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diff --git a/42285-0.txt b/42285-0.txt index b483429..21ec385 100644 --- a/42285-0.txt +++ b/42285-0.txt @@ -1,38 +1,4 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Story of Scraggles, by George Wharton James - -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: The Story of Scraggles - -Author: George Wharton James - -Illustrator: Sears Gallagher - -Release Date: March 9, 2013 [EBook #42285] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42285 *** The Story of Scraggles @@ -1381,361 +1347,4 @@ says the _New York Tribune_. 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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: The Story of Scraggles - -Author: George Wharton James - -Illustrator: Sears Gallagher - -Release Date: March 9, 2013 [EBook #42285] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42285 ***</div> <div class="figcenter"> <img class="border2" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="634" alt="" /> @@ -1751,382 +1711,6 @@ says the <em>New York Tribune</em>.</p> <p class="centered-block">LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., <em>Publishers</em><br /> 254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Scraggles, by George Wharton James - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES *** - -***** This file should be named 42285-h.htm or 42285-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/2/8/42285/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: The Story of Scraggles - -Author: George Wharton James - -Illustrator: Sears Gallagher - -Release Date: March 9, 2013 [EBook #42285] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - The Story of Scraggles - - [Illustration: Scraggles and "The 'Fessor." FRONTISPIECE.] - - - - - The Story of Scraggles - - By George Wharton James - - - Author of - - "In and Around the Grand Canyon," - "In and Out of the Old Missions of California," - "The Wonders of the Colorado Desert," etc. - - - _Illustrated from Drawings by Sears Gallagher and from Photographs_ - - - Boston - Little, Brown, and Company - 1906 - - - _Copyright_, _1906_, - BY EDITH E. FARNSWORTH. - - - _All rights reserved_ - - - Published October, 1906 - - - THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - - - - -_INTRODUCTION_ - - -_Most of our Indians have a tradition that in the days of old animals -and man had a common speech. Each was able to understand the other, -and thoughts and language were common to all. It was not until man -began to regard himself as superior to the animals and think of them -as "lower" that this oneness of speech and relationship was lost. -Since then envy, jealousy, anger, on one side, and conceit, pride, and -contempt on the other have widened the breach, while_ LOVE _has stood -with tearful eyes looking on at the sad and unnatural estrangement._ - -_But in these latter days prophets among the white race have risen up -to awaken again within man the desire for brotherhood with the -humbler creations of God. Thoreau, John Burroughs, John Muir, Ernest -Thompson Seton, W. J. Long, Elizabeth Grinnell, and many others, are -showing us our kinship to the birds, buds, bees, blossoms, and beasts. -It is with the two thoughts before me of the common speech and -understanding existent between the animals and man, and of the kinship -that affection shows us does really exist, that I have written the -"Story of Scraggles" from her viewpoint, with the confident -anticipation that young and old alike will enjoy this truthful record -of a sweet and beautiful little life._ - -_While, of course, the thoughts put into Scraggles' words are mine, -the statements of fact are literally true. I have told the story as -nearly in accord with the incidents as they actually occurred, as this -method of telling the story would permit._ - - _GEORGE WHARTON JAMES_ - - _1098 N. Raymond Ave. - Pasadena, California - Feb. 23, 1906_ - - - - - -_CONTENTS_ - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. HOW I CAME TO LIVE IN A HOUSE 1 - II. MY FIRST WEEK IN-DOORS 11 - III. MY SECOND WEEK IN THE HOUSE 23 - IV. MY FIRST SAND BATH 30 - V. ON THE FESSOR'S DESK AND MY HIDING-PLACE 35 - VI. PREENING MY FEATHERS 43 - VII. GOING OUT OF DOORS 48 - VIII. ON FESSOR'S BED 56 - IX. GOING FOR A WALK 62 - X. UNCLE HERBERT'S VISIT 66 - XI. MY ILLNESS 70 - XII. SCRAGGLES' LAST DAY 76 - XIII. HOW THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES CAME TO BE WRITTEN 81 - - - - -_ILLUSTRATIONS_ - - - Scraggles and "The 'Fessor" _Frontispiece_ - "I saw happy little birds outside" _Page_ 12 - "The cutest hiding-place in the world" 40 - "At first I thought it was another little bird" 43 - "I used to roost on it a great deal" 55 - "I couldn't bear to be anywhere else than right in his hand" 71 - - - - -The Story of Scraggles - - - - -_Chapter I_ - -_How I Came to Live in a House_ - - -I was only a little baby song-sparrow, and from the moment I came out -of my shell everybody knew there was something the matter with me. I -don't know what it could have been, for my brother and sister were -well and strong. Perhaps I was out of the first egg that was laid, and -a severe spell of cold had come and partially frozen me; or a storm -had shaken the bough in which our nest was, so that I was partly -"addled." Anyhow, no matter what caused it, there was no denying the -fact that when I was born I was an ailing little bird, and this made -both my father and mother very cross with me. I couldn't help being so -weak, and they might have been kinder to me; but when the other eggs -were hatched out and my brother and sister were born, nobody seemed to -care for me any more. Of course, my mother gave me something to eat -when I cried for it, but the others were so much stronger than I that -they pushed me out of the way, and succeeded many a time in getting my -share without mother's knowing anything about it. - -I was not active like the others, and when they climbed up to the edge -of the nest and stretched out their wings as if they would fly, I felt -a dreadful fear come over me. I knew I should fall to the earth if I -tried to fly. I don't know why I felt this, but, do as I would, I -could not get rid of the horrible feeling. I tried a number of times -to overcome that sickly feeling of fear and dread, but every time I -clambered to the nest's edge I grew dizzy and had to fall back to -prevent my pitching headlong forward. My father and mother both -scolded me, and taunted me for my cowardice; they urged me to flap my -wings more, and again and again showed me how to do it. But my wings -were so weak I am sure something was wrong with one of them. And my -feathers! I never saw such wretched feathers. In the first place I had -no feathers whatever on the under part of my body, and where the -feathers did grow they were raggedy and scraggedy and looked for all -the world as if they were moth-eaten. So in bird language my father -and mother and the others all called me Scraggles, and they treated me -as if they felt I was Scraggles--of no use or beauty, and therefore -worth "nothing to nobody." - -But in spite of this, I was ill-prepared for the awful fate that came -to me one day. My brother and sister had already tried their wings -pretty well, and had flown quite a distance, and father and mother -were pleased with their progress. Then they came to me and urged me to -climb up to the edge of the nest. When I did so, my father came behind -me, gave me a sudden push, and over I went. Down, down I fell, through -the branches of the tree, fluttering my wings as well as I could, but -they would not sustain me. One of them worked so queerly that I went -sidewise, and as I struck the ground I rolled over and felt quite -dizzy and stunned. When I looked around for my father and mother they -were nowhere to be seen. I called aloud, but no answer came, and then -I felt so desolate and forlorn that I could have cried. But I thought -I had better begin to search for them. So I hopped along to where I -saw several birds flying around. All at once I found myself among a -number of houses where men and women lived, and I knew there was -danger from four-legged creatures they kept, called cats, but, as I -saw what seemed to me to be my mother down the street, I hurried along -as fast as my weak wing and fluttering heart would let me, until, all -at once, I heard quick footsteps behind me. Turning, I saw that it was -a large, tall man, with black hair and a black beard, and he walked so -quickly that I grew afraid and chirped out to my mother to come and -help me. But she paid no attention whatever, and my loud cries -arrested the attention of the man. He suddenly stopped, looked at me, -and then began to talk to himself. I didn't understand then what he -was saying, but I know I was desperately scared, for my parents had -taught me always to keep out of the way of human beings--especially of -the little human beings that they called boys and girls. Girls, they -said, were not so bad as boys, but it was safest to keep away from all -of them. Had I known this big man as I afterwards grew to know him, I -shouldn't have been so scared; but as it was, I tried to get as far -away from him as I could. The sidewalk was lined all along with great -tall stalks of dandelions and clover, and I tried to push my way -through them to where my mother was picking up something to eat on the -road. But it was _such_ hard work, and I was so afraid! At last I got -through, and then with a cry of joy I hopped as fast as I could to my -mother. I felt that surely she would help and protect me, and I was -never more surprised and hurt in my life when, without even -recognizing me, or saying one single cheep, she flew away so quickly, -and so far, that almost immediately I lost sight of her. - -What was I to do? For a moment or two my little heart stood still. I -was so dreadfully afraid that I couldn't breathe. Then, before I had -recovered, the great tall man, whom I had quite forgotten, came toward -me with his quick, decisive strides. I tried to get away from him, and -fairly screamed out in my terror; yet it was no use. He was too quick, -and I was too weak and helpless, and in less than a minute he had -"cornered me" against the trunk of a tree, and I found myself all at -once in his strong hand, the fingers of which felt so powerful as they -completely surrounded me. - -I was too afraid to cry out, and I could only lie still and listen to -my heart beat. It went so quick and so hard that I thought I should -die; but somehow I was compelled to see that he didn't hurt me or -pinch me, and his voice was all the time talking so softly and gently -to me, though it sounded deep and strong like the voice of a storm -that once nearly shook me out of our nest. He was carrying me away -rapidly, and said something about his wife and "little girlie," who -would surely help him take care of me until I could fly. - -Soon we went inside a house. I had never been in such a dark place -before, and I was made afraid again, as badly as ever, by two persons, -dressed differently from the tall, bearded man, but whose voices were -softer and more like a bird's than his. I heard him tell about seeing -me try to reach my mother, and then how she had flown away and -deserted me, and he had caught me and brought me home, lest, said he, -"some cat should catch the poor little thing and gobble it up." - -That is just how I came to be in a house, and the beginning of my life -with human beings,--three of them--a man and two women. - - - - -_Chapter II_ - -_My First Week In-doors_ - - -My first week in-doors was very painful and distressing to me. Though -my father and mother had never been kind, still they were my father -and mother. But now I was all the time with strangers,--great, -monstrous, tall human beings, and I was such a tiny little bird! How -could I feel at home with them? It scared me just to see them. - -Still, scared or not, what was I to do? I had to stay there, for, -unlike my home in the nest in the tree, here everything was shut up. -The air was warm and close, and it made me feel queer most of the -time. It was not fresh and bracing like the out-door air I had been -used to. I was shut in,--that was all there was to it; but it took me -a long time to learn to make the best of it. For the tall man, now and -again, would catch me and put me up onto the window-sill, and I didn't -know that I couldn't go through the glass. I tried again and again, -but always bumped my bill hard against the glass and never got any -further. I saw happy little birds outside. They seemed to be strong -and well; and how I longed to be with them! I found great pleasure, -however, in walking back and forth on the edge of the window sash, and -the warm sunshine that shone in upon me was very comforting. When -other birds flew near by I used to get very excited, and stretch my -legs and neck so hard to see them and get to them, that the "man of -the house" would laugh very heartily at me. And then he would call to -"Mamma" and "Edith," and together they would stand and look and laugh -at me, while I stretched and chirped and twittered to the birds -outside. - -[Illustration: "I saw happy little birds outside." _Page_ 12.] - -Of course, I had not been in the house long before I was a very hungry -little bird. I don't think you know how very hungry so tiny a bird can -get. I was desperately hungry. How I was going to be fed I did not -know. But I chirped, and cheeped, and called out as loudly as I could, -and soon the "Fessor"--as the women called the man[1]--came -into the room with a saucer in his hand. In the saucer was some -white-looking substance that he called bread and milk. But I didn't -know what to do with it. So to let him know how hungry I was I chirped -more, and then opened my mouth wide, and wider still, as baby birds -do, hoping that he would find some way of getting the food into me. -And he did! Instead of putting it into my throat with his bill--he -hadn't one--as my mother did, he caught me when I wasn't expecting it, -and taking some of the white stuff in his fingers, held it close to -me. When I opened my bill to cheep, he pushed it in, and my! how -strange it tasted. But it was good. It was sweet, and warm, and nice. -So I swallowed it and opened my mouth for more, and he gave me -another piece. Then he called to Edith, and she and Mamma came and -watched me until, as they said, I was "stuffed as full as an egg." Two -or three times that day he fed me in the same fashion, and I began -then to get over my fear of him. He didn't seem to want to hurt me, -and he was very, very gentle with me; and I even began, once or twice, -to snuggle down in his hand, for it was so large and warm and -comfortable. Then that awful fear came, and I sprang out of his reach -and ran to the end of his desk, and when he reached out after me, I -wildly leaped off the desk, fell to the floor, and then ran as fast as -I could behind the desk in order to be safe. - - [1] This was the name given me by a dear little child trying to - say Professor, and the name has stuck ever since. - -We had several days of this, and I soon found that when he fed me I -need not be afraid at all. He never hurt me then. But I never knew -when he would hurt. So I thought it best to keep out of his way. He -talked very nicely to me, however, I must confess, and I soon learned -to like to hear his voice. I felt better when he was in the room, and -it was lonesome when he went away, for he shut the door so that I -couldn't go anywhere else. - -It was not many days before I knew all about that room. It was a queer -room, as compared with rooms I afterwards saw. Mamma and Edith called -it Fessor's "den," and surely it was a den. There was a desk opposite -to one window. On this was a row of books reaching right across, and -piles of papers, and pictures, and one thing and another, sometimes on -the sides of the desk, and sometimes on the tops of the books. And -when the Fessor sat down he would take a little pile of white paper, -and a stick with a shining thing at the end that I afterwards learned -was a pen, and he would dip it into a bottle full of queer smelling -black water and then scratch the wet pen back and forth over the -paper, so quickly that it used to make my little head swim to watch -him. And the noise! It was simply aggravating beyond words--that is, a -tiny bird's words. How I did hate that pen and that scratching noise! -But I'm not going to tell you about that now. I shall have a good deal -to tell you about that pen later on. - -Well, to go back to the room. By the side of the desk, on the left, -was a great tall case full of what the Fessor called books. Every -once in a while he would jump up from his seat in a hurry and make one -big stride to that case, quickly look over the backs of the books, -then seize one, put it on his desk, and begin to turn over the sheets -of paper of which it was composed. And his eyes would sparkle and -shine sometimes, and at others his brow would wrinkle and his lips -pucker up, so that I knew something was going on, whenever he reached -for one of those books. The books in front of him he often took out -and opened and read from them. Then he would talk to himself and say -"Yes!" and "No!" or "I don't think so!" or "I guess he's way off," and -then his fingers would grab the pen, dab! it would go into the black -water, and over the paper it flew like the dancing shadows that I -used to watch sometimes when I was in my nest in the tree. - -On one side of the room was a flat thing perched on four legs as high -as the desk, called a table. The top of this was covered with more -books and papers and photographs. Sometimes Fessor would put me on -this table, and I used to go around and explore everything. In one -corner of the room was a high pile of boxes, with shelves in them, on -which were piled loose papers and more books and things. Such big -boxes they were, and so deep, and such piles and piles of things in -them! This afterwards became my playhouse and my hiding-place. My! -what fun I had in it sometimes, and how glad I was to have it when I -found out what a good hiding-place it was. - -There were also some Indian baskets in the room, as well as a closet -in which were piles of little boxes and a large leather case in which -was a thing Fessor called his camera. - -Of course, I didn't find out about all these things at once. I'm just -telling you all about them now, so that you will understand, and I -shan't have to tell you again. - -The first night I went to nest in the house was a strange experience. -Now just look what I've said: "Went to nest." You see a little bird -doesn't think of going to bed, as boys and girls do. She goes to her -nest. But there was no nest in Fessor's den. He was too big to get -into one if there had been one, and when it began to grow dark I -wondered what would become of me. To be all alone in that dark, dark -room would be terrible; and there was no getting to any other birds -owing to that shut window. But I needn't have been afraid. For, just -as I was working myself up into a good deal of excitement, Fessor came -in, and after giving me some more warm bread and milk,--which made me -feel _so_ comfortable and _so_ sleepy,--he said: "And now, little -birdie, I'll have to find a bed for you." Then I watched him from the -desk, where he had placed me, and he got a large Indian basket, and -after putting some soft white rags at the bottom, he caught me--though -I tried to hop away--and putting me down amongst the rags, he wrapped -me up in one of them, and then covered me up as snug and warm as -could be. When he went away it was not long before I fell asleep. - -Well! he used to do this every night for quite a long time, so that I -soon got used to going to bed in the basket, instead of being in my -nest, and slept as well as I had ever done before. - -It was very strange that he should have hit upon the same name for me -in his human talk as my father and mother had in their bird talk, yet -it was so. I believe it was the second day after he brought me home -that Mamma said to him: "What shall you call your baby bird?" In a -moment Fessor replied: "Oh, I've already called her Scraggles. She is -Scraggles, so she must be called Scraggles." So, even in man's speech, -I've been Scraggles ever since. - - - - -_Chapter III_ - -_My Second Week in the House_ - - -Ah, that second week! What a good week it was to me! It changed all my -life and made a happy little bird out of me. I lost all my fear of -Fessor and Mamma and Edith, and from then on we were the dearest and -best of friends. Talk about my father and mother, and my loving them! -Even though they _were_ birds, they never showed me the love that this -second week taught me was in the hearts of my three human friends. So -I want to tell you all about it. - -I believe it began that very night Fessor put me in the basket. For, -though he was not so gentle as my mother was, somehow I felt that he -_felt_ more gentle towards me, and so, though I was still very much -afraid of him, I began to get a new feeling in me that seemed to drive -some of the fear away. - -Then came the pinion nuts. Now, you needn't laugh! It certainly was -those pinion nuts that had a great deal to do with it. As you no doubt -know, the pinion is a kind of small pine tree that grows "Out West," -and it has a tiny white nut in it that I have heard Fessor say is "the -sweetest nut in existence." Now I don't know what "in existence" -means, but I do know that the little white nut he gave me was the most -delicious morsel I had ever tasted in my life. And how do you think -he gave it to me? I think he must have been a mother-bird once, for -he did as near like what my own mother used to do as he could. He -chewed up the nut until it was all soft and sweet and warm, and then -gave me a piece of it. It was _so_ good! oh, so good! and when I -cheeped for some more, he put his lips down to me with a large piece -of nut all ready for me to eat. Well, at first I didn't know just what -to do. He had such a long black beard, and his moustaches almost -covered his lips, that I felt "kind o' scared," yet when I looked up -into his large dark eyes, they beamed upon me so kindly and gently -that I thought I would risk it; so I made a quick dash at the nut, got -a bill full, and then drew back. - -Fessor laughed at me and said: "You poor, scared little thing!" And -he said it so gently that I felt comforted; and so, when he came near -to me again with his lips full of nut, I went quite courageously up -and pecked away several times. - -From that day on I never seemed to be really afraid of him. Sometimes -the old fear came back for a little while, and I scampered and hid -behind the desk; and at other times, when he tried to pick me up, I -would instinctively run from him; and if he followed me too quickly, I -would spring from the desk and go fluttering to the floor. But, you -see, that was because he didn't understand I was a little, tiny bird, -and had to get used to him by degrees. When he moved quietly and -gently I didn't get scared; but I suppose it takes a big man a long -time to learn to move easily and gently as a bird does. - -Every night he put me to bed in the Indian basket, wrapping me up as -carefully and tenderly as if I were his own baby, all the time telling -me in man talk that I needn't be afraid of him, and that he wouldn't -hurt me for the world. - -One day I had quite an exciting experience. I heard Fessor say to -Edith: "I'm sure this little birdie ought to have some fresh, out-door -air. I'm going to take her out. Come with me and see that she doesn't -get away." Now I had never thought of such a thing until he suggested -it. Of course, I had been uncomfortable in the house, and I wished -often that I had had a loving father and mother with a home nest of my -own to which I could go, but, since they had so heartlessly deserted -me, I had not thought of trying to get away from my kind human -friends. - -Yet it was wonderfully strange how I felt as soon as I got -out-of-doors. A new-old something seemed to come into me, and I'm -quite sure that if my wings had been strong enough, I should have -flown away regardless of what Fessor had thought or said. I did hop -and flutter and try to run into the tall grass, and I tried--oh! how I -tried--to fly. But it was all in vain. They were very kind to me, yet -would not allow me to run into the grass and hide, as I wanted. I -scratched around on the ground a little, and then Fessor snapped his -thumb and finger--a thing he often did--and said: "Now, little -Scraggles, I think it's quite time you went in again." - -That was the first time he took me out, but by no means the last. Soon -we began to go out every day. He would take me on to the lawn and sit -on the steps and watch me as I looked at the grass and the flowers and -the wonderful birds flying in the trees. I couldn't help watching them -and trying to imitate them. It was no use, though, for my poor wing -would not let me fly. - - - - -_Chapter IV_ - -_My First Sand Bath_ - - -From now on we went out every day when it was fine, and we grew to -understand each other more and more. When Fessor came into the den I -used to chirp and tell him how glad I was to see him. Then he would -snap his fingers and I would run towards him, and when he put his hand -down to the floor, I would jump in, and he would lift me up to the -desk. Then, if he had a few minutes to spare, he would chew up pinion -nuts for me and let me eat them from his lips; or, if he felt hurried, -he would give me three or four and let me eat them myself. I soon -grew to enjoy being on his desk. It was so nice to hear him talk! And -I think it must have been because he had two or three dictionaries -always at hand that I soon grew to understand lots of words. You see, -I used to hop about on the dictionaries hour after hour, and eat from -them, and often when Fessor opened the pages and pointed with his -finger at certain words, he would read them aloud, as he said, to get -the different pronunciations; so that, as I looked where he pointed, I -soon knew the words pretty well myself. - -You see, I was different from other birds. If I had been out of doors -all the time with my own father and mother and other birds, I should -have known nothing of men and women talk. I should have learned the -things that out-door birds learn,--all about the clouds and winds, and -bugs and flies and worms and insects, and how to get my own meals. But -as it was, I had nothing to do with getting my own food, and so I -naturally took to human knowledge in order to occupy my mind and my -time. - -One day Fessor said to Edith: "I'm going to give Scraggles a sand -pile. She ought to have something to take a bath in." Wasn't that -funny? I didn't know what he meant. A sand pile, and a bath! But I was -soon to learn. In an hour or so he came in with a large box-cover full -of sand. He spread out several newspapers on the floor, and then put -the sand box on top of them. Well, as soon as I saw the glistening -stuff in the sand, I thought it must be something good to eat, and I -went and pecked at it so hard that the sand filled up my bill, and got -into my eyes and nose so that I was nearly choked. I pecked at it -again and got another dose, and I danced and shook my head real hard -in order to get the tickling stuff out of my nose and bill. Fessor and -Edith stood by looking on, and how they laughed! They laughed, and -laughed, and laughed again, for I had to scratch my head all over with -my foot to make it feel comfortable after all that sand. - -Then Fessor came and said: "Now you wait, Scraggles, and I'll show you -how to take a sand bath." And he took a handful of the sand and -sprinkled it all over me, and as it trickled through my feathers onto -my skin, how good it felt! He did this several times, and then all at -once I thought I would scratch a place for myself in the sand and then -throw the sand with my feet all over my body under my wings. And that -was delightful. It was a new sensation, and a good and pleasant one. I -felt so fresh and bright afterwards that every day, directly Fessor -came into the room after lunch, I was ready for a bath. He nearly -always sprinkled the sand over me, and he must have enjoyed it almost -as much as I did, for sometimes he stayed with me at the sand pile a -full half-hour. - - - - -_Chapter V_ - -_On the Fessor's Desk and My Hiding-Place_ - - -Fessor used to spend an awful lot of time at his desk. The time he -wasted there was more than I could ever tell, for he would be hours at -a time doing nothing but moving that pen across the paper, making -those nasty little dark scratches that in time I learned were called -writing. When he came into his den and sat down at the desk I would -come to his feet and call, and he would lower his hand for me to jump -into, and then he would lift me up on the desk. I generally hunted -first for a few pinion nuts, after which I wanted Fessor to play with -me. Sometimes he was so busy with his "paper scratching" that he -wouldn't reply when I chirped to him. Then I got right on his paper, -and hopped along between the hand that held his blotter and the hand -with which he wrote, and there, right under his very nose, and -generally on the spot where he wanted to write, would stand and ask -him why he didn't play with me. Sometimes he gently pushed me aside or -lifted me out of his way, but generally he smiled at me--and I did -love to see him smile--and would let me perch on his fingers or go -through some antic or other, such as carrying me around the room on -the top of his head, or holding me in his hand and swinging me to and -fro as if I were in a nest on a bough swinging hard in a storm. Those -were great times. - -But sometimes that bothering old pen annoyed me, and I would seize it -in my bill as Fessor made it scratch on the paper. As I held on he -went on writing, and that used to jerk my head up and down, and, of -course, it dragged me right across the paper. But I didn't intend to -let go; I wanted him to stop and talk to me, so back and forth we'd -go, he trying to write with me holding onto the pen, and I determined -not to let go, my head bobbing up and down to the movements of his -writing and my feet slipping over the paper and smearing the ink, -until I got too tired to hold on and had to let go. - -Now and again he was determined not to let me touch that pen, and then -we had a time. He made a barricade of his left hand to protect his -writing hand, and tried to keep me away like that, but I showed him -how spunky a baby sparrow could be. I pecked at the pen through his -fingers, and watched for the least opening, and the moment he gave me -a chance, I darted in and seized the pen. Then he tried to shake me -off, generally laughing at me, and calling me a queer little birdie -all the time, and he even lifted me up while I held on to the pen with -my beak, and in that way tried to discourage me from fighting it. But -I don't think he ever knew how I disliked that wretched little stick. -Why should it be in Fessor's hands all the time? I wanted him to take -me in his hands and go out for a walk with me, and I didn't like his -spending so much time pushing that pen back and forth. - -One day, after we had had a pretty hard fight with the pen, I made a -very strange discovery. When Fessor had gone away I saw that the -writing on some of the sheets of paper was about me, and I'm going to -let you read it. Here is what he wrote: - - "Just now I put her on the sash that she might enjoy the - sunshine, but the moment I began to write she flew down upon my - desk and seized the pen with eager fury. To protect my pen as I - write I have barricaded my writing hand with my left hand and - the little creature is making desperate and frantic efforts to - get inside. Every crevice she attacks, and tries to worm her way - in, struggling with invincible determination and occasionally - pecking at me, and seizing the end of my finger in her bill and - pulling and tugging at it ferociously. Just before I reached - this last word she learned how she might outwit me. She sprang - upon my writing wrist over the barricade, seized the pen, and - held on. Again I put her out. Again she sprang over. This time - when I evicted her, she sought to crawl in under my left hand, - and now stands, with crest upraised in anger, by my right hand, - apparently thinking over a new plan of campaign. - - "A pencil attracts her somewhat in the same way, but after a few - onslaughts upon the moving pencil she gives it up; but now the - battle on the pen has lasted for quite a number of minutes, and - though defeated at every turn, she comes back again and again." - -One day I got very cross with Fessor for writing so much, and I -determined to hide from him. By this time I knew the "den" pretty -well, and I had found, "way back" in the big box in the corner, where -the piles of big envelopes and loose papers were, the cutest -hiding-place in the world. It was a kind of tiny house formed by -the piles of papers and I could just crawl into it through a narrow -place, and then I had room to move around easily, and I knew no one -could find me. So I slipped off from the desk on this particular day -and dodged into the box and hid myself. Fessor didn't see where I -went, and pretty soon he began to wonder where I was, for he looked -all around and went and peeked behind the desk and on the book stand -and other places where I often "played hide," but of course he -couldn't find me. I stood as still all the time as a bird knows how, -and never let on that I knew he was seeking for me; and so, after a -while, he gave up the search. - -[Illustration: "The cutest hiding-place in the world." _Page_ 40.] - -And I didn't let him know where I had my hiding-place. He thought it -was in that box, but he never did know. So it was great fun once in a -while to slip away and hide, and then when I was hungry suddenly pop -out (without his seeing me), run to his feet, chirp and call, and say: -"Here's Scraggles, as hungry as a hunter." Then he would reach his -hand down, lift me up to the desk, and pretend to scold me: "Where -have you been, you naughty little bird? I've been hunting everywhere -for you, and couldn't find you!" But I wouldn't let on. I'd just peek -at him, first out of one eye and then out of the other, as much as to -ask: "Don't you wish you knew?" - -[Illustration: "At first I thought it was another little bird." _Page_ -43.] - - - - -_Chapter VI_ - -_Preening my Feathers_ - - -I don't know what it was that made Fessor laugh so when I tried to -"spruce up" and make myself look as pretty as possible. Of course, I -know full well that I was not a pretty bird. Perhaps I ought to tell -you just exactly how I did look. Now you needn't laugh and think I -don't know, for I do. I've seen myself in the mirror lots of times. -Fessor and Edith used to take me and stand me before the glass, and -while at first I thought it was another little bird, and I tried to -talk to and play with it, I soon learned it was only a picture of -myself. So, as I looked at myself quite often, I'll tell you just how -I did appear when I was three months old. My baby bill was gone and I -looked more like a full-grown bird, but my feathers were still as -scraggedy and raggedy as ever. My body and tail were a mousey-brown, -with the wing feathers white and tipped with brown. My neck and breast -were partially covered with soft, beautiful down of mouse color, and -my head feathers were brown, with just one half-white feather in the -centre which looked like a tiny crest. I was the smallest little bird -ever seen, I guess,--I mean a sparrow,--and no more like the big, -healthy, pert, and bouncing street sparrows than a delicate terrier is -like a big bull-dog. - -I was going to tell you about the way Fessor laughed when I tried to -spruce up and preen my feathers. But I have found on his desk -something he wrote, and I shall let you read it for yourselves. He -doesn't tell, though, how he used to sit there and laugh and laugh and -laugh, until sometimes I almost thought he'd laugh his head off. And -why he should laugh to see a tiny little bird like me make myself look -nice, I don't know. He used to spend time enough himself some days in -making himself look neat. He'd put on his dress-suit and his pretty -tie, and see that his boots were so finely polished, and all that kind -of thing, so why should he laugh so at me? - -This is what he wrote: - - "Some days she will come and preen her feathers by my side as I - write. It is her joy to sit on the very sheet upon which I am - engaged, and for five or ten minutes such performances! With - first one foot, then the other, she scratches her head with - inconceivable rapidity. Then, getting a little oil from her - receptacle, she begins to preen; under the left wing, down each - feather, occasionally darting her bill like lightning upon some - other feather that appears to her to need attention. Such - screwing of the neck, twisting of the body, standing on tiptoes - to get to the feathers on her body, such stretching to reach the - tips! After it is done to her content, she gives herself several - little shakes-down all over, quick flutterings and flappings of - her wings, and settles down for awhile only to begin again and - go through the whole performance once more if something suggests - it ought to be done." - -Fessor also thought the way I stretched myself was very funny, though -I could see nothing funny in it; so I will let you read what he wrote -about that: - - "To see her stretch one would think her tiny body was as full of - sleep as that of a giant. First, one leg goes sprawling out as - far as she can reach, and, with a spasmodic little kick, she - brings it back into position, to push out the other. Then each - wing in succession is stretched out, and sometimes, whether - purposely or not I do not know, she lets the feathers comb - through her claw. - - "But the most interesting of her 'stretchings' comes when I put - her on the window-sill and something goes on outside that she - becomes interested in and wishes to see. She stretches up her - little legs until it appears as if she were on stilts, and then, - elongating her neck to more than twice its ordinary length, she - veritably appears to be a tall bird with a long neck. Her - excitement at such times is intense. She prances and cranes, and - looks first out of one eye and then out of the other, hops back - and forth, dances up and down, and generally shows a tremendous - interest for so small a body." - - - - -_Chapter VII_ - -_Going Out of Doors_ - - -Now I must tell you about some of our daily walks. Fessor used to say -to me: "Scraggles, you must go out of doors more, and watch the other -birds and learn to fly. I want you to fly. How can I turn you loose to -be a happy little bird in God's great free out-of-doors if you don't -learn to fly? Come along now and see how the other birds do it, and -then try for yourself." - -Then he would snap his fingers for me and I would come and jump into -his hand and he would carry me out of doors where the sparrows and -other birds seemed to be having so good a time. Of course, I watched -them and was very much interested in them. I used to fairly long to -fly as they did, and as they skimmed through the air I would stretch -out my legs and wings and try to imitate them with all my might and -main. Yet it was no use. My bad wing did not get strong, and it would -not hold me up. Then Fessor would put me down on the ground near where -a lot of sparrows would be pecking and chattering away on the road, -and I felt that he wanted me to make friends with them. So I hopped -toward them as fast as I could, and I chirped, and cheeped, and -twittered, but, strange to say, never a one of them paid the slightest -attention to me. They hardly ever looked at me, and never once said: -"How do you do?" As soon as I reached them they flew away and left me -to myself. Wasn't that cruel? It seemed to me it was, but Fessor was -always there near by, and would comfort me so sweetly by telling me -not to mind; and as he snapped his fingers, I ran back to him, jumped -into his hand, and felt comforted as he made me snuggle up to his -whiskers, which I soon learned were almost as soft and warm as my -mother's feathers used to be. - -Sometimes he would go indoors and tell Mamma that "her efforts were -pitiable," whatever that may mean, and then they would both be so -gentle and kind and sweet to me, and talk so soothingly that I felt: -"Well, even if I can't fly, I have dear friends who love me very much -and try to make me happy!" and that made me feel much better. - -And still, any one would have known that Fessor was once a boy, a -real, teasing, mean kind of a boy, for now and again he seemed to -delight in teasing me. I must confess I got used to it, and didn't -mind it very much, but at first it distressed me quite a little, and I -felt hurt when he just stood there and laughed at me. - -One day he had taken me out onto the lawn--as he often did--and I was -hopping about, when suddenly he took off his great big, broad-brimmed -sombrero and threw it right over me, so that it fell to the ground a -few feet beyond me. I was _so_ scared! I saw that black thing skimming -over me and thought it was a dreadful something coming to take me and -kill me, perhaps; so, though I felt weak all over, I called up all my -strength and hopped and fluttered right up to Fessor and jumped for -safety upon his foot. - -Then he seemed to be ashamed of himself, and said something to Mamma -about its being "too bad to tease a poor little Scraggles like that." -So you see, I knew he had done it to tease me. But he picked me up and -loved me so sweetly and gave me two pinion nuts which he chewed up for -me, so that I couldn't help forgiving him. - -Oh! and I mustn't forget to tell you about how he used to dig up slugs -and worms for me. While I would be hopping about on the lawn he would -go to a corner of the lawn and begin to dig. As soon as I saw him -digging I didn't wait to be called, but just hopped over there as -fast as I could, and watched. Sometimes he saw the worm or slug or egg -sooner than I did, but generally I had seen it and pecked it up before -he knew it was there. It was great fun every day to go out and have a -feast like that. I believe he enjoyed it as much as I did, and of -course it was real good to me, for little birds do like slugs and -worms, provided they are not too big for them to swallow. When Fessor -would turn up a great, big, long worm and I would try to swallow it, -he would laugh at me so funnily. But it was no fun to me, I can assure -you, to try to swallow a worm longer than myself. And so I had to go -to work with my bill and cut him up into smaller pieces, and that -sometimes made me very tired. - -Now and again Fessor would take me over to a neighbor's whom he called -"Friar Tuck."[2] He would say to me in his funny way: "Now, Miss -Scraggles, I am the bold and daring Robin Hood. You are a maiden who -has fallen into my hands, and you are going to marry me, forsooth. -Come along, and we will hie ourselves away to Friar Tuck and bid the -jolly priest wed us!" Then snap! would go his fingers. I would run -towards him, and he would pick me up, and off we would go. - - [2] Note by the Fessor: My neighbor's name was Tuck, and I meant - no disrespect by calling him Friar Tuck. - -I don't think the Tuck family--there were three of them, just as there -were three in our house--cared very much for me, though they used to -say I was a queer little bird. I didn't hop around there very much. -I generally stayed with Fessor. I felt safer in his hand than anywhere -else. - -[Illustration: "I used to roost on it a great deal." _Page_ 55.] - -One day when Fessor and Edith and I were out on the lawn, Edith said: -"Why don't you get a bough for Scraggles to roost on?" I don't know -what Fessor replied, but that afternoon Edith brought a bough with -quite a number of branches on it, and put it down in the den for me. I -used to roost on it a great deal after that, though there were times -when I didn't feel very well that I got more comfort out of a pair of -Fessor's shoes. But that is another story. - - - - -_Chapter VIII_ - -_On Fessor's Bed_ - - -As a rule, Fessor was at work at his desk long, dark hours before I -was ready to get up in the morning. I would hear him come quietly into -the den, so as not to wake Mamma and Edith, and then the clock would -strike twice, or three times, and I soon learned that that meant it -was a long time before I had to get up. But some mornings he would be -quite late, and once or twice he went down to the office (as he called -it when he went away to be gone all day) and never saw me at all until -night. Well, I didn't like that at all, so one morning when he was -not at the desk when I came from my hiding-place, I went out into the -hall in search of him. Not far from the den door I found another -doorway, and I went through it into the room. It turned out to be -Fessor's bedroom. He was in bed and fast asleep. That is, I think he -must have been asleep by the noise he made, for he slept out loud -worse than a humming bee I had once heard. I gave a loud, quick chirp. -He didn't answer, so I called several times, making my voice louder -and louder at each call; until at last, with a stretch and a yawn, he -threw his arm out of the bed and opened his hand for me to jump in. -When he lifted me up on the bed he wanted to know what I meant, such a -raggedy, scraggedy little wretch, by coming and waking him up. I -didn't tell him, but I just climbed up over his chest onto his chin -and began to peck at his white teeth, and when he tried to catch me I -ran and hid in his neck behind his whiskers. Then he bent his head -over and held me so lovingly tight, that I was sorry when he let me -go. I pecked his neck and he squeezed me between his cheek and his -shoulder, and did it several times. - -When I jumped onto his chin again I thought I would pinch his lip, so -I took tight hold. My, how he did jump! And then when I pinched again, -he tried to scare me all into little pieces. What do you think he did? -He opened his mouth and filled himself full of air, and then blew me -just as hard as he could. I was scared for a moment, but when I saw -his dancing, merry, sparkling eyes I knew it was all fun, and I went -for his lips again. But he dodged his head so that I couldn't get at -them. He said I pinched too hard, but I don't believe that, do you? -For how could such a tiny little bird hurt so big a man? - -Then we had a new game. He stretched out on his back, raised up his -knees, and took me and perched me right on top of them. He said I was -on a high mountain with a valley behind, and a valley before, and a -canyon on each side of me. And then he made an earthquake come. He -moved his knees up and down quickly and made me jump. You know I -couldn't fly, but I jumped real hard, and I came rolling and tumbling -down the mountain side into Paradise Valley, which was the name he -gave to the valley in front. The next time he did it I tumbled off -backwards, and that was the Valley of Despair, for he couldn't reach -me, he said, and I had to crawl out myself. What fun it was! - -One day when we were playing this game I rolled right off from his -knees, off the bed, onto the floor; and I went with such a bump! Then -he said I had fallen into the Grand Canyon, and he called out to the -Indians to come and catch me and bring me back to him. Of course it -was all fun, for he threw his arm out of the bed, snapped his fingers, -and gave me his hand, and I was soon nestling snug and warm against -his chin and neck. That was such a nice place to be! I used to love to -go and catch him in bed, for then I could peck his nose, and ears, -and lips, and the white hairs in his beard, and whenever I did that he -always snuggled me up close to him and called me his dear, darling -little Scraggles. - - - - -_Chapter IX_ - -_Going for a Walk_ - - -From all this you can see how dear friends we had already become. So -much so, that I was always very lonesome when Fessor had to go away; -and several times after he had left the den, and the door downstairs -had shut to, I would go out into the hall and call for him, and see if -I could find him anywhere. Mamma and Edith were down in the kitchen, -so they never heard me; but one day Fessor found out that I was in the -habit of looking for him, for he went to the bath-room at the end of -the great, long hall in order to refill my saucer with clean water. I -had been there once or twice all alone, so I followed him. I had to -hop and skip and flutter along pretty quickly, for he was such a big -man and had such long legs. He didn't dream I was so close to him, and -when I gave a little chirp as I stood there by his feet, he jumped up -and pretty nearly trod on me. "What!" he exclaimed. "What are you -doing here? You little, darling rascal!" And then he stooped down and -gave me a hand to pick me up and love me. - -Ever after that I followed him every chance I got, and he seemed to -like it. Even when we went out of doors he let me walk after him. I -call it walk, but you know it was not a walk exactly like men and -women walk. I had to hop and flutter my wings, and I really don't -know just what word you would use to describe how I travelled along. -Fessor said I neither walked, ran, hopped, skipped, jumped, nor flew, -and yet my movement was a mixture of all of these. I guess he knows, -too; for I heard Uncle Herbert say he was a very learned man, and knew -a great deal about many things. - -Oh! I haven't told you yet about Uncle Herbert's visit. I will tell -you that pretty soon. - -People used to see us when we were out walking together, and some of -them laughed, and others smiled in a queer kind of way with tears in -their eyes. But nobody tried to hurt me, for Fessor was there, and he -was so big that I knew I was safe every moment when I was with him. -How I did enjoy those walks! We went out nearly every day, and he -picked out the places where the sun shone, for he said the warm -sunshine was good for birdies as well as for men and women. - - - - -_Chapter X_ - -_Uncle Herbert's Visit_ - - -One day Mamma came up-stairs to the den and said her brother Herbert -was coming. Fessor and Edith were both glad, and as Edith called him -Uncle Herbert, I always thought of him in the same way. We were all -quite excited when he came. Such huggings and kissings and shaking of -hands. I could see it from the top of the stairs, and hear what was -going on. By and by Edith said to Fessor that he must show Scraggles -to Uncle Herbert. So Fessor brought me down in his hand. I don't think -Uncle Herbert cared much for me at first, for he said I was the -wretchedest-looking little bald-bellied bird he had ever seen in his -life. That made me feel quite bad. - -But the next day when they were at dinner Edith lifted me onto the -table--a thing that was very seldom allowed, for Mamma didn't think it -was proper for me to run around on the dining-table, either at meal or -any other time--and began to play with me. We had lots of fun, and -then she lifted me up and wanted to make me perch on the edge of a -drinking-glass partially full of water. She did it so quickly that I -didn't have time to get firm hold, and the glass was slippery, too, -and what do you think happened? I fell right into that glass, and was -half scared to death when my feet touched the cold water. With a -quick "cheep" I made a desperate spring, and almost as soon as I was -in I was out again. How Edith and Uncle Herbert laughed! Then he said -I was a cute little bird. - -Well, that night Uncle Herbert and Fessor and Edith and Mamma all went -into the room where the piano was, and what a time they had! They sang -all together while Fessor played, and then Uncle Herbert sat down and -sang some funny songs about darkies and coons and "The Year of -Jubilo." It was too funny for anything. I didn't know how to laugh as -Mamma did, but it did me lots of good to see her. She laughed and -laughed until she cried. And I danced and danced to see her so happy, -that I grew quite excited and didn't want to go to bed at all that -night. But Fessor made me go. He took me and put me on the bough which -I used for my perch, and when I jumped off and began to cheep and call -he came in and put me back again; until at last I grew sleepy and -dropped off to sleep. But I was very tired next morning. I guess I had -laughed and danced too much, and stayed up too late the night before, -which is not good for people as well as little birds. - - - - -_Chapter XI_ - -_My Illness_ - - -Soon after Uncle Herbert's visit I was taken quite ill. You see I -never was very strong, and every little thing, such as a change in the -weather, affected me. Yet when I think about it, it was almost worth -while to be sick to feel the tender love Fessor gave me at that time. -As soon as he found I couldn't eat, he went and bought some stuff in a -bottle called "bird-food," and placed it in a saucer on the floor for -me. But somehow I could not make up my mind to eat any of it until he -came and carried me to the saucer, and there, holding me in his -hand, he mixed up some of the food with water and fed it to me. He was -so anxious that I should eat that I couldn't refuse him. - -[Illustration: "I couldn't bear to be anywhere else than right in his -hand." _Page_ 71.] - -When he went to write at the desk I did so want to be with him! I -couldn't bear to be anywhere else than right in his hand. Here is a -little piece I found on the desk one day which tells just how he used -to care for me: - - "She is now asleep in my left hand, though it is early - afternoon. Crawling in between my fingers, she comfortably - arranged herself, perched on one of my bent fingers, (the others - covering her), and then, putting her head under her right wing, - she quietly dropped off to sleep. Many nights when I am in the - study at her bedtime, she has refused to perch on the branches - of the bough. She comes to my feet and pleads to be lifted up. - As I put down my hand she jumps into it, and as I lift her up - and place her in my left hand she nestles down into it as if it - were a nest, curves her head under her wing, and goes to sleep. - If my fingers are not comfortable to her, she picks at - them--sometimes very vigorously--until I put them as she - desires. - - "The other evening I determined I would not let her go to sleep - in my hand, so I made her a cosy nest in the drawer immediately - under my right arm. I coaxed her into this by putting two of my - fingers into it, upon which she immediately squatted. But - something was lacking in the new roosting place or nest. Two - fingers were not enough, and for nearly half an hour my daughter - and I watched her as she pecked at my fingers and thumb above, - seeking to pull them down under her so that she would have a - 'full hand' to nest on. At length she decided to take the two - fingers, so long as with finger and thumb I rubbed her head. - Soon her little head swung under her wing, and as soon as she - was asleep I withdrew the two under fingers. But this awakened - her, and I had to stroke her more before she settled down again. - Then, as I wrapped the cloth around and over her, she awakened - enough to peep out and learn from me that she was all right, - when we left her for the night. She evidently remained contented - until morning." - -I also found another little scrap on Fessor's desk which tells better -than I can about how I acted when I was ill. Here it is: - - "During the last week she has shown a desire for closeness to - me, for petting, handling, caressing, that I never saw in - anything alive before. It is pathetic in the extreme. Every - moment almost she desires to be near me. There is no seeking - concealment, or privacy, or darkness. If I will not take her up - in my hand, she nestles on my foot, and for several days I have - kept my shoes off to give her the pleasure of feeling the warmth - of my foot when I could not spare the time to 'fuss' with her - on the desk. If I am away, I invariably find her on my return, - if she is not eating, roosting on the edge of a pair of extra - shoes of mine that always stand in the study. - - "When she nestles beside my hand and folds her head under her - wing, she loves to have me take the upper part of her head - between my finger and thumb and gently rub and caress it, and - she makes no effort to remove it, but goes on apparently - sleeping as before." - -I wanted to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his hands and those -delicious little hugs he gave me when he squeezed me just enough to -tell me how much he loved me. And he seemed to understand it all so -well,--just how sick a little bird felt. When he took me out of doors -he kept me from the cold with his large, loving hands, and yet let the -sun shine on me. Twice he made me walk after him, to give me a little -healthful exercise; but he would not let me go too far lest I should -get too tired. - -But I did not get well; and I did _so_ want to be well and strong. I -was as happy with my human friends as I could be, and I wanted to live -with them a long time. When I heard them say I was a very sick bird it -used to put a great fear in my heart that I was going to die, and then -I would snuggle up close to Fessor's hand that he might know I wanted -to live. - - * * * * * - -Here Scraggles' story as written by herself comes to an end. The -Fessor now tells the pathetic remainder of the interesting tale. - - - - -_Chapter XII_ - -_Scraggles' Last Day_ - - -It was Thursday, August 3, 1905. We (that is, Scraggles and I) had had -a good day together. We went out and I dug worms for her, and she -seemed happy and improving in health and appearance. During the day -she followed me out to the bath-room and all around several times, and -when I went to lie down and read she came and insisted upon my holding -her, or allowing her to sit on my hand. When I moved to turn the page -she jumped upon my sleeve and hopped up to my shoulder and neck, where -she stayed for half an hour or more. This was a new trick, learned -only a few days before, and several times she hopped up from my desk, -when I put her off the paper as I wrote, and perched quite contentedly -on my shoulder or squatted on the back of my neck. - -Several times during the day she had begged to be taken up and had -fussed around my pencils, and once or twice had fought my pen as I -wrote. Placing her on my lap, she snuggled down there contentedly -until some movement disturbed her. Once, and the only time I knew her -to do it, she tried to fly up from my lap to the desk. When she failed -she looked up with such a queer expression that I could not help -putting down my hand for her, into which she immediately hopped. - -We had had a good two hours together after lunch, when I put her -down, and soon she was hopping about the room. After feeding herself -she came and perched in her usual place on my foot, but I must have -forgotten her for a moment. My brain was much occupied with an -important chapter of my book, and jumping up hastily I stepped to the -book-case to the left of my desk to consult some volume, and almost as -soon as I did so looked around to see where Scraggles was. I looked -towards her sand bath and the food saucers, then to her little tree, -but she was not to be seen. Then, as I often did, I tilted back my -chair to see if she was at my feet, and to my intense distress I saw -her there dead, on the bear skin I used as a rug. - -There are some griefs that seem puerile. I suppose mine will over -this poor, scraggedy, helpless little bird, yet I felt at that moment -as I have felt often since, that there are many men I could far better -spare than her,--many men with whom two months' daily association -would teach me less than did this little, raggedy, ailing -song-sparrow. Her cheerfulness, her courage, her dauntlessness, her -self-reliance, her perfect trust and confidence, her evident -affection, were all lessons to remain in memory. After she had once -given her trust, it never failed. I could handle my books, moving them -to and fro over her, placing them anywhere near her, and there was not -the slightest evidence of fear; and if anything did alarm her and she -could get into my hand and feel its firmness around her, all tremors -ceased. With her tiny head protruding from the clenched hand, her -bright eyes looking now this way, now that, she watched intently, but -without fear, confident in the protecting power of her big friend. And -I felt the trust, the confidence reposed in me, the affection, and it -drew from me a response totally at variance with the size of the tiny -creature. - -We buried her where she and I had gone daily, I to dig, she to eat -whatever I found that she liked. My daughter lined the little grave -appropriately with the beautiful white blossoms known as -bird-cages,--lace-like, delicate, and exquisite,--and as we crumbled -the earth over her tiny feathered little body, need I be ashamed to -confess that tears fell, even as they do now as I write? - - - - -_Chapter XIII_ - -_How the Story of Scraggles came to be Written_ - - -The book I was writing when Scraggles came to me was "In and Out of -the Old Missions of California." These interesting buildings were -founded by Saint Francis of Assisi, whose love for the birds and lower -animals has already become almost a proverb. It was just as I was -finishing one of the last chapters of the book that Scraggles' life -went out. Was it not singular that, while dealing with a subject so -intimately associated with this great lover of birds, one of these -tiny, helpless, feathered sisters should claim my protecting love? -There are those who will see in this more than the mere outward -facts,--and I shall not be concerned or disturbed if they do. - -The writing of the book was so bound up with the short life of -Scraggles that, like an inspiration, I felt I must dedicate it to her. -In two minutes after the thought came into my mind I had penned the -following dedication, which was published and now appears in my book -exactly as I wrote it: - - TO SCRAGGLES - - MY PET SPARROW AND COMPANION - - Saint Francis, the founder of the Franciscan order, without - whom there would probably have been no missions in California, - regarded the birds as his "little brothers and sisters." Just - as I began the actual writing of this book I picked up in the - streets a tiny song sparrow, wounded, unable to fly, and that - undoubtedly had been thrust out of its nest. In a short time we - became close friends and inseparable companions. Hour after - hour she sat on my foot, or, better still, perched, with head - under her wing, on my left hand, while I wrote with the other. - Nothing I did, such as the movement of books, turning of - leaves, etc., made her afraid. When I left the room she hopped - and fluttered along after me. She died just as the book was - receiving its finishing pages. On account of her ragged and - unkempt appearance I called her Scraggles; and to her, a tiny - morsel of animation, but who had a keen appreciation and - reciprocation of a large affection, I dedicate this book. - -When I read this to some of my friends they were moved to tears and -wanted to know more about Scraggles. As I told the story, others -desired to hear it. Then in a lecture on "The Radiant Life" I told it -again, and thousands were touched to tears by the simple narrative of -the sweet little bird's beautiful and trustful life. - -Fortunately, my familiarity with the camera had made me desire to make -some photographs of Scraggles some three weeks before her death. My -daughter and I made several, and then a friend came and made two or -three others, so that now we feel really blessed in possessing these -counterfeit presentments of the little creature. - -When our friends saw these photographs they desired copies of them; -and when, after the publication of "In and Out of the Old Missions," -strangers began to write both to my publishers and myself for -"further particulars about Scraggles," I felt that I ought to give to -others some of the joy and delight and benefit I and mine had in our -intercourse with her. - - * * * * * - -Dear little Scraggles! I little thought when I first saw you -struggling to get away from me, as if afraid I might devour you, that -we should so soon become such inseparable friends. It was a sudden -impulse that led me to pick you up and take you home, and though the -loving hearts there welcomed you, they realized better than I did the -trouble you would be. But somehow that did not deter us from making -you one of us, and you soon recognized the relationship. Our -association was short, as men reckon time, but time really has very -little to do with life. - - "We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; - In feelings, not in figures on a dial. - We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives, - Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best." - -So in the short three months you were with me we lived your lifetime -together; and though my life is stretching out into further time, and -your body is buried, you, dear little Scraggles, still live on with -me. I don't know, and I care less, what the psychologists say about -birds having souls, and I am equally indifferent as to what the -theologians say of there being a heaven for birds, or birds entering -the heaven of human beings. This I do know, that in my own soul, far -more real than the demonstrable propositions of life, such as that two -and two make four, is the certain assurance that my soul and -Scraggles' will meet when my body and soul are severed. - -So sleep, content and serene, dear little Scraggles, in your tiny and -flower-embowered resting-place. You know full well in your tiny, but -love-filled heart that just so soon as I have met all the human loved -ones in the soul-life, I shall seek for you, and seek until I find, -for I shall want you even in heaven. My heaven will be incomplete -without you. I believe absolutely with Browning, that - - "There shall be no lost good, - What was, shall live as before!" - -So in the life of the future, with understanding and love made sweeter -by clearer knowledge, we shall love on; for of all great things that -abide forever "the greatest is love." - - * * * * * - -_Books by George Wharton James_ - - -In and Out of the Old Missions of California - - =An Historical and Pictorial Account of the Francescan Missions. - With one hundred forty-two illustrations, including full-page - plates, from photographs. 8vo. Cloth. $3.00 net.= - -The present volume stands as the authority on the old missions of -California. Indispensable as a guide-book, and is filled with most -valuable material.--_San Francisco Argonaut._ The author has devoted -careful study to the matter of architecture, and to the furniture and -decorations of the historic and ancient structures; but, in addition -to this, the work is made interesting by the relative matters that -have a more human interest.--_St. Louis Globe-Democrat._ - - -The Wonders of the Colorado Desert - -(Southern California) - - =With more than three hundred pen and ink sketches from life by - Carl Eytel. 8vo. Cloth. $4.00 net.= - -Mr. James has given the first adequate description of one of the most -fascinating regions of this country. The wonderful rivers, lofty -mountains, deep canyons, varied life and history of the Colorado -Desert in Southern California are vividly set forth, together with an -account of a recent hazardous journey made down the overflow of the -Colorado River to the mysterious Salton Sea. The pen and ink sketches -by the artist are an important feature of this book. - - - LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., _Publishers_ - 254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON - - -_Other Books by George Wharton James_ - - -In and Around the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River in Arizona - - =Illustrated with twenty-three full-page plates and seventy-seven - pictures in the text. 8vo. Cloth. Price, $2.50= - -The volume, crowded with pictures of the marvels and beauties of the -Canyon, is of absorbing interest. Dramatic narratives of hairbreadth -escapes and thrilling adventures, stories of Indians, their legends -and customs, and Mr. James's own perilous experiences, give -a wonderful personal interest in these pages of graphic -description of the most stupendous natural wonder on the -American Continent.--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._ - - -The Indians of the Painted Desert Region - - =With sixteen full-page pictures and fifty half-page - illustrations from photographs. Crown 8vo. Decorated cloth. - $2.00 _net_= - -"Interesting as a fairy tale and valuable for its accuracy as well" -(_Literary News_), and "a distinct and extremely interesting -contribution to topographical and ethnological knowledge" (_Buffalo -Commercial_), is this book by Professor James, in which he vividly -describes the Navaho, Hopi, Wallapai, and Havasupai Indians of the -Southwest. "The writer has made an intimate personal acquaintance with -his subject and has grounded himself in the researches of others," -says the _New York Tribune_. - - - LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., _Publishers_ - 254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Scraggles, by George Wharton James - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES *** - -***** This file should be named 42285.txt or 42285.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/2/8/42285/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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