+years before, when he named this swallow in Latin, _lunifrons_, because
+_luna_ means moon and _frons_ means front. And he had hoped to climb the
+ladder many a time again, and when there should be young in the nest, to
+see how they looked and watch what they did, so that he could draw
+pictures of the children of Eve and Petro.
+
+Bad luck it brought to a writer of bird stories; and when she knew what
+had happened, something like an ache in her throat seemed to choke her,
+something that is called anger--the kind that comes when harm is done to
+little folk we love. For she had climbed the ladder many a time, and had
+rested her head against the top while she watched Eve and Petro push the
+pellets of mud from their mouths with their tongues and bunt the wall of
+their clay nest smooth on the inside with the top of their closed beaks,
+not stopping even though they brushed their pretty chestnut-colored
+cheeks against the sticky mud, or got specks on the feathers of their
+dainty foreheads that bore a mark shaped like a pale new moon. And she
+had hoped to climb the ladder many a time again, and watch Eve and Petro
+feed their children when the nest was done and lined and the eggs were
+laid and hatched; for this nest could be looked into, as the top was
+left open because the barn roof sheltered it and it needed no other
+cover.
+
+Now Eve and Petro were gone, and no more sketches could be made near
+enough to show how little cliff swallows looked in their nest. And
+nothing more could be written about such affairs of these two birds as
+could only be learned close to them. Nor, indeed, was there any way to
+learn those things from the rest of the colony; for it so chanced that
+Eve and Petro were the only pair who had built where a ladder could be
+placed. So bad luck had come not only to Eve and Petro, but to the story
+of their lives.
+
+But, most of all, the breaking of their nest brought bad luck to That
+Boy, himself. For as he stood at the top of the ladder, he might have
+curved the hollow of his hand gently upon the rounded outside of the
+nest and, waiting quietly, have watched the building birds. He might
+have seen Eve come flitting home with her tiny load of clay, poking it
+out of her mouth with her tongue and bunting it smooth in her own
+cunning way. He might have laid his head against the ladder and heard
+their cosy voices as they squeaked pleasantly together over the
+home-building. He might have looked at the colors of their feathers, and
+seen where they were glossy black with a greenish sheen, where rich
+purply chestnut, and where grayish white. He might have looked well at
+the pale feather moon on their foreheads, which the man named Say had
+noticed one hundred years before. He might, oh, he might have become one
+of the brotherhood of men, whom swallows of one kind or another have
+trusted since the far-off years of Bible times when they built at the
+altars of the Lord of Hosts.
+
+All this good luck he held, That Boy, in the hollow of his hand, and he
+threw it away when he struck the nest; and it fell, crumbled, with the
+broken bits of clay.
+
+[Illustration: _Quaint Clay Pottery._]
+
+As for Eve and Petro, if fear and disappointment had driven trust from
+their hearts, they still had courage and patience and industry. They
+sought another and a different sort of cliff, and found one made of red
+brick and white stone. Near the very high top of this a large colony of
+swallows were building; and, because there was no closely protecting
+roof, these swallows were making the round part of their nest closed
+over at the top with a winding hallway to an outer doorway. They looked,
+indeed, like a row of quaint clay pottery, shaped like crook-necked
+gourds. For such were the nests these swallows built one hundred years
+ago on the wild rock cliffs, if they chose their house-lots where there
+was no overhanging shelter; and such are the nests they still build
+when there seems to be need of them.
+
+They were too far from the pleasant pasture to dig their clay out of the
+footprints of cows; but there was a track where the automobiles slushed
+through sticky mud, and they swirled down there and filled their little
+hods when the road was clear.
+
+Eve and Petro found a nook even higher up than the others, where a
+crook-necked jug of a nest did not seem to fit. When they had built
+their wall as high as need be, they closed it over with a little rounded
+dome, and at the side they left two doorways open, one facing the
+southwest and one facing the southeast. And some days after this was
+done, had you gone to the foot of their cliff and used a pair of
+field-glasses, you might have seen Eve's head sticking out of one door
+and Petro's at the other. Ah, they had, then, some good luck left them.
+They had had each other in their days of trouble, and now they rested
+from their building labors and sat happily together in their second
+home, each with a doorway to enjoy.
+
+And later on they had more good luck still. For there came a day when
+they spent no more time sitting at ease within doors, but flew hither
+and yon, and then, returning to the nest, clung outside with their tiny
+feet and stuck their heads in at the open doorway for a brief moment
+before they were off again. Their nest was too far up for anyone to hear
+or see what went on within; but there must have been some hungry little
+mouths yawning all day long, to keep Eve and Petro both so busy hunting
+the air for insects.
+
+Soon after this one of the doors was closed, sealed tight with clay.
+What had happened? Were the little ones inside crowding about too
+recklessly, so that there was danger of one falling out? Had Eve and
+Petro come upon an especially good mud-puddle and built a bit more just
+for the fun of it?
+
+It was not very many days after this that Eve and Petro and all their
+comrades ceased coming to the cliff where their curious nests were
+fastened. Their doorways knew them no more; but over the meadows from
+dawn till nearly dusk there flew beautiful old swallows bearing upon
+their foreheads the pale mark of a new moon, and with them were their
+young.
+
+At night they sought the marshes, where their little feet might cling to
+slender stems of bending reeds; and their numbers were very many.
+
+But winter would be coming, and if it still was a long way off, so were
+the hunting grounds of South America, where they must be flitting away
+the days when the northern marshes would be frozen over.
+
+So off they went, Eve and Petro and their young, looking so much like
+others of the swallow flock that we could not tell who they were, now
+that they had stopped coming to their nest with one open and one closed
+doorway.
+
+They would have far to travel, even if they took the direct over-water
+route, which many sorts of birds do. But what is distance to Petro,
+whose strong wings carry him lightly? A mile or a hundred or a thousand
+even are nothing if the hunting be good. Might just as well be flying
+south, as back and forth over the same meadow the livelong day, with now
+and then a rest on the roadside wires, which fit his little feet nearly
+as well as the reeds of the marsh. Some people think it is for the sake
+of the hunting that the route of the swallows lies overland, for they
+fly by day and catch their game all along the way.
+
+And as they journeyed, Eve and Petro and their flock, south and south
+and south, maybe the children, here and there, waved their hands to them
+and called, "Good hunting, little friends of the air, and _good luck_
+through all the winter till you come back to us again."
+
+[Illustration: _A Famous Landmark._]
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+UNCLE SAM
+
+
+Uncle Sam stood at the threshold of his home, with an air of dignity.
+There was enough to fill his breast with honest pride. His home had been
+a famous landmark for generations before he himself had fallen heir to
+it. It was the oldest one in the neighborhood. It had stood there
+seventy-five years before, when a white man had built a cabin within
+sight of it, for company. That cabin had been neglected and had fallen
+to bits years ago; but Uncle Sam's ancestors had taken care of their
+place, and had mended the weak spots each season, and had kept it in
+such repair that it was still as good as ever. It would last, indeed,
+with such treatment, as long as the post and the beams that supported it
+held. The post was the trunk of a tall old tree, and the beams were the
+branches, so near the top that it would be a very brave or a very
+foolish man who would try to climb so far; for there were no stairs.
+
+No stairs, and such a distance up! But Uncle Sam could find the path
+that led to it; for was he not a lord of the air, and could he not sail
+the roughest wind with those strong wings of his?
+
+[Illustration: _Above all other creatures of this great land he had been
+honored._]
+
+Perhaps it was the sure strength of his wings that gave him a stately
+poise of pride even as he rested. It could not have been the honor men
+had bestowed upon him; for, although that was very great, he knew
+nothing about it.
+
+Soldiers had gone into battle for freedom and right, bearing the picture
+of Uncle Sam on their banners. Veterans had walked in Memorial Day
+parades, while over their gray heads floated the symbol of Uncle Sam and
+the Stars and Stripes. Yes, the people of a great and noble land,
+reaching from a sea on the east to a sea on the west, had honored Uncle
+Sam by choosing him for the emblem of their country. His picture was
+stamped on their paper money, and ornamented one side of the coins that
+came from the mint, with the words, "In God We Trust," on the other
+side. Above all other creatures of this great land he had been honored;
+and could he have understood, he might well have been justly proud of
+this tribute.
+
+But as it was, perhaps his emotions were centred only on his family; for
+his home was shared by his mate and two young sons. He bent his white
+head to look down at his twins. They were such hungry rascals and needed
+such a deal of care! They had needed care, indeed, ever since the day
+their little bodies had begun to form in the two bluish white eggs their
+mother had laid in the nest. They had stayed inside those shells for a
+month; and they never could have lived and grown there if they had not
+been brooded and kept warm. Their mother had snuggled her feathers over
+them and kept them cosy; and, when she had needed a change and a rest,
+Uncle Sam had cuddled them close under his body; for a month is a long
+time to keep eggs from getting cold, and it was only fair that he should
+take his turn.
+
+He was no shirk in his family life. He had chosen his mate until death
+should part them; and whenever there were eggs in the nest, he was as
+patient about brooding them as she was; for did they not belong to both
+of them, and did they not contain two fine young eagles in the making?
+
+And never had they had finer children than the two who that moment were
+opening hungry mouths and begging for food. In answer to their teasing,
+Uncle Sam spread his great wings and took stately flight to the lake.
+For he was a fisherman. When a fish came to the surface, he would try to
+catch it in his strong claws, so that he might have food to take back to
+his waiting family. This was easy for him when the fish was wounded or
+weak and had come to the surface to die; but the quick fishes often
+escaped, because he was not so skillful at this sort of fishing as the
+osprey.
+
+Yes, the osprey was a wonderful fisherman, who could snatch a fish from
+the water in his sure claws. But for all that, he was not so wonderful
+as Uncle Sam, who could catch a fish in the air.
+
+[Illustration: _The Yankee-Doodle Twins._]
+
+Now, fishing in the air was a thrilling game that Uncle Sam loved. All
+the wild delight of a chase was in the sport. He used, sometimes, to sit
+high up on a cliff and watch the osprey swoop down to the water. Then,
+when the hawk mounted with the prize, Uncle Sam flew far above him and
+swept downward, commanding him to drop the fish. The smaller bird
+obeyed, and let the fish fall from his claws. But it never fell far.
+Uncle Sam closed his mighty wings and dropped with such speed that he
+caught the fish in mid-air; and the tree-tops swayed with the sudden
+wind his passing caused. Surely there was never a more exciting way of
+going fishing than this!
+
+And did the fish belong to the osprey or to Uncle Sam?
+
+What would you call a man who, by power of greater strength, took away
+the food another man had earned?
+
+Are we, then, to call Uncle Sam a thief and a bully?
+
+Ah, no; because it is not with an eagle as it is with a man.
+
+For the wild things of the world there is only one law, and that is the
+Law of Nature. They must live as they are made to live, and that is all
+that concerns them. There is nothing for bird or beast or blossom to
+learn about "right" or "wrong," as we learn about those things. All they
+need to do--any of them--is to live naturally.
+
+When we think about it that way, it is very easy to tell whether the
+fish belonged to the osprey or to Uncle Sam. Of course, to begin with,
+the fish belonged to itself as long as it could dive quickly enough or
+swim fast enough to keep itself free and safe. But the minute the osprey
+caught it, it belonged to the osprey, just as much as it would belong to
+you if you caught it with a net or a hook. Yes, the fish belonged to the
+osprey _more_ than it would belong to you; for ospreys hunted food for
+themselves and for their young in that lake centuries and centuries
+before a white man even saw it, and before nets and hooks were invented;
+and besides, in most places, the children of men can live and grow if
+they never eat a fish, while the children of the osprey would die
+without such food. So we admire Fisherman Osprey for his strength and
+swiftness and skill, and are glad for him when he flies off with the
+prize, which is his very own as long as he can keep it.
+
+But when he drops it, it is his no longer, but the eagle's, who fishes
+wonderfully in the air--a game depending on the keenness of his sight,
+his strength, his quickness, and his skill; and the fish that belonged
+first to itself, and then to the osprey, belonged in the end to the
+eagle; and all this is according to the Law of Nature.
+
+Uncle Sam was not selfish about that fish. He gave it to his twins, and
+they did enjoy their dinner very, very much, indeed. A fresh brook
+trout, browned just right, never tasted better to you. For they had been
+hungry, and the food was good for them.
+
+Uncle Sam and his mate, whom the children who lived within sight of
+their nest named Aunt Samantha, had many a hunting and fishing trip to
+take while the twins were growing; for the bigger the young eagles
+became, the bigger their appetites were, too. But at last the
+youngsters were old enough and strong enough and brave enough to take
+their first flight. Think of them, then, standing there on the outer
+porch of their great home in the air, and daring to leave it, when it
+was so very high and they would have so very far to fall if their wings
+did not work right!
+
+Nonsense, an eagle fall! Had they not been stretching and exercising
+their muscles for days? And surely the twins would succeed, with Uncle
+Sam and Aunt Samantha to encourage and urge them forth.
+
+The day Uncle Sam cheered his young sons in their baby flight was a
+great day for all the country round. For not only were the sons of
+eagles flying, but the sons of men were flying, too. Yes, it was
+practice day near the lake, and across the water airships rose from the
+camp and sailed through the air, like mighty birds meant for mighty
+deeds. For Uncle Sam's country was at war, and many brave and noble lads
+thrilled with pride because they were going to help win a battle for
+Right.
+
+The bravest and noblest and most fearless of all the camp caught sight
+of Uncle Sam and smiled. "Emblem of my country!" the young man said.
+"King of the air in your strong flight! Great deeds are to be done, O
+Eagle with the snow-white head, and your banner will be foremost in the
+fight."
+
+Uncle Sam made no reply. He was too far away to hear, and he could not
+have understood if he had been near. He saw the distant airships, so big
+and strong, and led his family away to quieter places, without knowing
+at all what the big birds were, or what they meant to do. There was so
+much happening in the country that honored him, that Uncle Sam could not
+understand!
+
+He did not even know that, far to the northwest, there was a part of the
+country called Alaska, where eagles had lived in safety and had brought
+up their young in peace long after their haunts in most parts of the
+land had been disturbed. He did not know that the government of Alaska
+was at that moment paying people fifty cents for every eagle they would
+kill, and that in two years about five thousand of these noble birds
+were to die in that manner. He did not know that, if such deeds kept on,
+before many years there would be no eagles flying proudly through the
+air: there would be only pictures of eagles on our money and banners. If
+he could have been told what was happening, and that there was danger
+that the country would be without a living emblem, and that there might
+be only stuffed emblems in museums, would he not have thought, "Surely
+the strong, wise men who go forth to fight for right and liberty will
+see that the bird of freedom has a home in their land!"
+
+No; Uncle Sam knew nothing about such matters, and so he busied his mind
+with the things he did know, and was not sad.
+
+He knew where the swamp was, and in the swamp the ducks were thick. They
+were good-tasting ducks, and there were so many of them that hunters
+with guns and dogs gathered there from all the country round. And the
+hunters wounded some birds that the dogs did not get, and these could
+not fly off at migrating time.
+
+Now, Uncle Sam and his family found the wounded ducks easy to catch, and
+they were nearly as well pleased with them for food as with fish. Of
+course their feathers had to be picked off first. No eagle would eat a
+duck with his feathers on, any more than you would. And Uncle Sam knew
+how to strip off the feathers as well as anyone.
+
+So it was interesting in the swamp, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha and
+the twins were satisfied with hunting there when they were not fishing
+in the lake.
+
+One day, when Uncle Sam went hunting, he flew near a field where there
+was a little lamb; and being a strong and powerful eagle, he was able to
+carry it away. Perhaps he felt very proud as he flew off with so much
+food at one time. Such strength is something to be pleased with when it
+is put to the right use, and getting food is as important for an eagle's
+life as it is for a man's.
+
+He lifted his burden high in the air, holding it in his strong talons;
+and he did not falter once in his steady flight, although the load
+weighed nearly as much as he did, and he carried it two miles without
+resting once.
+
+Yes, I think Uncle Sam was proud of that day's hunting and happy with
+what he had caught; and the tender meat tasted good to him and his
+family.
+
+But the man who had owned the lamb before Uncle Sam caught it was not
+pleased. He happened to be coming out of the woods just in time to see
+the capture; and an hour later the boy and the girl who lived within
+sight of Uncle Sam's nest met the man and saw that he carried a gun.
+
+"I'm after a white-headed sheep thief," he said; "do you know which way
+he flew, after he reached the cliff?"
+
+The boy's face turned white in a second, and he held his fists together
+very still and very tight. The girl looked at her younger brother and
+then at the man.
+
+"Yes, we know," she said, "and we will not tell."
+
+"Why?" asked the man. "He took the lamb I was going to roast when it was
+big enough."
+
+The girl chuckled a little merrily. "And Uncle Sam got ahead of you,"
+she said. "Never mind, I'll get the money to pay for his dinner. The
+eagles here usually eat fish from the lake, and sometimes game from the
+swamp; but once in a very, very long while they take a lamb. When that
+happens, the Junior Audubon Society at our school pays for their treat.
+I have the money, because I am treasurer."
+
+After the girl turned back to the house for the money, the boy looked
+hard at the gun. Then he swallowed to get rid of the lump that hurt his
+throat and said, "If you had shot Uncle Sam or Aunt Samantha or their
+young, the children for miles and miles NEVER would have liked you.
+Eagles have nested in that tree for more than seventy years, and nobody
+except a newcomer would think of shooting one."
+
+So they talked together for some time about eagles; and when the girl
+came back, the man did not charge so much for Uncle Sam's treat as we
+sometimes have to pay for our own lamb chops.
+
+And way off among the cliffs Uncle Sam ate in content, not knowing that
+his life had been in danger, and that he had been saved by a boy and a
+girl who were growing up "under the shadow of an eagle's wings," as they
+said to each other as they watched him sail the air in his journeys to
+and fro.
+
+That afternoon, when they heard him call, "Cac, cac, cac," they said,
+"Uncle Sam is laughing." And when his mate answered in her harsh voice,
+they said, "Aunt Samantha would be happy if she knew we saved their
+lives."
+
+Busy with the life Nature taught them to live, the twins grew up as
+Uncle Sam had grown before them.
+
+As they were hunters, there was nothing more interesting to them than
+seeking their food in wild, free places. They had no guns and dogs, but
+they caught game in the swamp. They had no cooks to prepare their ducks,
+so they picked off the feathers themselves. They had no fish-line and
+tackle, but they caught fish in the lake. And in time they caught fish
+in the air, too; which was even more thrilling, and a game they came to
+enjoy when they overtook the ospreys. Many times, too, they sought the
+fish that had been washed up on the lake shore, and so helped keep
+things sweet and clean. In this way they were scavengers; and it is
+always well to remember that a scavenger, whether he be a bird or beast
+or beetle, does great service in the world for all who need pure air to
+breathe.
+
+The first year they became bigger than their father, and bigger than
+they themselves would be when they were old. At first, too, their eyes
+were brown, and not yellow like their father's and mother's. And for two
+years their heads and tails were dark, so that they looked much more
+like "golden eagles" than they did like the old ones of their own kind.
+
+The soldiers at the training-camp caught sight of them now and then, and
+named them the "Yankee-Doodle Twins." When the twins were three years
+old, their molting season brought a remarkable change to them. The dark
+feathers of their heads and necks and tails dropped out, and in their
+places white feathers grew, so that by this time they looked like their
+own father and mother, who are what is called "bald eagles," though
+their heads are not bald at all, but well covered with feathers.
+
+These two birds that were hatched in the home that was more than seventy
+years old lived to see the end of the war the young soldiers were
+training for when they took their first flights together near the shore
+of the same lake. And perhaps they will live to a time when the people
+of their country learn to deal more and more justly with each other and
+with the great bird of freedom chosen by their forefathers to be the
+emblem of their proud land.
+
+Why, indeed, if the boys and girls of the neighborhood keep up a guard
+for the protection of Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha, should they not nest
+again, and yet again, in that tree-top home that has been so well taken
+care of for more than threescore years and ten; and bring up
+Yankee-Doodle Twins for their country in days of peace as they did in
+days of war?
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+CORBIE
+
+
+Corbie's great-great-grandfather ruled a large flock from his look-out
+throne on a tall pine stump, where he could see far and wide, and judge
+for his people where they should feed and when they should fly.
+
+His great-grandfather was famous for his collections of old china and
+other rare treasures, having lived in the woods near the town dump,
+where he picked up many a bright trinket, chief among which was an old
+gold-plated watch-chain, which he kept hidden in a doll's red tea-cup
+when he was not using it.
+
+His grandfather was a handsome fellow, so glistening that he looked
+rather purple when he walked in the sunshine; and he had a voice so
+sweet and mellow that any minstrel might have been proud of it, though
+he seldom sang, and it is possible that no one but Corbie's grandmother
+heard it at its best. He was, moreover, a merry soul, fond of a joke,
+and always ready to dance a jig, with a chuckle, when anything very
+funny happened in crowdom.
+
+As for the wisdom and beauty of his grandmothers all the way back, there
+is so much to be said that, if I once began to tell about them, there
+would be no space left for the story of Corbie himself.
+
+[Illustration: _In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs._]
+
+Of course, coming from a family like that, Corbie was sure to be
+remarkable; for there is no doubt at all that we inherit many traits of
+our ancestors.
+
+Corbie knew very little about his own father and mother, for he was
+adopted into a human family when he was ten days old, and a baby at that
+age does not remember much.
+
+Although he was too young to realize it, those first ten days after he
+had come out of his shell, and those before that, while he was growing
+inside his shell, were in some ways the most important of his life, for
+it was then that he needed the most tender and skillful care. Well, he
+had it; for the gentleness and skill of Father and Mother Crow left
+nothing to be desired. They had built the best possible nest for their
+needs by placing strong sticks criss-cross high up in an old pine tree.
+For a lining they had stripped soft stringy bark from a wild grapevine,
+and had finished off with a bit of still softer dried grass.
+
+In this Mother Crow had laid her five bluish-green eggs marked with
+brown; and she and Father Crow had shared, turn and turn about, the long
+task of keeping their babies inside those beautiful shells warm enough
+so that they could grow.
+
+And grow they did, into five as homely little objects as ever broke
+their way out of good-looking eggshells. There was not down on their
+bodies to make them fluffy and pretty, like Peter Piper's children. They
+were just sprawling little bits of crow-life, so helpless that it would
+have been quite pitiful if they had not had a good patient mother and a
+father who seemed never to get tired of hunting for food.
+
+Now, it takes a very great deal of food for five young crows, because
+each one on some days will eat more than half his own weight and beg for
+more. Dear, dear! how they did beg! Every time either Father or Mother
+Crow came back to the nest, those five beaks would open so wide that the
+babies seemed to be yawning way down to the end of their red throats.
+Oh, the food that got stuffed into them! Good and nourishing, every bit
+of it; for a proper diet is as important to a bird baby as to a human
+one. Juicy caterpillars--a lot of them: enough to eat up a whole
+berry-patch if the crows hadn't found them; nutty-flavored
+grasshoppers--a lot of them, too; so many, in fact, that it looked very
+much as if crows were the reason the grasshoppers were so nearly wiped
+out that year that they didn't have a chance to trouble the farmers'
+crops; and now and then a dainty egg was served them in the most
+tempting crow-fashion, that is, right from the beak of the parent.
+
+For, as you no doubt have heard, a crow thinks no more of helping
+himself to an egg of a wild bird than we do of visiting the nests of
+tame birds, such as hens and geese and turkeys, and taking the eggs they
+lay. Of course, it would not occur to a crow that he didn't have a
+perfect right to take such food for himself and his young as he could
+find in his day's hunting. Indeed, it is not unlikely that, if a crow
+did any real thinking about the matter, he might decide that robins and
+meadowlarks were his chickens anyway. So what the other birds would
+better do about it is to hide their nests as well as ever they can, and
+be quiet when they come and go.
+
+That is the way Father and Mother Crow did, themselves, when they built
+their home where the pine boughs hid it from climbers below and from
+fliers above. And, though you might hardly believe it of a crow, they
+were still as mice whenever they came near it, alighting first on trees
+close by, and slipping up carefully between the branches, to be sure no
+enemy was following their movements. Then they would greet their babies
+with a comforting low "Caw," which seemed to mean, "Never fear, little
+ones, we've brought you a very good treat." Yes, they were shy, those
+old crows, when they were near their home, and very quiet they kept
+their affairs until their young got into the habit of yelling, "Kah,
+kah, kah," at the top of their voices whenever they were hungry, and of
+mumbling loudly, "Gubble-gubble-gubble," whenever they were eating.
+
+After that time comes, there is very little quiet within the home of a
+crow; and all the world about may guess, without being a bit clever,
+where the nest is. A good thing it is for the noisy youngsters that by
+that time they are so large that it does not matter quite so much.
+
+But it was before the "kah-and-gubble" habit had much more than begun
+that Corbie was adopted; and the nestlings were really as still as could
+be when the father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl climbed
+way, way, way up that big tree and looked into the round little room up
+there. There was no furniture--none at all. Just one bare nursery, in
+which five babies were staying day and night. Yet it was a tidy room,
+fresh and sweet enough for anybody to live in; for a crow, young or old,
+is a clean sort of person.
+
+The father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl looked over the
+five homely, floundering little birds, and, choosing Corbie, put him
+into his hat and climbed down with him. He was a nimble sort of father,
+or he never could have done it, so tall a tree it was, with no branches
+near the ground.
+
+Corbie, even at ten days old, was not like the spry children of Peter
+Piper, who could run about at one day old, all ready for picnics and
+teetering along the shore. No, indeed! He was almost as helpless and
+quite as floppy as a human baby, and he needed as good care, too. He
+needed warmth enough and food enough and a clean nest to live in; and he
+needed to be kept safe from such prowling animals as will eat young
+birds, and from other enemies. All these things his father and mother
+had looked out for.
+
+Now the little Corbie was kidnaped--taken away from his home and the
+loving and patient care of his parents.
+
+But you need not be sorry for Corbie--not very. For the Brown-eyed Boy
+and the Blue-eyed Girl adopted the little chap, and gave him food enough
+and warmth enough and a chance to keep his new nest clean; and they did
+it all with love and patience, too.
+
+Corbie kept them busy, for they were quick to learn that, when he opened
+his beak and said, "Kah," it was meal-time, even if he had had luncheon
+only ten minutes before. His throat was very red and very hollow, and
+seemed ready to swallow no end of fresh raw egg and bits of raw beef and
+earthworms and bread soaked in milk. Not that he had to have much at a
+time, but he needed so very many meals a day. It was fun to feed the
+little fellow, because he grew so fast and because he was so comical
+when he called, "Kah."
+
+It was not long before his body looked as if he had a crop of
+paint-brushes growing all over it; for a feather, when it first comes,
+is protected by a little case, and the end of the feather, which sticks
+out of the tip of the case, does look very much like the soft hairs at
+the end of a paint-brush, the kind that has a hollow quill stem, you
+know. After they were once started, dear me, how those feathers grew! It
+seemed no time at all before they covered up the ear-holes in the side
+of his head, and no time at all before a little bristle fringe grew down
+over the nose-holes in his long horny beak.
+
+He was nearly twenty days old before he could stand up on his toes like
+a grown-up crow. Before that, when he stood up in his nest and "kahed"
+for food, he stood on his whole foot way back to the heel, which looks
+like a knee, only it bends the wrong way. When he was about three weeks
+old, however, he began standing way up on his toes, and stretching his
+leg till his heels came up straight. Then he would flap his wings and
+exercise them, too.
+
+Of course, you can guess what that meant. It meant--yes, it meant that
+Corbie was getting ready to leave his nest; and before the Brown-eyed
+Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl really knew what was happening, Corbie went
+for his first ramble. He stepped out of his nest-box, which had been
+placed on top of a flat, low shed, and strolled up the steep roof of the
+woodshed, which was within reach. There he stood on the ridge-pole, the
+little tike, and yelled, "Caw," in almost a grown-up way, as if he felt
+proud and happy. Perhaps he did for a while. It really was a trip to be
+proud of for one's very first walk in the world.
+
+But the exercise made him hungry, and he soon yelled, "Kah!" in a tone
+that meant, "Bring me my luncheon this minute or I'll beg till you do."
+
+The Brown-eyed Boy took a dish of bread and milk to the edge of the low
+roof, where the nest-box had been placed, and the Blue-eyed Girl called,
+"Come and get it, Corbie."
+
+Not Corbie! He had always had his meals brought to him. He liked
+service, that crow. And besides, maybe he _couldn't_ walk down the roof
+it had been so easy to run up. Anyway, his voice began to sound as if he
+were scared as well as hungry, and later as if he were more scared than
+hungry.
+
+Now it stood to reason that Corbie's meals could not be served him every
+fifteen minutes on the ridge-pole of a steep roof. So the long ladder
+had to be brought out, and the crow carried to the ground and advised to
+keep within easy reach until he could use his wings.
+
+It was only a few days until Corbie could fly down from anything he
+could climb up; and from that hour he never lacked for amusement. Of
+course, the greedy little month-old baby found most of his fun for a
+while in being fed. "Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to sun-down,
+keeping the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl busy digging
+earthworms and cutworms and white grubs, and soaking bread in milk for
+him. "Gubble-gubble-gubble," he said as he swallowed it--it was all so
+very good.
+
+[Illustration: _"Kah! Kah! Kah!" he called from sun-up to sun-down._]
+
+The joke of it was that Corbie, even then, had a secret--his first one.
+He had many later on. But the very first one seems the most wonderful,
+somehow. Yes, he could feed himself long before he let his foster
+brother and sister know it; and I think, had he been a wild crow instead
+of a tame one, he would have fooled his own father and mother the same
+way--the little rascal.
+
+No one would think, to see him with beak up and open, and with
+fluttering wings held out from his sides, that the little chap begging
+"Kah! kah! kah!" was old enough to do more than "gubble" the food that
+was poked into his big throat. But for all that, when the Brown-eyed Boy
+forgot the dish of earthworms and ran off to play, Corbie would listen
+until he could hear no one near, and then cock his bright eye down over
+the wriggling worms. Then, very slyly, he would pick one up with a jerk
+and catch it back into his mouth. One by one he would eat the worms,
+until he wanted no more; and then he would hide the rest by poking them
+into cracks or covering them with chips, crooning the while over his
+secret joke. "There-there-tuck-it-there," was what his croon sounded
+like; but if the Brown-eyed Boy or the Blue-eyed Girl came near, he
+would flutter out his wings at his sides and lift his open beak, his
+teasing "Kah" seeming to say, "Honest, I haven't had a bite to eat since
+you fed me last."
+
+When his body was grown so big with his stuffing that he was almost a
+full-sized crow, he stopped his constant begging for food. The days of
+his greed were only the days of his growth needs, and the world was too
+full of adventures to spend all his time just eating.
+
+It was now time for him to take pleasure in his sense of sight,
+and for a few, weeks he went nearly crazy with joy over yellow
+playthings. He strewed the vegetable garden with torn and tattered
+squash-blossoms--gorgeous bits of color that it was such fun to find
+hidden under the big green leaves! He strutted to the flower-garden, and
+pulled off all the yellow pansies, piling them in a heap. He jumped for
+the golden buttercups, nipping them from their stems. He danced for joy
+among the torn dandelion blooms he threw about the lawn. For Corbie was
+like a human baby in many ways. He must handle what he loved, and spoil
+it with his playing.
+
+Perhaps Corbie inherited his dancing from his grandfather. It may have
+come down to him with that old crow's merry spirit. Whether it was all
+his own or in part his grandfather's, it was a wonderful dance, so full
+of joy that the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl would leave their
+play to watch him, and would call the Grown-Ups of the household, that
+they, too, might see Corbie's "Happy Dance."
+
+If he was pleased with his cleverness in hiding some pretty beetle in a
+crack and covering it with a chip, he danced. If he spied the shiny
+nails in the tool-shed, he danced. If he found a gay ribbon to drag
+about the yard, he danced. But most and best he danced on a hot day when
+he was given a bright basin of water. Singing a lively chattering tune,
+he came to his bath. He cocked one bright eye and then the other over
+the ripples his beak made in the water. Plunging in, he splashed long,
+cooling flutters. Then he danced back and forth from the doorstep to
+his glistening pan, chattering his funny tune the while.
+
+Have you heard of a Highland Fling or a Sailor's Hornpipe? Well,
+Corbie's Happy Dance was as gay as both together, when he jigged in the
+dooryard to the tune of his own merry chatter. The Brown-eyed Boy and
+the Blue-eyed Girl laughed to see him, and the Grown-Ups laughed. And
+even as they laughed, their hearts danced with the little black crow--he
+made them feel so very glad about the bath. For he had been too warm and
+was now comfortable. The summer sun on his feathered body had tired him,
+and the cooling water brought relief. "Thanks be for the bath. O bird,
+be joyful for the bath!" he chattered in his own language, as he spread
+his wings and gave again and yet again his Happy Dance.
+
+But a basin, however bright, is not enough to keep a crow in the
+dooryard; for a crow is a bird of adventure.
+
+So it was that on a certain day Corbie flew over the cornfield and over
+the tree-tops to the river; and so quiet were his wings, that the
+Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl did not hear his coming, and they
+both jumped when he perched upon a tiny rock near by and screamed,
+"Caw," quite suddenly, as one child says, "Boo," to another, to surprise
+him. Then the bird sang his chatter tune, and found a shallow place near
+the bank, where he splashed and bathed. After that, the Blue-eyed Girl
+showed him a little water-snail. He turned it over in his beak and
+dropped it. It meant no more to him than a pebble. "I think you'll like
+to eat it, Corbie," said the Brown-eyed Boy, breaking the shell and
+giving it to him again; "even people eat snails, I've heard."
+
+Corbie took the morsel and swallowed it, and soon was cracking for
+himself all the snails his comrades gave him. But that was not enough,
+for their eyes were only the eyes of children and his bright bird eyes
+could find them twice as fast. So he waded in the river, playing "I spy"
+with his foster brother and sister, and beating them, too, at the game,
+though they had hunted snails as many summers as he had minutes.
+
+He enjoyed doing many of the same things the children did. It was that,
+and his sociable, merry ways, that made him such a good playfellow, and
+because he wanted them to be happy in his pleasure and to praise his
+clever tricks. Like other children, eating when he was hungry gave him
+joy, and at times he made a game of it that was fun for them all. Every
+now and then he would go off quietly by himself, and fill the hollow of
+his throat with berries from the bushes near the river-bank and, flying
+back to his friends, would spill out his fruit, uncrushed, in a little
+pile beside them while he crooned and chuckled about it. He seemed to
+have the same sort of good time picking berries in his throat cup and
+showing how many he had found that the children did in seeing which
+could first fill a tin cup before they sat down on the rocks to eat
+them.
+
+One day the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl were down by the
+river, hunting for pearls. A pearl-hunter had shown them how to open
+freshwater clamshells without killing the clams. Suddenly Corbie walked
+up and, taking one of these hard-shelled animals right out of their
+hands, he flew high overhead and dropped it down on the rocks near by.
+Of course that broke the shell and of course Corbie came down and ate
+the clam, without needing any vinegar or butter on it to make it taste
+good to him. How he learned to do this, the children never knew. Perhaps
+he found out by just happening to drop one he was carrying, or perhaps
+he saw the wild crows drop their clams to break the shells: for after
+nesting season they used often to come down from the mountainside to
+fish by the river for snails and clams and crayfish, when they were not
+helping the farmers by eating up insects in the fields.
+
+Corbie liked the crayfish, too, as well as people like lobsters and
+crabs, and he had many an exciting hunt, poking under the stones for
+them and pulling them out with his strong beak.
+
+There seemed to be no end of things Corbie could do with that beak of
+his. Sometimes it was a little crowbar for lifting stones or bits of
+wood when he wanted to see what was underneath; for as every outdoor
+child, either crow or human, knows, very, very interesting things live
+in such places. Sometimes it was a spade for digging in the dirt.
+Sometimes it was a pick for loosening up old wood in the hollow tree
+where he kept his best treasures. Sometimes it worked like a
+nut-cracker, sometimes like a pair of forceps, and sometimes--oh, you
+can think of a dozen tools that beak of Corbie's was like. He was as
+well off as if he had a whole carpenter's chest with him all the time.
+But mostly it served like a child's thumb and forefinger, to pick
+berries, or to untie the bright hair-ribbons of the Blue-eyed Girl or
+the shoe-laces of the Brown-eyed Boy. And once in a long, long while,
+when some stupid child or Grown-Up, who did not know how to be civil to
+a crow, used him roughly, his beak became a weapon with which to pinch
+and to strike until his enemy was black and blue. For Corbie learned, as
+every sturdy person must, in some way or other, how to protect himself
+when there was need.
+
+Yes, Corbie's beak was wonderful. Of course, lips are better on people
+in many ways than beaks would be; but we cannot do one tenth so many
+things with our mouths as Corbie could with his. To be sure, we do not
+need to, for we have hands to help us out. If our arms had grown into
+wings, though, as a bird's arms do, how should we ever get along in this
+world?
+
+[Illustration: _Corbie slipped off and amused himself._]
+
+The weeks passed by. A happy time for Corbie, whether he played with the
+children or slipped off and amused himself, as he had a way of doing now
+and then, after he grew old enough to feel independent. The world for
+him was full of adventure and joy. He never once asked, "What can I do
+now to amuse me?" Never once. His brain was so active that he could
+fill every place and every hour full to the brim of interest. He had a
+merry way about him, and a gay chatter that seemed to mean, "Oh, life to
+a crow is joy! JOY!" And because of all this, it was not only the
+Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl who loved him. He won the hearts
+of even the Grown-Ups, who had sometimes found it hard to be patient
+with him during the first noisy days, when he tired them with his
+frequent baby "kah-and-gubble," before he could feed himself.
+
+But, however bold and dashing he was during the day, whatever the sunny
+hours had held of mirth and dancing, whichever path he had trod or
+flown, whomever he had chummed with--when it was the time of dusk,
+little Corbie sought the one he loved best of all, the one who had been
+most gentle with him, and snuggling close to the side of the Blue-eyed
+Girl, tucked his head into her sleeve or under the hem of her skirt, and
+crooned his sleepy song which seemed to mean:--
+
+    Oh! soft and warm the crow in the nest
+    Finds the fluff of his mother's breast.
+    Oh! well he sleeps, for she folds him tight--
+    Safe from the owl that flies by night.
+
+    Oh! far her wings have fluttered away,
+    Nor does it matter in the day.
+    But keep me, pray, till again 't is light,
+    Safe from the owl that flies by night.
+
+Thus, long after he would have been weaned, for his own good, from such
+care, had he remained wild, Corbie, the tame crow, claimed protection
+with cunning, cuddling ways that taught the Blue-eyed Girl and her
+brother and the Grown-Ups, too, something about crows that many people
+never even guess. For all their rollicking care-free ways, there is,
+hidden beneath their black feathers, an affection very tender and
+lasting; and when they are given the friendship of humans, they find
+touching ways of showing how deep their trust can be.
+
+Before the summer was over, Corbie had as famous a collection as his
+great grandfather. The children knew where he kept it, and used
+sometimes to climb up to look at his playthings. They never disturbed
+them except to take out the knitting-needle, thimble, spoons, or things
+like that, which were needed in the house. The bright penny someone had
+given him, the shiny nails, the brass-headed tacks, the big white
+feather, the yellow marble, all the bits of colored glass, and an old
+watch, they left where he put them; for they thought that he loved his
+things, or he would not have hidden them together; and they thought, and
+so do I, that he had as much right to his treasures to look at and care
+for as the Brown-eyed Boy had to his collection of pretty stones and the
+Blue-eyed Girl to the flowers in her wild garden.
+
+After his feathers were grown, in the spring, Corbie had been really
+good-looking in his black suit; but by the first of September he was
+homely again. His little side-feather moustache dropped out at the top
+of his beak, so that his nostrils were uncovered as they had been when
+he was very young. The back of his head was nearly bald, and his neck
+and breast were ragged and tattered.
+
+Yes, Corbie was molting, and he had a very unfinished sort of look while
+the new crop of paint-brushes sprouted out all over him. But it was
+worth the discomforts of the molt to have the new feather coat, all
+shiny black; and Corbie was even handsomer than he had been during the
+summer, when cold days came, and he needed his warm thick suit.
+
+At this time all the wild crows that had nested in that part of the
+country flew every night from far and wide to the famous crow-roost, not
+far from a big peach orchard. They came down from the mountain that
+showed like a long blue ridge against the sky. They flew across a road
+that looked, on account of the color of the dirt, like a pinkish-red
+ribbon stretching off and away. They left the river-edge and the fields.
+Every night they gathered together, a thousand or more of them. Corbie's
+father and mother were among them, and Corbie's two brothers and two
+sisters. But Corbie was not with those thousand crows.
+
+No cage held him, and no one prevented his flying whither he wished;
+but Corbie stayed with the folk who had adopted him. A thousand wild
+crows might come and go, calling in their flight, but Corbie, though
+free, chose for his comrades the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl.
+
+I thought all along it would be so if they were good to him; and that is
+why I said, the day he was kidnaped, that you need not be sorry for
+Corbie--not very.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+ARDEA'S SOLDIER
+
+
+In years long gone by, soldiers called "knights" used to protect the
+rights of other people; and, when the weak were in danger, these
+soldiers went forth to fight for them. They were so brave, these knights
+of old, that there was nothing that could make them afraid. Dragons
+even, which looked like crocodiles, with leather wings and terrible
+snatching claws and fiery eyes and breath that smoked--dragons, even, so
+the stories go, could not turn a knight away from his path of duty.
+Mind, I am not telling you that there ever were creatures that looked
+like that; but certain it is that there were dangers dreadful to meet,
+and "dragon" is a very good name to call them by.
+
+You know, do you not, that there are soldiers, still, who protect the
+rights of others; and although we do not commonly call them "knights,"
+they still fight for the weak, and are so brave that dangers as fearsome
+as dragons, even, cannot scare them.
+
+There was such a soldier in Ardea's camp; and if he had lived in olden
+days, he would probably have been called "Knight of the Snowy Heron."
+
+Ardea was a bride that spring, and perhaps never was there one much
+lovelier. Her wedding garment was the purest white; and instead of a
+veil she wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of rare beauty,
+which reached to the bottom of her gown, where the dainty tips curled up
+a bit, then hung like the finest fringe.
+
+[Illustration: _She wore, draped from her shoulders, snowy plumes of
+rare beauty._]
+
+The Soldier watched her as she stood alone at the edge of the water, so
+small and white and slender against the great cypress trees bearded with
+Spanish moss, and thought she made a picture he could never forget. And
+when her mate came out to her, in a white wedding-robe like her own,
+with its filmy cape of mist-fine plumes, Ardea's Soldier smiled gently,
+for he loved Heron Camp and shared, in his heart, the joys of their
+home-coming.
+
+Ardea and her mate took a pleasant trip, looking for a building place at
+the edge of a swamp. They did not object to neighbors; which was
+fortunate, as there were so many other herons in the camp that it would
+have been hard to find a very secret spot for their nest. After looking
+it over and talking about it a bit, they chose a mangrove bush for their
+very own. They had never built a house before, but they wasted no time
+in hunting for a carpenter or teacher, but went to work with a will,
+just as if they knew how. It was like playing a game of "five-six, pick
+up sticks"; only they did not lay them straight but in a scraggly
+criss-cross sort of platform, with big twigs twelve inches long at the
+bottom and smaller ones on top. Then, when it looked all ready for a
+nice soft lining, Ardea laid an egg right on the rough sticks. Rather
+lazy and shiftless, don't you think? or maybe they didn't know any
+better, poor young things who had never had a home before! Ah, but there
+was another pair of snowy herons building in the bush next door, and
+they didn't put in anything soft for their eggs, either; and six or
+eight bushes farther on, a little blue heron was already sitting on her
+blue eggs in almost exactly the same sort of nest.
+
+So that is the kind of carpenters herons are! Sticks laid tangled up in
+a mass is the way they build! Yes, that is all--just some old dead
+twigs. I mean that is all you could _see_; but never think for a minute
+that there wasn't something else about that nest; for Ardea and her mate
+had lined it well with love, and so it was, indeed, a home worth
+building.
+
+[Illustration: _Near Ardea's Home._]
+
+In less than a week there were four eggs beneath the white down
+comforter that Ardea tucked over them; and the little mother was as
+well pleased as if she had had five, like her neighbors, the other snowy
+heron and the little blue heron.
+
+If the eggs of the little blue heron were blue, would not those of the
+snowy herons be pure white? No, the color of eggs does not need to match
+the color of feathers; and Ardea's eggs and those of her next-bush
+neighbor were so much like the beautiful blue ones of the little blue
+heron, that it would be very hard for you to tell one from the other.
+Perhaps Ardea could not have told her own eggs if she had not remembered
+where she had built her nest. As it was, she made no mistake, but
+snuggled cosily over her pretty eggs, doubling up her long slender black
+legs and her yellow feet as best she could.
+
+If she found it hard to sit there day after day, she made no fuss about
+it; and probably she really wanted to do that more than anything else
+just then, since the quiet patience of the most active birds is natural
+to them when they are brooding their unhatched babies. Then, too, there
+was her beautiful mate for company and help; for when Ardea needed to
+leave the nest for food and a change, the father-bird kept house as
+carefully as need be.
+
+To her next-bush neighbors and the little blue herons Ardea paid no
+attention, unless, indeed, one of them chanced to come near her own
+mangrove bush. Then she and her mate would raise the feathers on the top
+of their heads until they looked rather fierce and bristly, and spread
+out their filmy capes of dainty plumes in a threatening way. That
+criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home after all, being
+lined, you will remember, with the love of Ardea and her mate; and they
+both guarded it as well as they were able.
+
+At last the quiet brooding days came to an end, and four funny little
+herons wobbled about in Ardea's nest. Their long legs and toes stuck out
+in all directions, and they couldn't seem to help sprawling around. If
+there had been string or strands of moss or grass in the nest, they
+would probably have got all tangled up. As it was, they sometimes nearly
+spilled out, and saved themselves only by clinging to the firm sticks
+and twigs. So it would seem that their home was a good sort for the
+needs of their early life, just as it was; and no doubt a heron's nest
+for a heron is as suitable a building as an oriole's is for an oriole.
+
+[Illustration: _That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs was a dear home,
+and they both guarded it._]
+
+It would take some time before the babies of Ardea would be able to
+straighten up on their long, slim legs and go wading. Until that day
+came, their father and mother would have to feed them well and often.
+Now the marsh where the snowy herons went fishing, where the shallow
+water was a favorite swimming-place for little fishes, was ten miles or
+more from their nest. Some kinds of herons, perhaps most kinds, are
+quiet and stately when they hunt, standing still and waiting for their
+game to come to them, or moving very slowly and carefully. But Ardea and
+the other snowy herons ran about in a lively way, spying out the little
+fishes with their bright yellow eyes, and catching them up quickly in
+their black beaks. After swallowing a supply of food, Ardea took wing
+and returned across the miles to her young. Standing on the edge of her
+nest and reaching down with her long neck, she took the bill of one of
+her babies in her own mouth, and dropped part of what she had swallowed
+out of her big throat down into his small one. When she had fed her
+babies and preened her pretty feathers a bit, she was off again on the
+ten-mile flight; for many a long journey she and her mate must take ere
+their little ones could feed themselves. But ten miles over and over and
+over again were as nothing to the love she had for her children; and
+faithfully as she had brooded her eggs, she now began the task of
+providing their meals. She seemed so happy each time she returned, that
+perhaps she was a little bit worried while she was away; but there is no
+reason to think she really was afraid that any great harm could come to
+them.
+
+Certainly she was unprepared for what she found when she flew back from
+her fourth fishing trip. Even when she reached Heron Camp, she did not
+understand. There are some things it is not given the mind of a bird to
+know.
+
+She could not know, poor dear, that there were people in the world who
+coveted her beautiful wedding plumes. Women there were, who wished to
+make themselves look better by wearing the feathers that Nature had
+given snowy herons for their very own. And men there were, who thought
+to make themselves grander in the dress of their organization by walking
+about with heron plumes waving on their heads. The two kinds of white
+herons with wonderful plumes that have been put to such uses are called
+Egrets and Snowy Egrets, and the feathers, when they are stripped from
+the birds, are called by the French name of _aigrette_.
+
+Now, of course, Ardea could not know about this, or that the
+Plume-Hunters had come to steal her wedding feathers. But she knew well
+enough that danger was at hand, and that in times of trouble a mother's
+place is beside her babies. Her heart beat quickly with a new terror,
+but she stayed, the brave bird stayed! And all about her the other
+herons stayed also. They had no way to fight for their lives, and they
+might have flown far and safely on their strong wings; but none of them
+would desert the home built with love while the frightened babies were
+calling to their fathers and mothers.
+
+No, _they_ could not fight for their lives, but there was one who could.
+For danger did not come to Heron Camp without finding Ardea's Soldier at
+his post.
+
+Now the Plume-Hunters did not have bodies like crocodiles and leather
+wings, you know; but they were dragons of a sort, for all that, for they
+carried brutal things in their hands that belched forth smoke and pain
+and death, and they were cruel of heart, and they had sold themselves to
+do evil for the sake of the dollars that covetous men and women would
+pay them for feathers.
+
+Dragons though they were, Ardea's Soldier met them bravely. I like to
+think how brave he was; for was not the fight he fought a fight for our
+good old Mother Earth, that she might not lose those beautiful children
+of hers? If the world should be robbed of Snowy Herons, it would be just
+so much less lovely, just so much less wonderful. And have they no right
+to life, since the same Power that gave life to men gave life to them?
+And when we think about it this way, who seems to have the better right
+to those plumes--herons, or men and women?
+
+The Soldier believed in Ardea's right to life, believed in it so deeply
+that he stood alone before the Plume-Hunters and told them that, while
+he lived, the birds of his camp should also live.
+
+And that is why they killed him--the dragons who were cruel of heart
+and had sold themselves to do evil for the sake of dollars that covetous
+men and women would pay for feathers.
+
+Because of his courage and because of the cause for which he died, I
+think, don't you, that Ardea's Soldier might well be called "Knight of
+the Snowy Heron."
+
+I said that he was alone, and it is true that no one was there at the
+camp to help him. But many there were in other places doing their bit in
+the same good fight. Another soldier, named Theodore Roosevelt, did much
+for these birds when he was President, by granting them land where no
+man had a right to touch them; for it makes a true soldier angry when
+the weak are oppressed, and he said, "It is a disgrace to America that
+we should permit the sale of aigrettes." Another man, named Woodrow
+Wilson, whose courage also was so great that he always did what he
+believed to be right, would not permit, when he was Governor of New
+Jersey, a company to sell aigrettes in that State; he said, "I think New
+Jersey can get along without blood-money."
+
+Many another great man, besides, served the cause of Ardea. So many, in
+fact, that there is not room here to tell about them all. But there is
+room to say that the children helped. For, you know, every Junior
+Audubon Society sends money to the National Association of Audubon
+Societies--not much, but a little; and when the Knight of the Snowy
+Heron was killed, that little helped the National Association to hire
+another soldier to take his place. Now, think of that! There was another
+soldier who so believed in the Herons' right to life and plumage, that
+he was ready to protect them though it meant certain danger to himself!
+
+Yes, there is to this very day a soldier at Heron Camp. Do you know a
+way to keep him safe? Why, you children of America can do it if you
+will, and it need not cost one of you a penny. You can do it with your
+minds. For if every girl makes up her mind for good and all that she
+will never wear a feather that costs a bird its life; and if every boy
+makes up his mind for good and all that he will never be a
+feather-hunting dragon--why there will not be _anybody_ growing up in
+America to harm Ardea, will there? You can keep the Soldier of Heron
+Camp safe by just wishing it! That sounds wonderful as a fairy story
+come true, does it not? And like the knight in some old fairy tale,
+could not Ardea's new Soldier "live happily forever after"?
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THE FLYING CLOWN
+
+
+There are many accounts of the flying clown, in books, nearly all of
+which refer to him as bull-bat or nighthawk, and a member of the
+Goatsucker or Nightjar family. But he wasn't a bull and he wasn't a bat
+and he wasn't a hawk and he wasn't a jar; and he flew more by day than
+by night, and he never, never milked a goat in all his life. So for the
+purposes of this story we may as well give him a name to suit ourselves,
+and call him Mis Nomer.
+
+He was a poor skinny little thing, but you would not have guessed it to
+see him; for he always wore a loose fluffy coat, which made him look
+bigger and plumper than he really was. It was a gray and brown and
+creamy buff-and-white sort of coat, quite mottled, with a rather plain,
+nearly black, back. It was trimmed with white, there being a white
+stripe near the end of the coat-tail, a big, fine, V-shaped white place
+under his chin that had something the look of a necktie, and a bar of
+white reaching nearly across the middle of each wing.
+
+These bars would have made you notice his long, pointed wings if he had
+been near you, and they were well worth noticing; for besides just
+flying with them,--which was wonderful enough, as he was a talented
+flier,--he used them in a sort of gymnastic stunt he was fond of
+performing in the springtime.
+
+Perhaps he did it to show off. I do not know. Certainly he had as good a
+right to be proud of his accomplishments as a turkey or a peacock that
+spreads its tail, or a boy who walks on his hands. Maybe a better right,
+for they have solid earth to strut upon and run no risks, while Mis did
+his whole trick in the air. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, though he
+had no gymnasium with bars or rings or tight rope, and there was no
+canvas stretched to catch him if he fell. A circus, with tents, and a
+gate-keeper to take your ticket, would have been lucky if it could have
+hired Mis to show his skill for money.
+
+But Mis couldn't be hired. Not he! He was a free, wild clown, performing
+only under Mother Nature's tent of wide-arched sky. If you wanted to see
+him, you could--ticket or no ticket. That was nothing to him; for Mis,
+the wild clown of the air, had no thought either of money or fame among
+people.
+
+Far, far up, he flew, hither and yon, in a matter-of-fact-enough way;
+and then of a sudden, with wings half-closed, he dropped toward the
+earth. Could he stop such speed, or must he strike and kill himself in
+his fall? Down, down he plunged; and then, at last, he made a sound as
+if he groaned a loud, deep "boom."
+
+[Illustration: _The Flying Clown._]
+
+But just at the moment of this sound he was turning, and then, the first
+anyone knew, he was flying up gayly, quite gayly. Then it wasn't a groan
+of fear? Mis afraid! Why the rascal had but to move his wings this way
+and that, and go up instead of down. He might be within a second of
+dashing himself to death against the ground, but so sure were his wings
+and so strong his muscles, that a second was time and to spare for him
+to stop and turn and rise again toward the safe height from which he
+dived. A fine trick that! The fun of the plunge, and then the quick jerk
+at the end that sent the wind groaning against and between the feathers
+of his wings, with a "boom" loud and sudden enough to startle anyone
+within hearing.
+
+Yes, you might have seen the little clown at his tricks without a ticket
+at the wild-circus gate, for all he cared or knew. What did the children
+of men matter to him? Had not his fathers and grandfathers and
+great-grandfathers given high-air circus performances of a springtime,
+in the days when bison and passenger pigeons inherited their full share
+of the earth, before our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers
+had even seen America?
+
+Was it, then, just for the joy of the season that he played in the air,
+or was there, after all, someone besides himself to be pleased with the
+sport? Who knows whether the little acrobat was showing his mate what a
+splendid fellow he was, how strong of wing and skillful in the tricks of
+flight? Be that as it may, the mate of Mis was satisfied in some way or
+other, and went with him on a voyage of discovery one afternoon, when
+the sky was nicely cloudy and the light pleasantly dull.
+
+Now, like all good parents, Mis and his mate were a bit particular about
+what sort of neighborhood they should choose for their home; for the
+bringing up of a family, even if it is a small one, is most important.
+
+A peaceful place and a sunny exposure they must have; there must be good
+hunting near at hand; and one more thing, too, was necessary. Now, the
+house-lot they finally decided upon met all four of these needs, though
+it sounds like a joke to tell you where it was. But then, when a clown
+goes merrily forth to find him a home, we must not be surprised if he is
+funny about it. It was where the sun could shine upon it; though how Mis
+and his mate knew that, all on a dull, dark afternoon, I'm sure I can't
+tell. Maybe because there wasn't a tree in sight. And as for peace, it
+was as undisturbed as a deserted island. It was, in fact, a sort of
+island in a sea of air, and at certain times of the day and night there
+was game enough in this sea to satisfy even such hunters as they.
+
+Perhaps they chuckled cosily together when they decided to take their
+peace and sunshine on the flat roof of a very high building in a very
+large city. Their house-lot was covered with pebbles, and it suited them
+exactly. So well that they moved in, just as it was.
+
+Yes, those two ridiculous birds set up housekeeping without any house.
+Mother Nomer just settled herself on the bare pebbles in a satisfied
+way, and that was all there was to it. Not a stick or a wisp of hay or a
+feather to mark the place! And as she sat there quietly, a queer thing
+happened. She disappeared from sight. As long as she didn't move, she
+couldn't be seen. Her dappled feathers didn't look like a bird. They
+looked like the light and dark of the pebbles of the flat roof. Ah, so
+_that_ was the one thing more that was necessary for her home, besides
+sunshine and peace and good hunting. It must be where she could sit and
+not show; where she could hide by just looking like what was near her,
+like a sand-colored grasshopper on the sand in the sun,[2] or a
+walking-stick on a twig,[2] or a butterfly on the bark of a tree.[2]
+
+Yes, Mis's mate knew, in some natural wise way of her own, the secret of
+making use of what we call her "protective coloration." This is one of
+the very most important secrets Mother Nature has given her children,
+and many use it--not birds alone, but beasts and insects also. They use
+it in their own wild way and think nothing about it. We say that it is
+their instinct that leads them to choose places where they cannot easily
+be seen. If you do not understand exactly what instinct is, do not feel
+worried, for there are some things about that secret of Mother Nature
+that even the wisest men in the world have not explained. But this we do
+know, that when her instincts led Mother Nomer to choose the pebbly roof
+as a background for her mottled feathers, she did just naturally very
+much the same thing that the soldiers in the world-war did when they
+made use of great guns painted to look like things they were not, and
+ships painted to look like the waves beneath them and the clouds in the
+sky above. Only, the soldiers did not use their protective coloration
+naturally and by instinct. They did this by taking thought; and very
+proud they felt, too, of being able to do this by hard study. They
+talked about it a great deal and the French taught the world a new word,
+_camouflage_, to call it by. And their war-time camouflage _was_
+wonderful, even though it was only a clumsy imitation of what Mother
+Nature did when the feathers of Mother Nomer were made to grow dappled
+like little blotches of light and dark; or, to put it the other way
+about, when the bird was led, by her instinct, to choose for the
+nesting-time a place where she did not show.
+
+Of course, it was not just the gravel on the flat roof that would match
+her feathers; for there isn't a house in the land that is nearly so old
+as one thousand years, and birds of this sort have been building much
+longer than that. No, so far as color went, Mother Nomer might have
+chosen a spot in an open field, where there were little broken sticks or
+stones to give it a mottled look--such a place, indeed, as her ancestors
+used to find for their nesting in the old days when there were no
+houses. Such a place, too, as most of this kind of bird still seek; for
+not all of them, by any means, are roof-dwellers in cities.
+
+Our bird with the dappled feathers, however, sat in one little spot on
+that large roof for about sixteen days and nights, with time enough off
+now and then to get food and water, and to exercise her wings. When she
+was away, Mis came and sat on the same spot. If you had been there to
+see them come and go, you would have wondered why they cared about that
+particular spot. It looked like the rest of the sunny roof--just little
+humps of light and dark. Ah, yes! but two of those little humps of light
+and dark were not pebbles: they were eggs; and if you couldn't have
+found them, Mis and his mate could, though I think even they had to
+remember where they were instead of eye-spying them.
+
+By the time sixteen days were over, there were no longer eggs beneath
+the fluffy feathers that had covered them. Instead, there were two
+little balls of down, though you couldn't have seen them either, unless
+you had been about near enough to touch them; for the downy children of
+Mis were as dappled as his mate and her eggs, and they had, from the
+moment of their hatching, the instinct for keeping still if danger came
+near.
+
+[Illustration: _Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days._]
+
+Peaceful enough, indeed, had been the brooding days of Mother Nomer.
+Something of the noise and bustle, to be sure, of the city streets came
+up to her; but that was from far below, and things far off are not worth
+worrying about. Sometimes, too, the sound of voices floated out from
+the upper windows of the building, quite near; but the birds soon became
+used to that.
+
+When the twins were but a few days old, however, their mother had a real
+scare. A man came up to take down some electric wires that had been
+fastened not far from the spot that was the Nomer home. He tramped
+heavily about, throwing down his tools here and there, and whistling
+loudly as he worked. All this frightened little Mother Nomer. There is
+no doubt about that, for her heart beat more and more quickly. But she
+didn't budge. She couldn't. It was a part of her camouflage trick to sit
+still in danger. The greater the danger, the stiller to sit! She even
+kept her eyes nearly shut, until, when the man had cut the last and
+nearest end of wire and put all his things together in a pile ready to
+take down, he came to look over the edge of the roof-wall. As he bent to
+do this, he brushed suddenly against her.
+
+Then Mother Nomer sprang into the air; and the man jumped, in such
+surprise that, had it not been for the wall, he would have fallen from
+the roof. It would be hard to tell which was the more startled for a
+moment--man or bird. But Mother Nomer did not fly far. She fell back to
+the roof some distance from her precious babies and fluttered pitifully
+about, her wings and tail spread wide and dragging as she moved lamely.
+She did not look like a part of the pebbly roof now. She showed
+plainly, for she was moving. She looked like a wounded bird, and the
+man, thinking he must have hurt her in some way, followed her to pick
+her up and see what the trouble was. Three times he almost got her.
+Almost, but not quite. Crippled as she seemed, she could still fumble
+and flutter just out of reach; and when at last the man had followed her
+to a corner of the roof far from her young, Mother Nomer sprang up, and
+spreading her long, pointed wings, took flight, whole and sound as a
+bird need be.
+
+The man understood and laughed. He laughed at himself for being fooled.
+For it wasn't the first time a bird had tricked him so. Once, when he
+was a country boy, a partridge, fluttering as if broken-winged, had led
+him through the underbrush of the wood-lot; and once a bird by the
+river-side stumbled on before him, crying piteously, "Pete! Pete!
+Pete-weet!" and once--Why, yes, he should have remembered that this is
+the trick of many a mother-bird when danger threatens her young.
+
+So he went back, with careful step, to where he had been before. He
+looked this way and that. There was no nest. He saw no young. The little
+Nomer twins were not the son and daughter of Mis, the clown, and Mother
+Nomer, the trick cripple, for nothing! They sat there, the little
+rascals, right before his eyes, and budged not; they could practice the
+art of camouflage, too.
+
+[Illustration: _The little rascals could practise the art of
+camouflage._]
+
+But as he stood and looked, a wistful light came into the eyes of the
+man. It had been many years since he had found nesting birds and watched
+the ways of them. His memory brought old pictures back to him. The
+crotch in the tree, where the robin had plastered her nest, modeling the
+mud with her feathered breast; the brook-edge willows, where the
+blackbirds built; the meadow, with its hidden homes of bobolinks; and
+the woods where the whip-poor-wills called o' nights. His thoughts made
+a boy of him again, and he forgot everything else in the world in his
+wish to see the little birds he felt sure must be among the pebbles
+before him. So he crept about carefully, here and there, and at last
+came upon the children of Mis. He picked up the fluffy little balls of
+down and snuggled them gently in his big hands for a moment. Then he put
+them back to their safe roof, and, gathering up his tools, went on his
+way, whistling a merry tune remembered from the days when he trudged
+down Long-ago Lane to the pasture, for his father's cows. Late of
+afternoon it used to be, while the nighthawks dashed overhead in their
+air-hunts, showing the white spots in their wings that looked like
+holes, and sometimes making him jump as they dropped and turned, with a
+sudden "boom."
+
+No sooner had the sound of his whistle gone from the roof, than Mother
+Nomer came back to her houseless home--any spot doing as well as
+another, now that the twins were hatched and able to walk about. As she
+called her babies to her and tucked them under her feathers, her heart
+still beating quickly with the excitement of her scare, it would be easy
+to guess from the dear way of her cuddling that it isn't a beautiful
+woven cradle or quaint walls of clay that matter most in the life of
+young birds, but the loving care that is given them. In this respect the
+young orioles, swinging in their hammock among the swaying tips of the
+elm tree, and the children of Eve and Petro, in their wonderful brick
+mansion, were no better off than the twins of Mis and Mother Nomer.
+
+Busy indeed was Mis in the twilights that followed the hatching of his
+children; and, though he was as much in the air as ever, it was not the
+fun of frolic and clownish tricks that kept him there. For, besides his
+own keen appetite, he had now the hunger of the twins to spur him on.
+Such a hunter as he was in those days! Why, he caught a thousand
+mosquitos on one trip; and meeting a swarm of flying ants, thought
+nothing at all of gobbling up five hundred before he stopped. Countless
+flies went down his throat. And when the big, brown bumping beetles,
+with hard, shiny wing-covers on their backs and soft, fuzzy velvet
+underneath, flew out at dusk, twenty or thirty of them, as likely as
+not, would make a luncheon for Mis the clown. For he was lean and
+hungry, and he ate and ate and ate; but he never grew fat. He hunted
+zigzag through the twilight of the evening and the twilight of the dawn.
+When the nights were bright and game was plenty, he hunted zigzag
+through the moonlight. When the day was dull and insects were on the
+wing, he hunted, though it was high noon. And many a midnight rambler
+going home from the theatre looked up, wondering what made the darting
+shadows, and saw Mis and his fellows dashing busily above where the
+night-insects were hovering about the electric lights of the city
+streets. He hunted long and he hunted well; but so keen was his appetite
+and so huge the hunger of his twins, that it took the mother, too, to
+keep the meals provided in the Nomer home.
+
+I think they were never unhappy about it, for there is a certain
+satisfaction in doing well what we can do; and there is no doubt that
+these birds were made to be hunters. Mis and his kind swept the air, of
+course, because they and their young were hungry; but the game they
+caught, had it gone free to lay its myriad eggs, would have cost many a
+farmer a fortune in sprays to save his crops, and would have added
+untold discomfort to dwellers in country and city alike.
+
+Although Mis, under his feathers, was much smaller than one would think
+to look at him, there were several large things about him besides his
+appetite. His mouth was almost huge, and reached way around to the sides
+of his head under his eyes. It opened up more like the mouth of a frog
+or a toad than like that of most birds. When he hunted he kept it
+yawning wide open, so that it made a trap for many an unlucky insect
+that flew straight in, without ever knowing what happened to it when it
+disappeared down the great hollow throat, into a stomach so enormous
+that it hardly seems possible that a bird less than twice the size of
+Mis could own it.
+
+There were other odd things about him, too--for instance, the comb he
+wore on his middle toe-nail. What he did with it, I can't say. He didn't
+seem to do very much with his feet anyway. They were rather feeble
+little things, and he never used them in carrying home anything he
+caught. He didn't even use them as most birds do when they stop to
+rest; for, instead of sitting on a twig when he was not flying, he would
+settle as if lying down. Sometimes he stayed on a large level branch,
+not cross-wise like most birds, but the long way; and when he did that,
+he looked like a humpy knot on the branch. When there were no branches
+handy, he would use a rail or a log or a wall, or even the ground; but
+wherever he settled himself, he looked like a blotch of light and dark,
+and one could gaze right at him without noticing that a bird was there.
+That was the way Mother Nomer did, too--clowns both of them and always
+ready for the wonderful game of camouflage!
+
+They had remarkable voices. There seemed to be just one word to their
+call. I am not going to tell you what that word is. There is a reason
+why I am not. The reason is, that I do not know. To be sure, I have
+heard nighthawks say it every summer for years, but I can't say it
+myself. It is a very funny word, but you will have to get one of them to
+speak it for you!
+
+They came by all their different kinds of queerness naturally enough,
+Mis and Mother Nomer did, for it seemed to run in the family to be
+peculiar, and all their relatives had oddities of one kind or another.
+Take Cousin Whip-poor-will, who wears whiskers, for instance; and Cousin
+Chuck-will's widow, who wears whiskers that branch. You could tell from
+their very names that they would do uncommon things. And as for their
+more distant relatives, the Hummingbirds and Chimney Swifts, it would
+take a story apiece as long as this to begin to tell of their strange
+doings. But it is a nice, likable sort of queerness they all have; so
+very interesting, too, that we enjoy them the better for it.
+
+There is one more wonderful thing yet that Mis and his mate did--and
+their twins with them; for before this happened, the children had grown
+to be as big as their parents, and a bit plumper, perhaps, though not
+enough to be noticed under their feathers. Toward the end of a pleasant
+summer, they joined a company of their kind, a sort of traveling circus,
+and went south for the winter. Just what performances they gave along
+the way, I did not hear; but with a whole flock of flying clowns on the
+wing, it seems likely that they had a gay time of it altogether!
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 2: See _Hexapod Stories_, pages 4, 110, 126.]
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE LOST DOVE
+
+_One Thousand Dollars ($1000) Reward_
+
+
+That is the prize that has been offered for a nesting pair of Passenger
+Pigeons. No one has claimed the money yet, and it would be a great
+adventure, don't you think, to seek that nest? If you find it, you must
+not disturb it, you know, or take the eggs or the young, or frighten the
+father- or mother-bird; for the people who offered all that money did
+not want dead birds to stuff for a museum, but hoped that someone might
+tell them where there were live wild ones nesting.
+
+You see the news had got about that the dove that is called Passenger
+Pigeon was lost. No one could believe this at first, because there had
+been so very many--more than a thousand, more than a million, more than
+a billion. How could more than a billion doves be lost?
+
+They were such big birds, too--a foot and a half long from tip of beak
+to tip of tail, and sometimes even longer. Why, that is longer than the
+tame pigeons that walk about our city streets. How could doves as large
+as that be lost, so that no one could find a pair, not even for one
+thousand dollars to pay him for the time it took to hunt?
+
+Their colors were so pretty--head and back a soft, soft blue; neck
+glistening with violet, red, and gold; underneath, a wonderful purple
+red fading into violet shades, and then into bluish white. Who would not
+like to seek, for the love of seeing so beautiful a bird, even though no
+one paid a reward in money?
+
+Shall we go, then, to Kentucky? For 'twas there the man named Audubon
+once saw them come in flocks to roost at night. They kept coming from
+sunset till after midnight, and their numbers were so great that their
+wings, even while still a long way off, made a sound like a gale of
+wind; and when close to, the noise of the birds was so loud that men
+could not hear one another speak, even though they stood near and
+shouted. The place where Audubon saw these pigeons was in a forest near
+the Green River; and there were so many that they filled the trees over
+a space forty miles long and more than three miles wide. They perched so
+thickly that the branches of the great trees broke under their weight,
+and went crashing to the ground; and their roosting-place looked as if a
+tornado had rushed through the forest.
+
+Must there not be wild pigeons, yet, roosting in Kentucky--some small
+flock, perhaps, descended from the countless thousands seen by Audubon?
+No, not one of all these doves is left, they tell us, in the woods in
+that part of the country. The rush of their wings has been stilled and
+their evening uproar has been silenced. Men may now walk beside the
+Green River, and hear each other though they speak in whispers.
+
+Would you like to seek the dove in Michigan in May? For there it was,
+and then it was, that these wild pigeons nested, so we are told by
+people who saw them, by hundreds of thousands, or even millions. They
+built in trees of every sort, and sometimes as many as one hundred nests
+were made in a single tree. Almost every tree on one hundred thousand
+acres would have at least one nest. The lowest ones were so near the
+ground that a man could reach them with his hand.
+
+[Illustration: _Suppose you should find just one pair._]
+
+Suppose you should find, next May, just one pair nesting. Sire Dove, we
+think from what we have read, would help bring some twigs, and Dame Dove
+would lay them together in a criss-cross way, so that they would make a
+floor of sticks, sagging just a little in the middle. As soon as the
+floor of twigs was firm enough, so that an egg would not drop through,
+Dame Dove would put one in the shallow sagging place in the middle. It
+would be a white egg, very much like those our tame pigeons lay; and,
+because there would be no thick soft warm rug of dried grass on the
+floor, you could probably see it right through the nest, if you should
+stand underneath and look up. But you couldn't see it long, because,
+almost as soon as it was laid, Dame Dove would tuck the feather
+comforter she carried on her breast so cosily about that precious egg,
+that it would need no other padding to keep it warm. She would stay
+there, the faithful mother, from about two o'clock each afternoon until
+nine or ten o'clock the next morning. She would not leave for one
+minute, to eat or get a drink of water. Then, about nine or ten o'clock
+each morning, Sire Dove would slip onto the nest just as she moved off,
+and they would make the change so quickly that the egg could not even
+get cool. That one very dear egg would need two birds to take care of
+it, one always snuggling it close while the other ate and flew about and
+drank.
+
+So they would sit, turn and turn about, for fourteen days. All this
+while they would be very gentle with each other, saying softly,
+"Coo-coo," something as tame pigeons do, only in shorter notes, or
+calling, "Kee-kee-kee." And sometimes Sire Dove would put his beak to
+that of his nesting mate and feed her, very likely, as later they would
+feed their young. For when the two weeks' brooding should be over, there
+would be a funny, homely, sprawling, soft and wobbly baby dove within
+the nest.
+
+The father and mother of him would still have much to do, it seems; for
+hatching a dove out of an egg is only the easier half of the task. The
+wobbly baby must be brought up to become a dove of grace and beauty.
+That would take food.
+
+But you must not think to see Sire and Dame Dove come flying home with
+seeds or nuts or fruit or grain or earthworms or insects in their beaks.
+What else, then, could they bring? Well, nothing at all, indeed, in
+their beaks; for the food of a baby dove requires especial preparation.
+It has to be provided for him in the crop of his parent. So Dame Dove
+would come with empty beak but full crop, and the baby would be fed.
+Just exactly how, I have not seen written by those people who saw a
+million Passenger Pigeons. Perhaps they did not stop to notice.
+
+However, if you will watch a tame pigeon feed its young, you can guess
+how a wild one would do it. A tame mother-pigeon that I am acquainted
+with comes to her young (_she_ has two) and, standing in or beside the
+nest, opens her beak very wide. One of her babies reaches up as far as
+he can stretch his neck and puts his beak inside his mother's mouth. He
+tucks it in at one side and crowds in his head as far as he can push it.
+Then the mother makes a sort of pumping motion, and pumps up soft baby
+food from her crop, and he swallows it. Sometimes he keeps his beak in
+his mother's mouth for as long as five minutes; and if anything startles
+her and she pulls away, the hungry little fellow scolds and whines and
+whimpers in a queer voice, and reaches out with his teasing wings, and
+flaps them against her breast, stretching up with his beak all the while
+and feeling for a chance to poke his head into her mouth again. And
+often, do you know, his twin sister gets her beak in one side of Mother
+Pigeon's mouth while he is feeding at the other side, and Mother just
+stands there and pumps and pumps. The two comical little birds, with
+feet braced and necks stretched up as far as they can reach, and their
+heads crowded as far in as they can push them, look so funny they would
+make you laugh to see them. Then, the next meal Father Pigeon feeds them
+the same way, usually one at a time, but often both together.
+
+Now, I think, don't you, because that is the way tame Father and Mother
+Pigeon serve breakfast and dinner and supper and luncheons in between
+whiles to their tame twins, that wild Dame and Sire Dove would give food
+in very much the same way to their one wild baby? It might not be
+exactly the same, because tame pigeons and wild Passenger Pigeons are
+not the same kind of doves; but they are cousins of a sort, which means
+that they must have some of the same family habits.
+
+If you should find a nest in Michigan in May, perhaps you can learn more
+about these matters, and watch to see whether, when the baby dove is all
+feathered out, Dame or Sire Dove pushes it out of the nest even before
+it can fly, though it is fat enough to be all right until it gets so
+hungry it learns to find food for itself. Perhaps you can watch, too, to
+see why Dame and Sire Dove seem to be in such a hurry to have their
+first baby taking care of himself. Is it because they are ready to build
+another nest right straight away, or would Dame Dove lay another egg in
+the same nest? Tame Mother Pigeon often lays two more eggs in the next
+nest-box even before her twins are out of their nest. Then you may be
+sure Father and Mother Pigeon have a busy time of it feeding their
+eldest twins, while they brood the two eggs in which their younger twins
+are growing.
+
+It would be very pleasant if you could watch a pair of Passenger Pigeons
+and find out all these things about them. _If you could!_ But I said
+only "perhaps," because the people who know most about the matter say
+that Michigan has lost more than a million, or possibly more than a
+billion, doves. They say that, if you should walk through all the woods
+in Michigan, you would not hear one single Passenger Pigeon call,
+"Kee-kee-kee" to his mate, or hear one pair talk softly together,
+saying, "Coo-coo." There are sticks and twigs enough for their nests
+lying about; but through all the lonesome woods, so we are told, there
+is not one Sire Dove left to bring them to his Dame; and never, never,
+never will there be another nest like the millions there used to be.
+
+[Illustration: _Through all the lonesome woods there is not one dove._]
+
+Well, then, if we cannot find them at sunset in their roosting-place in
+Kentucky or in their nests in Michigan in May, shall we give up the
+quest for the lost doves? Or shall we still keep hold of our courage and
+our hope and try elsewhere?
+
+Surely, if there are any of these birds anywhere, they must eat food!
+Shall we seek them at some feeding-place? This might be everywhere in
+North America, from the Atlantic Ocean as far west as the Great Plains.
+That is, everywhere in all these miles where the things they liked to
+eat are growing. So, if you keep out of the Atlantic Ocean, and get
+someone to show you where the Great Plains are, you might look--_almost
+anywhere_. Why, many of you would not need to take a steam-train or even
+a trolley-car. You could walk there. Most of you could. You could walk
+to a place where they used to stop to feed. Those that were behind in
+the great flock flew over the heads of all the others, and so were in
+front for a while. In that way they all had a chance at a well-spread
+picnic ground. Yes, you could easily walk to a place where that used to
+happen--most of you could.
+
+Do you know where acorns grow, or beechnuts, or chestnuts? Well,
+Passenger Pigeons used to come there to eat, for they were very fond of
+nuts! Do you know where elm trees grow wild along some riverway, or
+where pine trees live? Oh! that is where these birds used sometimes to
+get their breakfasts, when the trees had scattered their seeds. Do you
+know a tree that has a seed about the right size and shape for a knife
+at a doll's tea-party? Yes, that's the maple; and many and many a party
+the Passenger Pigeons used to have wherever they could find these
+cunning seed-knives. Only they didn't use them to cut things with. They
+ate them up as fast as ever they could.
+
+Have you ever picked wild berries? Why, more than likely Passenger
+Pigeons have picked other berries there or thereabouts before your day!
+
+Do you know a place where the wild rice grows? Ah, so did the Passenger
+Pigeons, once upon a time!
+
+But if you know none of these places, even then you can stand near where
+the flocks used to fly when they were on their journeys. All of you who
+live between the Atlantic Ocean and the Great Plains can go to the door
+or a window of the house you live in and point to the sky and think:
+"Once so many Passenger Pigeons flew by that the sound of their wings
+was like the sound of thunder, and they went through the air faster than
+a train on a track, and the numbers in their flocks were so many that
+they hid the sun like great thick clouds."
+
+When you do that, some of you will doubtless see birds flying over; but
+we fear that not even one of you will see even one Passenger Pigeon in
+its flight.
+
+What happened to the countless millions is recorded in so many books
+that it need not be written again in this one. This story will tell you
+just one more thing about these strange and wonderful birds, and that is
+that no _child_ who reads this story is in any way to blame because the
+dove is lost. What boy or girl is not glad to think, when some wrong has
+been done or some mistake has been made, "It's not _my_ fault"?
+
+[Illustration: _Once, so many flew by, that the sound of their wings was
+like the sound of thunder._]
+
+Even though this bird is gone forever and forever and forever, there are
+many other kinds living among us. If old Mother Earth has been robbed of
+some of her children, she still has many more--many wonderful and
+beautiful living things. And that she may keep them safe, she needs your
+help; for boys and girls are her children, too, and the power lies in
+your strong hands and your courageous hearts and your wise brains to
+help save some of the most wonderful and fairest of other living things.
+And what one among you all, I wonder, will not be glad to think that
+_you_ help keep the world beautiful, when you leave the water-lilies
+floating on the pond; that it is the same as if _you_ sow the seeds in
+wild gardens, when you leave the cardinal flowers glowing on the banks
+and the fringed gentians lending their blue to the marshes. For the life
+of the world, whether it flies through the air or grows in the ground,
+is greatly in your care; and though you may never win a prize of money
+for finding the dove that other people lost, there is a reward of joy
+ready for anyone who can look at our good old Mother Earth and say, "It
+will not be _my_ fault if, as the years go by, you lose your birds and
+flowers."
+
+And it would be, don't you think, one of the greatest of adventures to
+seek and find and help keep safe such of these as are in danger, that
+they may not, like the dove, be lost?
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS
+
+
+Oh, the wise, wise look of him, with his big round eyes and his very
+Roman nose! He had sat in a golden silence throughout that dazzling day;
+but when the kindly moon sent forth a gentler gleam, he spoke, and the
+speech of little Solomon Otus was as silver. A quivering, quavering
+whistle thrilled through the night, and all who heard the beginning
+listened to the end of his song.
+
+It was a night and a place for music. The mellow light lay softly over
+the orchard tree, on an old branch of which little Solomon sat mooning
+himself before his door. He could see, not far away, the giant chestnut
+trees that shaded the banks of a little ravine; and hear the murmuring
+sound of Shanty Creek, where Nata[3] grew up, and where her
+grandchildren now played hide-and-seek. Near at hand stood a noble oak,
+with a big dead branch at the top that was famous the country round as a
+look-out post for hawks and crows; and maybe an eagle now and then had
+used it, in years gone by.
+
+But hawk and crow were asleep, and toads were trilling a lullaby from
+the pond, while far, far off in the heart of the woods, a whip-poor-will
+called once, twice, and again.
+
+Solomon loved the dusk. His life was fullest then and his sight was
+keenest. His eyes were wide open, and he could see clearly the shadow of
+the leaves when the wind moved them lightly from time to time. He was at
+ease in the great night-world, and master of many a secret that
+sleepy-eyed day-folk never guess. As he shook out his loose, soft coat
+and breathed the cool air, he felt the pleasant tang of a hunger that
+has with it no fear of famine.
+
+Once more he sent his challenge through the moonlight with quivering,
+quavering voice, and some who heard it loved the darkness better for
+this spirit of the night, and some shivered as if with dread. For
+Solomon had sounded his hunting call, and, as with the baying of hounds
+or the tune of a hunter's horn, one ear might find music in the note and
+another hear only a wail.
+
+Then, silent as a shadow, he left his branch. Solomon, a little lone
+hunter in the dark, was off on the chase. Whither he went or what he
+caught, there was no sound to tell, until, suddenly, one quick squeak
+way over beside the corn-crib might have notified a farmer that another
+mouse was gone. But the owner of the corn-crib was asleep, and dreaming,
+more than likely, that the cat, which was at that moment disturbing a
+pair of meadow bobolinks, was somehow wholly to be thanked for the
+scarcity of mice about the place.
+
+[Illustration: _Oh, the wise, wise look of him._]
+
+Solomon was not wasteful about his food. He swallowed his evening
+breakfast whole. That is, he swallowed all but the tail, which was
+fairly long and stuck out of his mouth for some time, giving him rather
+a queer two-tailed look, one at each end! But there was no one about to
+laugh at him, and it was, in some respects, an excellent way to make a
+meal. For one thing, it saved him all trouble of cutting up his food;
+and then, too, there was no danger of his overeating, for he could tell
+that he had had enough as long as there wasn't room for the tail. And
+after the good nutritious parts of his breakfast were digested, he had a
+comfortable way of spitting out the skin and bones all wadded together
+in a tidy pellet. An owl is not the only kind of bird, by any means,
+that has a habit of spitting out hard stuff that is swallowed with the
+food. A crow tucks away many a discarded cud of that sort; and even the
+thrush, half an hour or so after a dainty fare of wild cherries, taken
+whole, drops from his bill to the ground the pits that have been
+squeezed out of the fruit by the digestive mill inside of him.
+
+After his breakfast, which he ate alone in the evening starlight and
+moonlight, Solomon passed an enjoyable night; for that world, which to
+most of us is lost in darkness and in sleep, is full of lively interest
+to an owl. Who, indeed, would not be glad to visit his starlit kingdom,
+with eyesight keen enough to see the folded leaves of clover like little
+hands in prayer--a kingdom with byways sweet with the scent and mellow
+with the beauty of waking primrose? Who would not welcome, for one
+wonderful night, the gift of ears that could hear the sounds which to
+little Solomon were known and understood, but many of which are lost in
+deafness to our dull ears?
+
+Of course, it may be that Solomon never noticed that clovers fold their
+leaves by night, or that primroses are open and fragrant after dusk. For
+he was an owl, and not a person, and his thoughts were not the thoughts
+of man. But for all that they were wise thoughts--wise as the look of
+his big round eyes; and many things he knew which are unguessed secrets
+to dozy day-folk.
+
+He was a successful hunter, and he had a certain sort of knowledge about
+the habits of the creatures he sought. He seldom learned where the day
+birds slept, for he did not find motionless things. But he knew well
+enough that mice visited the corn-crib, and where their favorite runways
+came out into the open. He knew where the cutworms crept out of the
+ground and feasted o' nights in the farmer's garden. He knew where the
+big brown beetles hummed and buzzed while they munched greedily of
+shade-tree leaves. And he knew where little fishes swam near the surface
+of the water.
+
+So he hunted on silent wings the bright night long; and though he did
+not starve himself, as we can guess from what we know about his
+breakfast of rare mouse-steak, still, the tenderest and softest
+delicacies he took home to five fine youngsters, who welcomed their
+father with open mouths and eager appetite. Though he made his trips as
+quickly as he could, he never came too soon to suit them--the hungry
+little rascals.
+
+[Illustration: _Solomon knew the runways of the mice._]
+
+They were cunning and dear and lovable. Even a person could see that, to
+look at them. It is not surprising that their own father was fond enough
+of them to give them the greater part of the game he caught. He had,
+indeed, been interested in them before he ever saw them--while they were
+still within the roundish white eggshells, and did not need to be fed
+because there was food enough in the egg to last them all the days
+until they hatched.
+
+Yes, many a time he had kept those eggs warm while Mrs. Otus was away
+for a change; and many a time, too, he stayed and kept her company when
+she was there to care for them herself. Now, it doesn't really need two
+owls at the same time to keep a few eggs warm. Of course not! So why
+should little Solomon have sat sociably cuddled down beside her? Perhaps
+because he was fond of her and liked her companionship. It would have
+been sad, indeed, if he had not been happy in his home, for he was an
+affectionate little fellow and had had some difficulty in winning his
+mate. There had been, early in their acquaintance, what seemed to
+Solomon a long time during which she would not even speak to him. Why,
+'tis said he had to bow to her as many as twenty or thirty times before
+she seemed even to notice that he was about. But those days were over
+for good and all, and Mrs. Otus was a true comrade for Solomon as well
+as a faithful little mother. Together they made a happy home, and were
+quite charming in it.
+
+They could be brave, too, when courage was needed, as they gave proof
+the day that a boy wished he hadn't climbed up and stuck his hand in at
+their door-hole, to find out what was there. While Mrs. Otus spread her
+feathers protectingly over her eggs, Solomon lay on his back, and,
+reaching up with beak and clutching claws, fought for the safety of his
+family. In the heat of the battle he hissed, whereupon the boy
+retreated, badly beaten, but proudly boasting of an adventure with some
+sort of animal that felt like a wildcat and sounded like a snake.
+
+Besides, courage when needed, health, affection, good-nature, and plenty
+of food were enough to keep a family of owls contented. To be sure, some
+folk might not have been so well satisfied with the way the household
+was run. A crow, I feel quite sure, would not have considered the place
+fit to live in. Mrs. Otus was not, indeed, a tidy housekeeper. The floor
+was dirty--very dirty--and was never slicked up from one week's end to
+another. But then, Solomon didn't mind. He was used to it. Mrs. Otus was
+just like his own mother in that respect; and it might have worried him
+a great deal to have to keep things spick and span after the way he had
+been brought up. Why, the beautiful white eggshell he hatched out of was
+dirty when he pipped it, and never in all his growing-up days did he see
+his mother or father really clean house. So it is no wonder he was
+rather shiftless and easy-going. Neither of them had shown what might be
+called by some much ambition when they went house-hunting early that
+spring; for although the place they chose had been put into fairly good
+repair by rather an able carpenter,--a woodpecker,--still, it had been
+lived in before, and might have been improved by having some of the
+rubbish picked up and thrown out. But do you think Solomon spent any of
+his precious evenings that way? No, nor Mrs. Otus either. They moved in
+just as it was, in the most happy-go-lucky sort of way.
+
+Well, whatever a crow or other particular person might think of that
+nest, we should agree that a father and mother owl must be left to
+manage affairs for their young as Nature has taught them; and if those
+five adorable babies of Solomon didn't prove that the way they were
+brought up was an entire success from an owlish point of view, I don't
+know what could.
+
+[Illustration: _Those five adorable babies of Solomon._]
+
+Take them altogether, perhaps you could not find a much more interesting
+family than the little Otuses. As to size and shape, they were as much
+alike as five peas in a pod; but for all that, they looked so different
+that it hardly seemed possible that they could be own brothers and
+sisters. For one of the sons of Solomon and two of his daughters had
+gray complexions, while the other son and daughter were reddish brown.
+Now Solomon and Mrs. Otus were both gray, except, of course, what white
+feathers and black streaks were mixed up in their mottlings and dapples;
+so it seems strange enough to see two of their children distinctly
+reddish. But, then, one never can tell just what color an owl of this
+sort will be, anyway. Solomon himself, though gray, was the son of a
+reddish father and a gray mother, and he had one gray brother and two
+reddish sisters: while Mrs. Otus, who had but one brother and one
+sister, was the only gray member of her family. Young or old, summer or
+winter, Solomon and Mrs. Otus were gray, though, young or old, summer or
+winter, their fathers had both been of a reddish complexion.
+
+Now this sort of variation in color you can readily see is altogether a
+different matter from the way Father Goldfinch changes his feathers
+every October for a winter coat that looks much the same as that of
+Mother Goldfinch and his young daughters; and then changes every spring
+to a beautiful yellow suit, with black-and-white trimmings and a black
+cap, for the summer. It is different, too, from the color-styles of Bob
+the Vagabond, who merely wears off the dull tips of his winter feathers,
+and appears richly garbed in black and white, set off with a lovely bit
+of yellow, for his gay summer in the north. Again, it is something quite
+different from the color-fashions of Larie, who was not clothed in a
+beautiful white garment and soft gray mantle, like his father's and
+mother's, until he was quite grown up.
+
+No, the complexion of Solomon and his sons and daughters was a different
+matter altogether, because it had nothing whatever to do with season of
+the year, or age, or sex. But for all that it was not different from the
+sort of color-variations that Mother Nature gives to many of her
+children; and you may meet now and again examples of the same sort among
+flowers, and insects, and other creatures, too.
+
+But, reddish or gray, it made no difference to Solomon and Mrs. Otus.
+They had no favorites among their children, but treated them all alike,
+bringing them food in abundance: not only enough to keep them happy the
+night long, but laying up a supply in the pantry, so that the youngsters
+might have luncheons during the day.
+
+Although Solomon had night eyes, he was not blind by day. He passed the
+brightest hours quietly for the most part, dozing with both his outer
+eyelids closed, or sometimes sitting with those open and only the thin
+inner lid drawn sidewise across his eye. It seems strange to think of
+his having three eyelids; but, then, perhaps we came pretty near having
+a third one ourselves; for there is a little fold tucked down at the
+inner corner, which might have been a third lid that could move across
+the eye sidewise, if it had grown bigger. And sometimes, of a dazzling
+day in winter, when the sun is shining on the glittering snow, such a
+thin lid as Solomon had might be very comfortable, even for our day
+eyes, and save us the trouble of wearing colored glasses.
+
+[Illustration: _He passed the brightest hours dozing._]
+
+Lively as Solomon was by night, all he asked during the day was peace
+and quiet. He had it, usually. It was seldom that even any of the wild
+folk knew where his nest was; and when he spent the day outside, in some
+shady place, he didn't show much. His big feather-horns at such times
+helped make him look like a ragged stub of a branch, or something else
+he wasn't. It is possible for a person to go very close to an owl
+without seeing him; and fortunately for Solomon, birds did not find him
+every day. For when they did, they mobbed him.
+
+One day, rather late in the summer, Cock Robin found him and sent forth
+the alarm. To be sure, Solomon was doing no harm--just dozing, he was,
+on a branch. But Cock Robin scolded and sputtered and called him mean
+names; and the louder he talked, the more excited all the other birds in
+the neighborhood became. Before long there were twenty angry kingbirds
+and sparrows and other feather-folk, all threatening to do something
+terrible to Solomon.
+
+Now, Solomon had been having a good comfortable nap, with his feathers
+all hanging loose, when Cock Robin chanced to alight on the branch near
+him. He pulled himself up very thin and as tall as possible, with his
+feathers drawn tight against his body. When the bird-mob got too near
+him, he looked at them with his big round eyes, and said, "Oh!" in a
+sweet high voice. But his soft tone did not turn away their wrath. They
+came at him harder than ever. Then Solomon showed his temper, for he was
+no coward. He puffed his feathers out till he looked big and round, and
+he snapped his beak till the click of it could be heard by his
+tormentors. And he hissed.
+
+But twenty enemies were too many, and there was only one thing to be
+done. Solomon did it. First thing those birds knew, they were scolding
+at nothing at all; and way off in the darkest spot he could find in the
+woods, a little owl settled himself quite alone and listened while the
+din of a distant mob grew fainter and fainter and fainter, as one by one
+those twenty birds discovered that there was no one left on the branch
+to scold at.
+
+If Solomon knew why the day birds bothered him so, he never told. He
+could usually keep out of their way in the shady woods in the summer;
+but in the winter, when the leaves were off all but the evergreen trees,
+he had fewer places to hide in. Of course, there were not then so many
+birds to worry him, for most of them went south for the snowy season.
+But Jay stayed through the coldest days and enjoyed every chance he had
+of pestering Solomon. I don't know that this was because he really
+disliked the little owl. Jay was as full of mischief as a crow, and if
+the world got to seeming a bit dull, instead of moping and feeling sorry
+and waiting for something to happen, Jay looked about for some way of
+amusing himself. He was something of a bully,--a great deal of a bully,
+in fact,--this dashing rascal in a gay blue coat; and the more he could
+swagger, the better he liked it.
+
+He seemed, too, to have very much the same feeling that we mean by joy,
+in fun and frolic. There was, perhaps, in the sight of a bird asleep and
+listless in broad daylight, something amusing. He was in the habit of
+seeing the feather-folk scatter at his approach. If he understood why,
+that didn't bother him any. He was used to it, and there is no doubt he
+liked the power he had of making his fellow creatures fly around. When
+he found, sitting on a branch, with two toes front and two toes back, a
+downy puff with big round eyes and a Roman nose and feather-horns
+sticking up like the ears of a cat, maybe he was a bit puzzled because
+it didn't fly, too. Perhaps he didn't quite know what to make of poor
+little Solomon, who, disturbed from his nap, just drew himself up slim
+and tall, and remarked, "Oh!" in a sweet high voice.
+
+But, puzzled or not, Jay knew very well what he could do about it. He
+had done it so many times before! It was a game he liked. He stood on a
+branch, and called Solomon names in loud, harsh tones. He flew around as
+if in a terrible temper, screaming at the top of his voice. When he
+began, there was not another day bird in sight. Before many minutes, all
+the chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers within hearing had arrived,
+and had taken sides with Jay. Yes, even sunny-hearted Chick D.D. himself
+said things to Solomon that were almost saucy. I never heard that any of
+these mobs actually hurt our little friend; but they certainly disturbed
+his nap, and there was no peace for him until he slipped away. Where he
+went, there was no sound to tell, for his feathers were fringed with
+silent down. Perhaps some snow-bowed branch of evergreen gave him
+shelter, in a nook where he could see better than the day-eyed birds who
+tried to follow and then lost track of him.
+
+So Solomon went on with his nap, and Jay started off in quest of other
+adventures. The winter air put a keen edge on his appetite, which was
+probably the reason why he began to hunt for some of the cupboards where
+food was stored. Of course, he had tucked a goodly supply of acorns and
+such things away for himself; but he slipped into one hollow in a tree
+that was well stocked with frozen fish, which he had certainly had no
+hand in catching. But what did it matter to the blue-jacketed robber if
+that fish had meant a three-night fishing at an air-hole in the ice? He
+didn't care (and probably didn't know) who caught it. It tasted good on
+a frosty day, so he feasted on fish in Solomon's pantry, while the
+little owl slept.
+
+Well, if Jay, the bold dashing fellow, held noisy revel during the
+dazzling winter days, night came every once in so often; and then a
+quavering call, tremulous yet unafraid, told the listening world that an
+elf of the moonlight was claiming his own. And if some shivered at the
+sound, others there were who welcomed it as a challenge to enter the
+realm of a winter's night.
+
+For, summer or winter, the night holds much of mystery, close to the
+heart of which lives a little downy owl, who wings his way silent as a
+shadow, whither he will. And when he calls, people who love the stars
+and the wonders they shine down upon sometimes go out to the woods and
+talk with him, for the words he speaks are not hard even for a human
+voice to say. There was once a boy, so a great poet tells us, who stood
+many a time at evening beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake, and
+called the owls that they might answer him. While he listened, who knows
+what the bird of wisdom told him about the night?
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 3: _Hexapod Stories_, page 89.]
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+BOB THE VAGABOND
+
+
+Bob had on his traveling suit, for a vagabond must go a-journeying. It
+would never do to stay too long in one place, and here it was August
+already. Why, he had been in Maine two months and more, and it is small
+wonder he was getting restless. Restless, though not unhappy! Bob was
+never that; for the joy of the open way was always before him, and
+whenever the impulse came, he could set sail and be off.
+
+The meadows of Maine had been his choice for his honeymoon, and a glad
+time of it he and May had had with their snug little home of woven
+grass. That home was like an anchor to them both, and held their hearts
+fast during the days it had taken to make five grown-sized birds out of
+five eggs. But now that their sons and daughters were strong of wing and
+fully dressed in traveling suits like their mother's, it was well that
+Bob had put off his gay wedding clothes and donned a garb of about the
+same sort as that worn by the rest of his family; for dull colors are
+much the best for trips.
+
+Now that they were properly dressed, there was nothing left to see to,
+except to join the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds. Of course no one can be a
+member of this band without the password; but there was nothing about
+that to worry Bob. When any of them came near, he called, "Chink," and
+the gathering flock would sing out a cheery "Chink" in reply: and that
+is the way he and his family were initiated into the Band of Bobolink
+Vagabonds. Anyone who can say "Chink" may join this merry company. That
+is, anyone who can pronounce it with just exactly the right sound!
+
+So, with a flutter of pleasant excitement, they were gone. Off, they
+were, for a land that lies south of the Amazon, and with no more to say
+about it than, "Chink."
+
+No trunk, no ticket, no lunch-box; and the land they would seek was four
+thousand miles or more away! Poor little Bob! had he but tapped at the
+door of Man with his farewell "Chink," someone could have let him see a
+map of his journey. For men have printed time-tables of the Bobolink
+Route, with maps to show what way it lies, and with the different
+Stations marked where food and rest can be found. The names of some of
+the most important Stations that a bobolink, starting from Maine, should
+stop at on the way to Brazil and Paraguay, are Maryland, South Carolina,
+Florida, Cuba, Jamaica, and Venezuela.
+
+Does it seem a pity that the little ignorant bird started off without
+knowing even the name of one of these places? Ah, no! A journeying
+bobolink needs no advice. "Poor," indeed! Why, Bob had a gift that made
+him fortunate beyond the understanding of men. Nature has dealt
+generously with Man, to be sure, giving him power to build ships for the
+sea and the air, and trains for the land, whereon he may go, and power
+to print time-tables to guide the time of travel. But to Bob also, who
+could do none of these things, Nature had, nevertheless, been generous,
+and had given him power to go four thousand miles without losing his
+way, though he had neither chart nor compass. What it would be like to
+have this gift, we can hardly even guess--we who get lost in the woods a
+mile from home, and wander in bewildered circles, not knowing where to
+turn! We can no more know how Bob found his way than the born-deaf can
+know the sound of a merry tune, or the born-blind can know the look of a
+sunset sky. Some people think that, besides the five senses given to a
+man, Nature gave one more to the bobolink--a sixth gift, called a "sense
+of direction."
+
+A wonderful gift for a vagabond! To journey hither and yon with never a
+fear of being lost! To go forty hundred miles and never miss the way! To
+sail over land and over sea,--over meadow and forest and mountain,--and
+reach the homeland, far south of the Amazon, at just the right time! To
+travel by starlight as well as by sunshine, without once mistaking the
+path!
+
+By starlight? What, Bob, who had frolicked and chuckled through the
+bright June days, and dozed o' nights so quietly that never a passing
+owl could see a motion to tempt a chase?
+
+Yes, when he joined the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds, the gates of the
+night, which had been closed to him by Sleep, were somehow thrown open,
+and Bob was free to journey, not only where he would, but when he
+would--neither darkness nor daylight having power to stop him then.
+
+Is it strange that his wings quivered with the joy of voyaging as surely
+as the sails of a boat tighten in the tugging winds?
+
+What would you give to see this miracle--a bobolink flying through the
+night? For it has been seen; there being men who go and watch, when
+their calendars tell them 't is time for birds to take their southward
+flight. Their eyes are too feeble to see such sights unaided; so they
+look through a telescope toward the full round moon, and then they can
+see the birds that pass between them and the light. Like a procession
+they go--the bobolinks and other migrants, too; for the night sky is
+filled with travelers when birds fly south.
+
+But though we could not see them, we should know when they are on their
+way because of their voices. What would you give to hear this miracle--a
+bobolink calling his watchword through the night? For it has been
+heard; there being men who go to the hilltops and listen.
+
+As they hear, now and again, wanderers far above them calling, "Chink,"
+one to another, they know the bobolinks are on their way to a land that
+lies south of the Amazon, and that neither sleep nor darkness bars their
+path, which is open before them to take when and where they will.
+
+And yet Bob and his comrades did not hasten. The year was long enough
+for pleasure by the way. He and May had worked busily to bring up a
+family of five fine sons and daughters early in the summer; and now that
+their children were able to look out for themselves, there was no reason
+why the birds should not have some idle, care-free hours.
+
+[Illustration: _It was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds._]
+
+Besides, it was time for the Feast of the Vagabonds, a ceremony that
+must be performed during the first weeks of the Migrant Flight; for it
+is a custom of the bobolinks, come down to them through no one knows how
+many centuries, to hold a farewell feast before leaving North America.
+If you will glance at a map of the Bobolink Route, you will see the
+names of the states they passed through. Our travelers did not know
+these names; but for all that, they found the Great Rice Trail and
+followed it. They found wild rice in the swamps of Maryland and the
+neighboring states. In South Carolina they found acres of cultivated
+rice. For rice is the favorite food during the Feast of the Vagabonds,
+and to them Nature has a special way of serving it. This same grain is
+eaten in many lands; taken in one way or another, it is said to be the
+principal food of about one half of all the people in the world. Bob
+didn't eat his in soup or pudding or chop-suey. He used neither spoon
+nor chop-sticks. He took his in the good old-fashioned way of his own
+folk--unripe, as most of us take our sweet corn, green and in the
+tender, milky stage, fresh from the stalk. He had been having a rather
+heavy meat diet in Maine, the meadow insects being abundant, and he
+relished the change. There was doubtless a good healthy reason for the
+ceremony of the Feast of the Vagabonds, as anyone who saw Bob may have
+guessed; for by the time he left South Carolina he was as fat as butter.
+
+In following the Great Rice Trail, Bob went over the same road that he
+had taken the spring before when he was northward bound; but one could
+hardly believe him to be the same bird, for he looked different and he
+acted differently. In the late summer, the departing bird was dull of
+hue and, except for a few notes that once in a great while escaped him,
+like some nearly forgotten echo of the spring, he had no more music in
+him than his mate, May. And when they went southward, they went all
+together--the fathers and mothers and sons and daughters in one great
+company.
+
+In the spring it had all been different: Bob had come north with his
+vagabond brothers a bit ahead of the sister-folk. And the vagabond
+brothers had been gay of garb--fresh black and white, with a touch of
+buff. And Bob and his band had been gay of voice. The flock of them had
+gathered in tree-tops and flooded the day with such mellow, laughing
+melodies as the world can have only in springtime--and only as long as
+the bobolinks last.
+
+The ways of the springtime are for the spring, and those of the autumn
+for the fall of the year. So Bob, who, when northward bound a few months
+before, had taken part in the grand Festival of Song, now that he was
+southward bound, partook of the great Feast of the Vagabonds, giving
+himself whole-heartedly to each ceremony in turn, as a bobolink should,
+for such are the time-honored customs of his folk.
+
+Honored for how long a time we do not know. Longer than the memory of
+man has known the rice-fields of South Carolina! Days long before that,
+when elephants trod upon that ground, did those great beasts hear the
+spring song of the bobolinks? Is the answer to that question buried in
+the rocks with the elephants? Bob didn't know. He flew over, with never
+a thought in his little head but for the Great Rice Trail leading him
+southward to Florida.
+
+While there, some travelers would have gone about and watched men cut
+sponges, and have found out why Florida has a Spanish name. But not Bob!
+The Feast of the Vagabonds, which had lasted well-nigh all the way from
+Maryland, was still being observed, and even the stupidest person can
+see that rice is better to eat than sponges or history.
+
+Then, as suddenly as if their "Chink, chink, chink" meant "One, two,
+three, away we go," the long feast was over, and their great flight
+again called them to wing their way into the night. How they found Cuba
+through the darkness, without knowing one star from another; what
+brought them to an island in the midst of the water that was everywhere
+alike--no man knows. But in Cuba they landed in good health and spirits.
+This was in September,--a very satisfactory time for a bird-visit,--and
+Bob and his comrades spent some little time there, it being October,
+indeed, when they arrived on the island of Jamaica. Now Jamaica, so
+people say who know the place, has a comfortable climate and thrilling
+views; but it didn't satisfy Bob. Not for long! Something south of the
+Amazon kept calling to him. Something that had called to his father and
+to his grandfather and to all his ancestors, ever since bobolinks first
+flew from North America to South America once every year.
+
+How many ages this has been, who knows? Perhaps ever since the icy
+glaciers left Maine and made a chance for summer meadows there. Long,
+long, long, it has been, that something south of the Amazon has called
+to bobolinks and brought them on their way in the fall of the year. So
+the same impulse quickened Bob's heart that had stirred all his fathers,
+back through countless seasons. The same quiver for flight came to all
+the Band of Vagabonds. Was it homesickness? We do not know.
+
+[Illustration: _Something south of the Amazon kept calling to him._]
+
+We only know that a night came when Bob and his companions left the
+mountains of Jamaica below them and then behind them. Far, far behind
+them lay the island, and far, far ahead the coast they sought. Five
+hundred miles between Jamaica and a chance for rest or food. Five
+hundred miles; and the night lay about and above them and the waters
+lay underneath. The stars shone clear, but they knew not one from
+another. No guide, no pilot, no compass, such as we can understand, gave
+aid through the hours of their flight. But do you think they were
+afraid? Afraid of the dark, of the water, of the miles? Listen, in your
+fancy, and hear them call to one another. "Chink," they say; and though
+we do not know just what this means, we can tell from the sound that it
+is not a note of fear. And why fear? There was no storm to buffet them
+that night. They passed near no dazzling lighthouse, to bewilder them.
+No danger threatened, and something called them straight and steady on
+their way.
+
+Oh, they were wonderful, that band! Perhaps among all living creatures
+of the world there is nothing more wonderful than a bird in his migrant
+flight--a bird whose blood is fresh with the air he breathes as only a
+bird can breathe; whose health is strong with the wholesome feast that
+he takes when and where he finds it; whose wings hold him in perfect
+flight through unweary miles; whose life is led, we know not how, on,
+on, on, and ever in the right direction.
+
+Yes, Bob was wonderful when he flew from the mountains of Jamaica to the
+great savannas of Venezuela; but he made no fuss about it--seemed to
+feel no special pride. All he said was, "Chink," in the same
+matter-of-fact way that his bobolink forefathers had spoken, back
+through all the years when they, too, had taken this same flight over
+sea in the course of their vagabond journey.
+
+From Venezuela to Paraguay there was no more ocean to cross, and there
+were frequent places for rest when Bob and his band desired. Groves
+there were, strange groves--some where Brazil nuts grew, and some where
+oranges were as common as apples in New England. There were chocolate
+trees and banana palms. There were pepper bushes, gay as our holly trees
+at Christmastime. Great flowering trees held out their blossom cups to
+brilliant hummingbirds hovering by hundreds all about them. Was there
+one among them with a ruby throat, like that of the hummingbird who
+feasted in the Cardinal-Flower Path near Peter Piper's home? Maybe 't
+was the self-same bird--who knows? And let's see--Peter Piper himself
+would be coming soon, would he not, to teeter and picnic along some
+pleasant Brazilian shore?
+
+Perhaps Bob and Peter and the hummingbird, who had been summer neighbors
+in North America, would meet again now and then in that far south
+country. But I do not think they would know each other if they did. They
+had all seemed too busy with their own affairs to get acquainted.
+
+Besides the groves where the nuts and fruit and flowers grew, the
+vagabonds passed over forests so dense and tangled that Bob caught never
+a glimpse of the monkeys playing there: big brown ones, with heads of
+hair that looked like wigs, and tiny white ones, timid and gentle, and
+other kinds, too, all of them being very wise in their wild ways--as
+wise, perhaps, as a hand-organ monkey, and much, much happier.
+
+No, I don't think Bob saw the monkeys, but he must have caught glimpses
+of some members of the Parrot Family, for there were so many of them;
+and I'm sure he heard the racket they made when they talked together.
+One kind had feathers soft as the blue of a pale hyacinth flower, and a
+beak strong enough to crush nuts so hard-shelled that a man could not
+easily crack them with a hammer. But all that was as nothing to Bob. For
+'t was not grove or forest or beast or bird that the vagabonds were
+seeking.
+
+When they had crossed the Amazon River, some of the band stopped in
+places that seemed inviting. But Bob and the rest of the company went on
+till they crossed the Paraguay River; and there, in the western part of
+that country, they made themselves at home. A strange, topsy-turvy land
+it is--as queer in some ways as the Wonderland Alice entered when she
+went through the Looking-Glass; for in Paraguay January comes in the
+middle of summer; and the hot, muggy winds blow from the north; and the
+cool, refreshing breezes come from the south; and some of the wood is so
+heavy that it will not float in water; and the people make tea with
+dried holly leaves! But to the Band of Vagabond Bobolinks it was not
+topsy-turvy, for it was home; and they found the Paraguay prairies as
+well suited to the comforts of their January summer as the meadows of
+the North had been for their summer of June.
+
+Bob was satisfied. He had flown four thousand miles from a meadow and
+had found a prairie! And if, in all that wonderful journey, he had not
+paid over much attention to anything along the way except swamps and
+marshes, do not scorn him for that. Remember always that Bob _found_ his
+prairie and that Peter _found_ his shore.
+
+It is somewhere written, "Seek and ye shall find." 'Tis so with the
+children of birds--they find what Nature has given them to seek. And is
+it so with the children of men? Never think that Nature has been less
+kind to boys and girls than to birds. Unto Bob was given the fields to
+seek, and he had no other choice. Unto Peter the shores, and that was
+all. But unto us is given a chance to choose what we will seek. If it is
+as far away as the prairies of Paraguay, shall we let a dauntless little
+vagabond put our faith to shame? If it is as near as our next-door
+meadow, shall we not find a full measure of happiness there--mixed with
+the bobolink's music of June?
+
+[Illustration: _Nature has kept faith with him and brought him safely
+back to his meadow._]
+
+For Bob comes back to the North again, bringing with him springtime
+melodies, which poets sing about but no human voice can mimic. Bob, who
+has dusted the dull tips from his feathers as he flew, and who, garbed
+for the brightness of our June, makes a joyful sound; for Nature has
+kept faith with him and brought him safely back to his meadow, though
+the journey from and to it numbered eight thousand miles!
+
+    His trail is the open lane of the air,
+    And the winds, they call him everywhere;
+    So he wings him North, dear burbling Bob,
+    With throat aquiver and heart athrob;
+    And he sings o' joy in the month of June
+    Enough to keep the year in tune.
+
+    Then, when the rollicking young of his kind
+    Yearn for the paths that the vagabonds find,
+    He leads them out over loitering ways
+    Where the Southland beckons with luring days;
+    To wait till the laughter-like lilt of his song
+    Is ripe for the North again--missing him long!
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+CONSERVATION
+
+We cannot read much nature literature of the present day without coming
+upon a plea, either implied or expressed, for "conservation." Even the
+child will wish to know--and there is grave need that he should
+know--why many people, and societies of people, are trying to save what
+it has so long been the common custom to waste. Boys and girls living in
+the Eastern States will be interested to know who is Ornithologist to
+the Massachusetts State Board of Agriculture, and what his duties are;
+those in the West will like to know why a publication called "California
+Fish and Game" should have for its motto, "Conservation of Wild Life
+through Education"; those between the East and the West will like to
+learn what is being done in their own states for bird or beast or
+blossom.
+
+Fortunately the idea is not hard to grasp. Conservation is really but
+doing unto others as we would that others should do unto us--so living
+that other life also may have a fair chance. It was a child who wrote,
+from her understanding heart:--
+
+"When I do have hungry feels I feel the hungry feels the birds must be
+having. So I do have comes to tie things on the trees for them. Some
+have likes for different things. Little gray one of the black cap has
+likes for suet. And other folks has likes for other things."--From _The
+Story of Opal._
+
+
+CHICK, D.D.
+
+_Penthestes atricapillus_ is the name men have given the bird who calls
+himself the "Chickadee."
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe), page 186. "The next time you see a wee chickadee,
+calling contentedly and happily while the air makes you shiver from head
+to foot, think of the hard-shelled frozen insects passing down his
+throat, the icy air entering lungs and air-sacs, and ponder a moment on
+the wondrous little laboratory concealed in his mite of a body, which
+his wings bear up with so little effort, which his tiny legs support,
+now hopping along a branch, now suspended from some wormy twig.
+
+"Can we do aught but silently marvel at this alchemy? A little bundle of
+muscle and blood, which in this freezing weather can transmute frozen
+beetles and zero air into a happy, cheery little Black-capped Chickadee,
+as he names himself, whose trustfulness warms our hearts!
+
+"And the next time you raise your gun to needlessly take a feathered
+life, think of the marvellous little engine which your lead will stifle
+forever; lower your weapon and look into the clear bright eyes of the
+bird whose body equals yours in physical perfection, and whose tiny
+brain can generate a sympathy, a love for its mate, which in sincerity
+and unselfishness suffers little when compared with human affection."
+
+_Bird Studies with a Camera_ (Chapman), pages 47-61.
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 66-68.
+
+_Nature Songs and Stories_ (Creighton), pages 3-5.
+
+_American Birds_ (Finley), pages 15-22.
+
+_Winter_ (Sharp), chapter VI.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 61._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+This story was first published in the _Progressive Teacher_, December,
+1920.
+
+
+THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE
+
+_Larus argentatus_, the Herring Gull.
+
+Larie's "policeman," like Ardea's "soldier," is usually called a
+"warden." No thoughtful or informed person can look upon "bird study"
+as merely a pleasant pastime for children and a harmless fad for the
+outdoor man and woman. It is a matter that touches, not only the
+aesthetic, but the economic welfare of the country: a matter that has
+concern for legislators and presidents as well as for naturalists. In
+this connection it is helpful to read some such discussion as is given
+in the first four references.
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), pages 101-213; 200.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 255-330.
+
+_Bird-Lore_, vol. 22, pages 376-380.
+
+_Useful Birds and their Protection_ (Forbush), pages 354-421.
+
+_Birds of Ohio_ (Dawson), pages 548-551; "Herring Gull."
+
+_Bird Book_ (Eckstorm), pages 23-29; "The Herring Gull."
+
+_American Birds_ (Finley), pages 211-217; "Gull Habits."
+
+_Game-Laws for 1920_ (Lawyer and Earnshaw), pages 68-75; "Migratory-Bird
+Treaty Act."
+
+_Tales from Birdland_ (Pearson), pages 3-27; "Hardheart, the Gull."
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 29_; "The Herring Gull." (National Association
+of Audubon Societies.)
+
+
+PETER PIPER
+
+_Actitis macularia_, the Spotted Sandpiper.
+
+Educational Leaflet No. 51. (National Association of Audubon Societies.)
+
+"A leisurely little flight to Brazil."
+
+Peter, the gypsy, and Bob, the vagabond, are both famous travelers, and
+might have passed each other on the way, coming and going, in Venezuela
+and in Brazil. Peter, like Bob, is a night migrant, stopping in the
+daytime for rest and food.
+
+For references to literature on bird-migration, the list under the notes
+to "Bob, the Vagabond," may be used.
+
+
+GAVIA OF IMMER LAKE
+
+_Gavia immer_, the Loon.
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe). "Hesperornis--a wingless, toothed, diving bird,
+about 5 feet in length, which inhabited the great seas during the
+Cretaceous period, some four millions of years ago." (Legend under
+colored frontispiece.)
+
+_Life Histories of North American Diving Birds_ (Bent), pages 47-60.
+
+_Bird Book_ (Eckstorm), pages 9-13.
+
+_By-Ways and Bird-Notes_ (Thompson), pages 170-71. "The cretaceous birds
+of America all appear to be aquatic, and comprise some eight or a dozen
+genera, and many species. Professor Marsh and others have found in
+Kansas a large number of most interesting fossil birds, one of them, a
+gigantic loon-like creature, six feet in length from beak to toe, taken
+from the yellow chalk of the Smoky Hill River region and from calcareous
+shale near Fort Wallace, is named _Hesperornis regalis_."
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 78._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+If twenty years of undisputed possession seems long enough to give a man
+a legal title to "his" land, surely birds have a claim too ancient to be
+ignored by modern beings. Are we not in honor bound to share what we
+have so recently considered "ours," with the creatures that inherited
+the earth before the coming of their worst enemy, Civilization? And in
+so far as lies within our power, shall we not protect the free, wild
+feathered folk from ourselves?
+
+
+EVE AND PETRO
+
+_Petrochelidon lunifrons_, Cliff-Swallow, Eave-Swallow.
+
+_Bird Studies with a Camera_ (Chapman), pages 89-105; "Where Swallows
+Roost."
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 112-113.
+
+_Bird Migration_ (Cooke), pages 5, 9, 19-20, 26, 27; Fig. 6.
+
+_Our Greatest Travelers_ (Cooke), page 349; "Migration Route of the
+Cliff Swallows."
+
+_Bird Book_ (Eckstorm), pages 201-12.
+
+_Bird-Lore_, vol. 21, page 175; "Helping Barn and Cliff Swallows to
+Nest."
+
+
+UNCLE SAM
+
+_Haliaeetus leucocephalus_, the Bald Eagle.
+
+_Stories of Bird Life_ (Pearson), pages 71-80; "A Pair of Eagles."
+
+_The Fall of the Year_ (Sharp), chapter V.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 82._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+At the time this story goes to press, our national emblem is threatened
+with extermination. The following references indicate the situation in
+1920:--
+
+_Conservationist, The,_ vol. 3, pages 60-61; "Our National Emblem."
+
+_National Geographic Magazine,_ vol. 38, page 466.
+
+_Natural History,_ vol. 20, pages 259 and 334; "The Dead Eagles of
+Alaska now number 8356."
+
+_Science_, vol. 50, pages 81-84; "Zoological Aims and Opportunities," by
+Willard G. Van Name.
+
+
+CORBIE
+
+_Corvus brachyrhynchos_, the Crow.
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe), pages 153, 158, 172, 200-01, 209. "When the brain of
+a bird is compared with that of a mammal, there is seen to be a
+conspicuous difference, since the outer surface is perfectly smooth in
+birds, but is wound about in convolutions in the higher four-footed
+animals. This latter condition is said to indicate a greater degree of
+intelligence; but when we look at the brain of a young musk-ox or
+walrus, and find convolutions as deep as those of a five-year-old child,
+and when we compare the wonderfully varied life of birds, and realize
+what resource and intelligence they frequently display in adapting
+themselves to new or untried conditions, a smooth brain does not seem
+such an inferior organ as is often inferred by writers on the subject. I
+would willingly match a crow against a walrus any day in a test of
+intelligent behavior.... A crow ... though with horny, shapeless lips,
+nose, and mouth, looks at us through eyes so expressive, so human, that
+no wonder man's love has gone out to feathered creatures throughout all
+his life on the earth."
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 129-32.
+
+_American Birds_ (Finley), pages 69-77; "Jack Crow."
+
+_The Crow and its Relation to Man_ (Kalmbach).
+
+_Outdoor Studies_ (Needham), pages 47-53; "Not so Black as he is
+Painted."
+
+_Tales from Birdland_ (Pearson), pages 128-52; "Jim Crow of Cow
+Heaven."
+
+_Our Backdoor Neighbors_ (Pellett), pages 181-98; "A Jolly Old Crow."
+
+_Our Birds and their Nestlings_ (Walker), pages 76-85; "The Children of
+a Crow."
+
+_The Story of Opal_ (Whiteley); "Lars Porsena."
+
+_Gray Lady and the Birds_ (Wright), pages 114-28.
+
+_Bird Lore_, vol. 22 (1919), pages 203-04; "A Nation-Wide Effort to
+Destroy Crows."
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 77._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+
+ARDEA'S SOLDIER
+
+Ardea's scientific name used to be _Ardea candidissima_, and the older
+references to this bird will be found under that name, though at present
+it is known as _Egretta candidissima_. It is commonly called the Snowy
+Egret, or the Snowy Heron. The other white heron wearing "aigrettes" is
+_Herodias egretta_. Ardea's "soldier," like Larie's "policeman," is
+usually spoken of as a "warden." With reference to this story there is
+much of interest in the following:--
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), pages 140-66, "The Traffic in Feathers";
+pages 167-89, "Bird Protection Laws"; pages 190-213, "Bird
+Reservations": pages 244-58, "Junior Audubon Classes."
+
+_Stories of Bird Life_ (Pearson), pages 153-60; "Levy, the Story of an
+Egret."
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 237-38.
+
+_Gray Lady and the Birds_ (Wright), pages 67-80; "Feathers and Hats."
+
+_Educational Leaflets Nos. 54 and 54A;_ "The Egret" and "The Snowy
+Egret." (National Association of Audubon Societies.)
+
+To Mr. T. Gilbert Pearson, who has visited more egret colonies than any
+other person in the country, and who, in leading fights for their
+protection, has kept in very close touch with the egret situation, an
+expression of indebtedness and appreciation is due for his kindness in
+reading "Ardea's Soldier" while yet in manuscript, and for certain
+suggestions with reference to the story.
+
+
+THE FLYING CLOWN
+
+_Chordeiles virginianus_, the Nighthawk or Bull-bat.
+
+_Bird Migration_ (Cooke), pages 5, 7, 9.
+
+_Nature Sketches in Temperate America_ (Hancock), pages 246-48.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 178-80.
+
+_Bird-Lore_, vol. 20 (1918), page 285.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 1._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+
+THE LOST DOVE
+
+_Ectopistes migratorius_, the Passenger Pigeon.
+
+"How can a billion doves be lost?"
+
+_History of North American Birds_ (Baird, Brewer and Ridgway), vol. 3,
+pages 368-74.
+
+_Michigan Bird Life_ (Barrows), pages 238-51.
+
+_Birds that Hunt and are Hunted_ (Blanchan), pages 294-96.
+
+_Travels of Birds_ (Chapman), pages 73-74.
+
+_Birds of Ohio_ (Dawson and Jones), pages 425-27.
+
+_Passenger Pigeon_ (Mershon).
+
+_Natural History of the Farm_ (Needham), pages 114-15. "The wild pigeon
+was the first of our fine game birds to disappear. Its social habits
+were its undoing, when once guns were brought to its pursuit. It flew in
+great flocks, which were conspicuous and noisy, and which the hunter
+could follow by eye and ear, and mow down with shot at every
+resting-place. One generation of Americans found pigeons in
+'inexhaustible supply'; the next saw them vanish--vanish so quickly,
+that few museums even sought to keep specimens of their skins or their
+nests or their eggs; the third generation (which we represent) marvels
+at the true tales of their aforetime abundance, and at the swiftness of
+their passing; and it allows the process of extermination to go on only
+a little more slowly with other fine native species."
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), pages 128-29. "Passenger Pigeons as late as
+1870 were frequently seen in enormous flocks. Their numbers during the
+periods of migration were one of the greatest ornithological wonders of
+the world. Now the birds are gone. What is supposed to have been the
+last one died in captivity in the Zoological Park of Cincinnati, at 2
+P.M. on the afternoon of September 1, 1914. Despite the generally
+accepted statement that these birds succumbed to the guns, snares, and
+nets of hunters, there is a second cause, which doubtless had its effect
+in hastening the disappearance of the species. The cutting away of vast
+forests, where the birds were accustomed to gather and feed on mast,
+greatly restricted their feeding range. They collected in enormous
+colonies for the purpose of rearing their young; and after the forests
+of the Northern states were so largely destroyed, the birds seem to have
+been driven far up into Canada, quite beyond their usual breeding range.
+Here, as Forbush suggests, the summer probably was not sufficiently long
+to enable them to rear their young successfully."
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), pages 219-22.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 6._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.) "Those who study with care the history of the extermination
+of the Pigeons will see, however, that all the theories brought forward
+to account for the destruction of the birds by other causes than man's
+agency are wholly inadequate. There was but one cause for the diminution
+of the birds, which was widespread, annual, perennial, continuous, and
+enormously destructive--their persecution by mankind. Every great
+nesting-ground was besieged by a host of people as soon as it was
+discovered, many of them professional pigeoners, armed with all the most
+effective engines of slaughter known. Many times the birds were so
+persecuted that they finally left their young to the mercies of the
+pigeoners; and even when they remained, most of the young were killed
+and sent to the market, and the hosts of the adults were decimated."
+
+
+LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS
+
+_Otus asio_, the Screech Owl, are the scientific and common names of our
+little friend Solomon. Perhaps the fact that owls stand upright and gaze
+at one with both eyes to the front, accounts in part for their looking
+so wise that they have been used as a symbol of wisdom for many
+centuries.
+
+In the Library of Congress in Washington, there is a picture called
+"The Boy of Winander." When looking at this, or some copy of it, it is
+pleasant to remember the lines of Wordsworth's poem:--
+
+    There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
+    And islands of Winander!--many a time,
+    At evening, when the earliest stars began
+    To move along the edges of the hills,
+    Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
+    Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
+    And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
+    Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
+    Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
+    Blew music hootings to the silent owls,
+    That they might answer him.
+
+Following are a few references to Screech Owls:--
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study_ (Comstock), pages 104-07.
+
+_Some Common Game, Aquatic and Rapacious Birds_ (McAtee and Beal), pages
+27-28.
+
+_Our Backdoor Neighbors_ (Pellet), pages 63-74; "The Neighborly Screech
+Owls."
+
+_My Pets_ (Saunders), pages 11-33.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man_ (Weed and Dearborn), page 199.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 11._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+
+BOB, THE VAGABOND
+
+_Dolichonyx oryzivorus_, the Bobolink.
+
+_Educational Leaflet No. 38._ (National Association of Audubon
+Societies.)
+
+_The Bobolink Route_
+
+Maps, showing the route of migrant bobolinks may be found in _Bird,
+Migration_ (Cooke), page 6;
+
+_Our Greatest Travelers_ (Cooke), page 365.
+
+Other interesting accounts of bird-migrations may be found in _Travels
+of Birds_ (Chapman).
+
+_Bird Study Book_ (Pearson), chapter IV.
+
+History tells us when Columbus discovered Cuba and when Sebastian Cabot
+sailed up the Paraguay River; but when bobolinks discovered that island,
+or first crossed that river, no man can ever know. The physical
+perfection that permits such journeys as birds take is cause for
+admiration. In this connection much of interest will be found in
+
+_The Bird_ (Beebe), chapter VII, "The Breath of a Bird," from which we
+make a brief quotation. "Birds require, comparatively, a vastly greater
+strength and 'wind' in traversing such a thin, unsupporting medium as
+air than animals need for terrestrial locomotion. Even more wonderful
+than mere flight is the performance of a bird when it springs from the
+ground, and goes circling upward higher and higher on rapidly beating
+wings, all the while pouring forth a continuous series of musical
+notes.... A human singer is compelled to put forth all his energy in his
+vocal efforts; and if, while singing, he should start on a run even on
+level ground, he Would become exhausted at once.... The average person
+uses only about one seventh of his lung capacity in ordinary breathing,
+the rest of the air remaining at the bottom of the lung, being termed
+'residual.' As this is vitiated by its stay in the lung, it does harm
+rather than good by its presence.... As we have seen, the lungs of a
+bird are small and non-elastic, but this is more than compensated by the
+continuous passage of fresh air, passing not only into but entirely
+_through_ the lungs into the air-sacs, giving, therefore, the very best
+chance for oxygenation to take place in every portion of the lungs. When
+we compare the estimated number of breaths which birds and men take in a
+minute,--thirteen to sixteen in the latter, twenty to sixty in
+birds,--we realize better how birds can perform such wonderful feats of
+song and flight."
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK LIST
+
+
+For getting acquainted with birds, we no more need books than we need
+books for getting acquainted with people. One bird, if rightly
+known,--as with one person understood,--will teach us more than we can
+learn by reading. But since no one has time to learn for himself more
+than a few things about many birds, or many things about a few birds, it
+is pleasant and companionable and helpful to have even a second-hand
+share in what other people have learned. For myself, I like to watch
+both the bird in the bush through my own eyes and the bird in the book
+through the eyes of some other observer. So it seems but fair to share
+the names of books that have interested me in one way or another during
+the preparation of my own. If it seems to anyone a short list, I can but
+say that I do not know all the good books about birds, and therefore
+many (and perhaps some of the best) have been omitted. If it seems to
+anyone a long list, I would suggest that, if it contains more than you
+may find in your public library, or more than you care to put on your
+own shelves, or more than can be secured for the school library, the
+list may be helpful for selection--perhaps some of them will be where
+you can find and use them. Certain of them, as their titles indicate,
+are devoted exclusively to birds; and others include other outdoor
+things as well--as happens many a time when we start out on a bird-quest
+of our own, and find other treasures, too, in plenty.
+
+If I could have but two of the books on the list, they would be "The
+Story of Opal," the nature-word of a child who well may lead us, and
+"Handbook of Nature-Study," the nature-word of a wise teacher of
+teachers.
+
+
+BOOKS, BULLETINS, AND LEAFLETS
+
+_American Birds_, Studied and Photographed from Life. LOVELL FINLEY.
+Charles Scribner's Sons.
+
+_Attracting Birds about the Home._ Bulletin No. 1: The National
+Association of Audubon Societies.
+
+_Bird, The._ C. WILLIAM BEEBE. Henry Holt and Company
+
+_Bird Book._ FANNIE HARDY ECKSTORM. D. C. Heath & Co.
+
+_Bird Houses and How to Build Them._ NED DEARBORN. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture; Farmer's Bulletin 609.
+
+_Bird Migration._ WELLS W. COOKE. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Bulletin
+185.
+
+_Bird Neighbors._ NELTJE BLANCHAN. Doubleday, Page & Co.
+
+_Bird Studies with a Camera._ FRANK M. CHAPMAN. D. Appleton & Co.
+
+_Bird Study Book._ T. GILBERT PEARSON. Doubleday, Page & Co.
+
+_Birds in their Relation to Man._ CLARENCE M. WEED and NED DEARBORN. J.
+B. Lippincott Co.
+
+_Birds of Maine._ ORA WILLIS KNIGHT.
+
+_Birds of New York._ ELON HOWARD EATON. Memoir 12; N.Y. State Museum.
+
+(The 106 colored plates by Louis Agassiz Fuertes can be secured
+separately.)
+
+_Birds of Ohio._ WILLIAM LEON DAWSON. The Wheaton Publishing Co.
+
+_Birds of Village and Field._ FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Birds of the United States,_ East of the Rocky Mountains. AUSTIN C.
+APGAR. American Book Company.
+
+_Burgess Bird Book for Children._ THORNTON W. BURGESS. Little, Brown &
+Co.
+
+_By-Ways and Bird Notes._ MAURICE THOMPSON. United States Book Co.
+
+_Chronology and Index of the More Important Events in American Game
+Protection,_ 1776-1911. T. S. PALMER. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture;
+Biological Survey Bulletin 41.
+
+_Common Birds of Town and Country._ National Geographic Society.
+
+_Conservation Reader._ HAROLD W. FAIRBANKS. World Book Co.
+
+_Crow, The, and its Relation to Man._ E. R. KALMBACH. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture; Bulletin 621.
+
+_Educational Leaflets_ of The National Association of Audubon Societies.
+
+More than one hundred of these have been issued, each giving an
+illustrated account of a bird. (These are for sale at a few cents each,
+and a list may be obtained upon application to the National
+Association.)
+
+_Everyday Adventures._ SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR. The Atlantic Monthly Press.
+
+_Fall of the Year, The._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Federal Protection of Migratory Birds._ GEORGE A. LAWYER. Separate from
+Yearbook of the Dept. of Agriculture, 1918, No. 785.
+
+_Food of Some Well-Known Birds of Forest, Farm, and Garden._ F. E. L.
+BEAL and W. L. MCATEE. U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers' Bulletin 506.
+
+_Game Laws for 1920._ U.S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers' Bulletin 1138.
+
+_Gray Lady and the Birds._ MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT. The Macmillan Co.
+
+_Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America._ FRANK M. CHAPMAN. D.
+Appleton & Co.
+
+_Handbook of Birds of Western United States._ FLORENCE M. BAILEY.
+Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Handbook of Nature-Study._ ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK. Comstock Publishing
+Co.
+
+_Hardenbergh's Bird Playmates._ Charles Scribner's Sons. Two sets: Land
+Birds and Water Birds. (Two large scenic backgrounds in color, with
+colored birds that can be slipped into place to complete the picture;
+for use during bird lessons, as a record of birds seen by the children,
+etc.)
+
+_History of North American Birds._ S. F. BAIRD, T. M. BREWER, and R.
+RIDGWAY. Three volumes. Little, Brown & Co.
+
+_Life Histories of North American Diving Birds._ ARTHUR CLEVELAND BENT.
+U.S. National Museum Bulletin 107.
+
+_Michigan Bird Life._ WALTER BRADFORD BARROWS. Michigan Agricultural
+College.
+
+_Mother Nature's Children._ ALLEN WALTON GOULD. Ginn & Co.
+
+_My Pets._ MARSHALL SAUNDERS. The Griffith and Rowland Press.
+
+_Natural History of the Farm._ JAMES G. NEEDHAM. The Comstock Publishing
+Co.
+
+_Nature Sketches in Temperate America._ JOSEPH LANE HANCOCK. A. C.
+McClurg Co.
+
+_Nature Songs and Stories._ KATHERINE CREIGHTON. The Comstock Publishing
+Co.
+
+_Nestlings of Forest and Marsh._ IRENE GROSVENOR WHEELOCK. Atkinson,
+Mentzer, and Grover.
+
+_Our Backdoor Neighbors._ FRANK C. PELLETT. The Abingdon Press.
+
+_Our Birds and their Nestlings._ MARGARET COULSON WALKER. American Book
+Co.
+
+_Our Greatest Travelers._ WELLS W. COOKE. (Reprinted in _Common Birds of
+Town and Country._)
+
+_Outdoor Studies._ JAMES G. NEEDHAM. American Book Co.
+
+_Passenger Pigeon, The._ W. B. MERSHON. The Outing Publishing Co.
+
+_Primer of Bird-Study._ ERNEST INGERSOLL. The National Association of
+Audubon Societies.
+
+_Propagation of Wild-Duck Foods._ W. L. MCATEE. U.S. Dept. of
+Agriculture Bulletin 465.
+
+_Sharp Eyes._ WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON. Harper and Brothers.
+
+_Short Cuts and By-Paths._ HORACE LUNT. D. Lothrop Co.
+
+_Some Common Game, Aquatic, and Rapacious Birds in Relation to Man._ W.
+L. MCATEE and F. E. L. BEAL. U. S. Dept. of Agriculture; Farmers'
+Bulletin 497.
+
+_Spring of the Year, The._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Stories of Bird Life._ T. GILBERT PEARSON. B. F. Johnson Publishing Co.
+
+_Story of Opal, The._ OPAL WHITELEY. G. P. Putnam's Sons. (The Journal
+of a child, who watched the comings and the goings of the little
+wood-folk and waved greetings to the plant-bush-folk, and who danced
+when the wind did play the harps in the forest--this being "a very
+wonderful world to live in.")
+
+_Summer._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Tales from Birdland._ T. GILBERT PEARSON. Doubleday, Page & Co.
+
+_Travels of Birds._ FRANK M. CHAPMAN. D. Appleton and Co.
+
+_Useful Birds and their Protection._ EDWARD H. FORBUSH. Massachusetts
+Board of Agriculture.
+
+_Wild Life Conservation._ WILLIAM T. HORNADAY. Yale University Press.
+
+_Winter._ DALLAS LORE SHARP. Houghton Mifflin Co.
+
+_Wit of the Wild._ ERNEST INGERSOLL. Dodd, Mead & Co.
+
+
+PERIODICALS
+
+_Bird-Lore._ Official Organ of the Audubon Societies. D. Appleton & Co.
+
+_Conservationist, The._ New York State Conservation Commission, Albany.
+
+_Guide to Nature, The._ The Agassiz Association, Arcadia, Sound Beach,
+Conn.
+
+_Natural History._ Journal of the American Museum of Natural History.
+
+_Nature-Study Review._ Official Organ of the American Nature-Study
+Society, Ithaca, New York.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bird Stories, by Edith M. Patch
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