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FOR THE PEOPLE
FOR EDVCATION

FOR SCIENCE

i

LIBRARY

OF

THE AMERICAN MUSEUM

OF

NATURAL HISTORY

m--

TENANTS OF
THE TREES

By

CLARENCE HAWKE5

JlulhoT of "The Little Foresters," " Shaggycoat," etc.
Illustrated by

LOUIS RHEAD

BOSTON ♦ L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY ¥ MDCCCCVII

OFTEN WONDER IF HIS TOF.S ARE NOT COLD'

{Sec Page 41)

■CIJO TOU 3flA eiOT dIH =11 fl I'l/OW / I HO 1

TENANTS OF
THE TREES

By

CLARENCE HAWKES

JluthoT of "The Little Foresters." " Shaggycoal." etc.
Illustrated by

LOUIS RHEAD 1

BOSTON ¥ L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY ♦ MDCCCCVII

Copyright, 1907. by L, C. Pa^e
and Company (Incorporated)

Entered at Stationer's Hall. London

'^.>^#»i

All rights reserved
First Impression, May, 1907

Dedicated to
That brave little herald of Spring,

(HIi^ Itobtrb

Whose slight, sweet song gladdens us in
lulls of the March gale, bidding us be of good
cheer, and telling us Spring will come again.

To the Reader

The author has received so many inquiries from his
young readers in all parts of the country as to how he be-
came acquainted with the birds and squirrels, that he has
deemed it wise to tell them in the introduction to this volume,
when and where his acquaintance with these little funed
and feathered friends began.

His aim in so doing is to show them that he has had few
advantages for nature study that the average country girl or
boy does not enjoy, and his hope is that their interest may be
quickened so that they will begin at once, for themselves, that
sweet companionship with these shy little strangers; that
they will open their ears and eyes to the song in the thicket,
and the flash of fur and feathers in the tree-top, and, best of
all, their hearts to the glad life about them.

If this, even in a slight measure, is accomplished, these
simple chronicles of the tree-folks will not have been re-
corded in vain.

CONTENTS

PAGB

I.

Where I Studied Woodcraft .... 3

II.

The Harbinger of Spring

37

III.

More Early Comers

49

IV.

Little Homes in the Leaves .

61

V.

Sling-shot Time

73

VI.

A Starlight Tragedy

89

VII.

Much Ado About Nothing .

103

VIII.

Chatterbox's Mistake .

119

IX.

The Little Mocking Bird

131

X.

A Gentleman in Black .

139

XI.

Peter's Good Fortune

. 159

XII.

Fur That Flew .

. 183

XIII.

Friends in Need

. 199

LIST OF FULL-PAGE PLATE5

PAGE

"I often wonder if his toes are not cold" {See

Page 41) Frontispiece

"They had stood in a bunch, with their tails

together" 28

"Dandling a fat worm in his beak" .... 69
"A woodcock whistled up through the alder

bushes" 93

" The weasel appeared, bringing the limp form of

the Chatterbox with him " 1 27

"He fell upon the would-be leader, beak and

claw" 153

** Down he came, as easily as a leaf " . . . 1 88
" Here comes a flock of snow-birds "... 203

Wf\tn 3 ^tutiteti 5^ootia:aft

71^ Y aviary is the good green wood,

I would not cage its songsters if I could.
Sweeter the song of one wild bird to me
Than all the notes of sad captivity.

©tenants of tj)e ^ut&

WHERE I STUDIED WOODCRAFT

/^NE of the first external things that
^^ flooded my childish consciousness,
thrilling the awakening soul with a new
joy, was the song of a robin, filling my
little chamber with sweet melody, and
causing the child in the crib to lie very
still lest the minstrel be frightened away.
He was on the old elm, that stood
like a giant guardian just above the roof
of the house. Its long low branches
almost swept the shingles, and indeed,
one could hear them brushing the roof
on a windy night.

4 JRtn^ntu of f^t tRvttu

Cockrobin had builded his nest in the
old elm, so near to the window that I
could almost touch it with my hand.
The last thing that I remembered at
night, when the sleepy man came for me
from over the slumbrous hills, was the
tender twilight reverie of robin, and the
first sound that broke upon my waking
senses was his morning rhapsody.

There were other songs too, even
more bewitching than robin's, including
the wonderful liquid notes of the oriole,
and the gurgling of blithe bobolink
down in the orchard, but robin lived so
near to my trundle-bed that he seemed
a part of my slumbers, and his song as
much a prelude to slumber as mother's
" TwiHght Stories."

My second passion, one that nearly
every country child experiences, was for
flowers and bouquets of all kinds. Some

WLIitvt K Sttttrietr WLoornvuft 5

of these bouquets were very primitive,
consisting of buttercups, daisies, and dan-
delions, all picked with such short stems
that it was almost impossible to hold
them in one's hand, and the shorter-
stemmed ones were always falling out ;
but these bouquets were most satisfac-
tory. The bright colours fascinated the
eye, and if they were not fragrant, it
only needed imagination of childhood to
make them so.

When a few more years had made the
little legs sturdy, and the feet more sure
of their footing, this passion carried us
far afield, in search of the rarer wild
flowers.

Some we loved for their fragrance and
beauty, while others held a personality
that made them always interesting.

Such was the jack-in-the-pulpit, who
stood so straight in his pulpit, and

6 ^tnuntn of tftt STrttsi

preached a sermon for every day in the
week.

When I was five years old, and had
worn pants and a Garibaldi waist for at
least a year (it seemed to me like ten),
I put away childish things and became
a man.

The particular event that marked the
change I shall always remember, for in
reality it was a veritable crossing of the
Rubicon, and the passion engendered on
that warm summer morning has gone
with me ever since.

Over in the meadow, two stone's
throw from the house, was a little brook
where I went to play when I had
leave.

This morning I found a pin, longer
and more pliable than its fellows, and
the spirit of Isaac Walton awoke within
me (the same Isaac that our fathers and

WLfttvt K SttttrfeU smoolrctatt 7

grandfathers have felt before us) on find-
ing that pliable pin.

It needed only a twine string and the
butt of an old buggy whip to complete
the outfit, and the young fisherman was
ready for the brook.

I could not hazard the risk of being
told that I could not go down to the
brook this morning, so took " French
leave.'' This gave an added relish to
the undertaking and made it seem almost
like piracy.

Do you wrinkled, care-worn old men,
who have been making corns and bunions
upon your feet for the past seventy years
by wearing tight shoes, remember the
joy of scuffing with bare feet, in the dew-
laden grass? Do you remember how the
dew sparkled and the fragrance rose from
clover and buttercup, as you stirred
them in their bed and sent showers of

8 ^tnuntu of ti^e JUvttu

dew from their faces ? Oh, the thrill
and the joy of it all ! It will not come
again. You might take off your shoes
and scuff in the dew now, but it would
not be the same. The trouble is, your
heart is no longer the heart of a boy.

Over the brook was a quaint little stone
bridge. The sunlight filtered down be-
tween the stones, and fell upon the clear
water beneath. Out in the open the sun-
light was transparent and nearly colour-
less, but down under the bridge, it was a
shaft of burnished gold. How my heart
thumped as I shook out the twine line
and tossed the pin hook into the spark-
ling brook.

With what eagerness I watched it
drift to and fro, and what a thrill it gave,
each time the swirl caught the worm and
tugged at the line. Then there was a
flash of something bright through the

WifitVt K StttHUH WLooXftvan 9

water, a quick splash, and a tug at the
line that was so sudden and unexpected
that the young fisherman nearly lost his
tackle, pole and all. But a moment
later, he recovered his nerve, and dragged
a beauty of a trout, flopping and jump-
ing, on to the middle of the bridge.

There was no more fishing that morn-
ing, for with a whoop like a wild Indian,
the small fisherman clutched his fish
tightly in both hands and started for the
house at his best pace, shouting as he
went, " Tve got a trout, Tve got a

trout."

The fish was not even taken from the
pin hook, although he soon flopped him-
self free. The fish-pole was trailed be-
hind in the dust, in the excitement of
the moment, and all but the prize was
forgotten.

The admonition not to go to the

10 ^renant!^ of tiie Evnu

brook, had also been lost sight of, but
it did not matter now he had caught
his first trout.

For half the forenoon, the boy sat
on the door-step admiring the speckled
beauty, with his wonderful deep green
mottled back, and his red and yellow
sides, and he was loath to part with him,
even to let him go into the frypan for
his dinner. This fish seemed almost too
good to fry. He was the boy's first
trout.

This day marked an epoch in the life
of the boy, for from that time a com-
panionship with the little brook began,
that he has never outgrown. Nothing,
even now, rests the tired thought-racked
brain, like the low plashing and purling
of a tiny silver stream.

Before the boy caught his first trout,
he had been contented to wade in the

shallows, and catch shiners in his palm-
leaf hat, but this was too childish sport
for him now. Shiners and pollywogs
might do for children, but he must have
fish-hooks, and a peeled alder pole, and
fish for trout in the deep holes. There
was no peace for his elders, until the
fish-hook and line had been obtained,
and the alder pole was of his own
making.

Then whenever there was a holiday,
or an odd hour between light tasks that
were his, the alder pole might be seen
trailing behind the small boy, whose nim-
ble legs were carrying him at their top
pace, to the brook.

His patience and natural love of fish-
ing brought many kinds of fish to the
willow stringer, that he carried in one
hand. There were trout and dace, red
fins and suckers, rock suckers and shiners.

12 ^tnuntu of tift ^vttu

and once in a great while a horned pout,
that had wandered far up stream from
the distant pond.

All the water grasses, reeds, and rushes
he also knew. And the lilies that floated
gracefully upon the current, supporting
themselves by their broad leaves, and
breathing their sweet breath upon the
summer air. Then there was sweet-flag
that was so spicy, when prepared with
candied sugar, while the cattails made
graceful wands or magic rods.

Strange tracks there were, too, in the
mud along the bank of the little stream,
but the boy did not discover or under-
stand them at the time. He learned
later to know them all, and to tell a
muskrat track from a mink track, and
also to look for woodcock borings.

The same summer that he learned to
angle, he built a dam on the brook, and

made the water turn a small wheel for
his amusement. This was a most inter-
esting bit of machinery, and it lasted
until the heavy fall rains, when the dam
was swept away, and the water-wheel
and the long spout that had conducted
water to it went down-stream.

The following year the boy's father
took him to a distant deep hole and
taught him to swim. Diving and swim-
ming upon his back were accomplish-
ments that he also learned, and after that
the water had still more attraction for
him, for he was then no longer afraid of
it, where it ran deep and swift, as he had
been before.

A brook always seems to the nature
lover like a living, moving thing. He
loves to dabble his hand in it, and feel
the rush of its current. Its touch is so
soft, and its caress so refreshing. Then

14 STenants of ti^e ^vttn

the brook is so moody, that it seems Hke
a living spirit. Where the shadows of
overhanging trees and bushes fall upon
it, its own face is clouded and sad, but
where the full sunlight falls, it gives
back the very smile of heaven.

Then in anger, when swollen by rain,
it is majestically terrible — tossing, foam-
ing, and roaring.

But the brookside was only one of the
many places where the boy learned of
nature and her wondrous ways.

There were long tramps over the hills
to distant pasture-lands for berries during
the summer season.

I have seen blueberry lots where the
wild bushes stood so near together, and
were so loaded with their fruit, that the
lot would look almost as blue as water at
a little distance. Then along the edge
of the woods among the pines, what

WLfttvt K Stttirttlr S2»ootrctatt i5

giant blackberry bushes bowed under
their load of delicious berries. Out on
the bog meadow, where the muskrat
builds his home by the ditch, there were
plenty of cranberries, growing on their
pretty vines down in the meadow moss.

We boys quite frequently left the berry-
picking to see if we could discover any
of the tenants of the queer conical houses,
which at a distance looked so much like
haycocks. Or, if it were hot, as it was
quite likely to be in the autumn, when
we had a spell of Indian summer, we
would go away into the deep woods be-
yond the meadow to spy out chestnut
and walnut trees, or possibly wild grapes.

Bounteous stores there were in the
woods, and we knew quite well where
they were to be found. The dry knolls
where the partridge-berries grew, and
the lightning scarred spruce that had

16 Ztnantu ot tfit Evttn

such stores of gum. Hemlock limbs we
selected for bows, and a straight willowy
ironwood did not go unnoticed, for
when it was cut and peeled it made a
glorious fish-pole.

No country farmhouse is quite com-
plete unless it is fortified against sun,
wind, and rain, by a goodly array of
shade-trees. I always keep a miniature
of the farmhouse where I spent my child-
hood, in a bright corner of my memory,
and when tired of hustle and bustle, I
retire to it for a quiet half-hour.

The road at the front of the house
was lined by a double row of maples,
that spread their green grateful shade
across the lawn in summer-time, and in
autumn flung out their scarlet banners
to the wind, and carpeted the green-
sward with the most flaming Persian
rugs. At the back of the house was a

Wifitvt K Sttttririr mLooXftvaU i7

giant elm, that spread its broad branches
in every direction, proclaiming shade and
protection for all.

The old elm was so strong and grace-
ful, that it seemed a veritable monarch.
Near the barn were two mountain-ashes,
that shed their leaves early in the autumn,
and as though to make up for this naked-
ness, put on a garb of scarlet berries, that
made them easily the brightest trees in
the neighbourhood.

The large apple orchard across the
road carpeted the grass in the early days
of May with its white petals until, under
some trees, it looked as though there had
been a snow-squall, but the petals of
other trees were too pink to suggest
snow, and almost bright enough to be rose
petals. Blossoming cherry and plum-
trees also helped steep the air with
sweetness.

18 ^tnantu of f^t ^vttu

What a touch of life and hope there
was in the morning wind as it came
galloping over the billowing grass across
the broad meadow, up to the little back
porch where I had lugged the old-fash-
ioned dasher churn, determined to get as
cool a spot as possible for so warm a task.

If the trees are the friends of men in
the spring-time, so they are in the au-
tumn, when they hang heavy with red
and russet fruit, and cluster with brown
obstinate nuts, that so long withstand
clubbing and poling, but rattle down so
easily at the touch of the first frost.

There was always something doing in
the trees, too, and that made them even
more interesting. Perhaps it was a bird's
nest, or a family of young robins learn-
ing to fly. They might be peeping away
with might and main, or perhaps they
sat perfectly still and looked as though

smtiete K Stttlrteir smooirctan i9

they did not know what it all meant.
Their short tails and round bodies always
gave them a comical look. Sometimes
there would be a great commotion in the
trees, and loud calls for help. Then in-
vestigation would disclose a mischievous
red squirrel trying to rob a bird's nest,
with both the old birds flying at him and
pecking at his eyes.

Sometimes a tree would be black with
crows, all of whom were cawing as
though shouting to the chairman for
the floor. You might wonder for a long
time what they were doing, but presently
you would see a great brown owl, or a
steely blue hawk, fly hastily out of the
tree, and make for the woods with all
speed, closely followed by the noisy pro-
cession.

The last week in April is fence-mend-
ing time in the country, where they have

20 STenants of tl^e STtees

brush fences. Then nature is beginning
to unfold her secrets, and to tell the
world that old, old story, that is yet new
with each recurring spring. It is the
stint of the boy to go with the hired
man and cut small saplings for fence
stakes, but he occasionally neglects his
portion of the fence-mending to creep
away into the woods after something
more interesting.

Perhaps he has heard a cock partridge
drumming in the distance, and he wishes
to creep up, and catch a glimpse of this
wary bird upon his drumming log, with
head erect and pompous as a drum major,
sounding forth his thunderous roll-call
of the woods. Or it may be that the chat-
ter of a red squirrel in a distant thicket
has whetted the boy's curiosity ; or the
calling of the crows may have suggested
the possibility of locating a crow's nest.

Wi'^tvt K Stutiita WiooTitvaft 21

which could be visited later on in the
season, when the young crows are hatched
out.

Each season calls for a pilgrimage to
the woods and each is as different as
four acts of a drama.

Summer-time gives us wealth of life.
No matter where you go, life is creep-
ing, crawling, stretching up to the light.
Leaves, wild flowers, grasses, briars, and
ferns all swell with life, and breathe it
forth upon the fragrant air.

But the season when one can find out
most about the wild creatures in the
woods, just how they live, and what they
were doing last night, is winter. There
are not as many birds or squirrels about
then as in the warmer seasons, but each
tells his life story in the soft snow when-
ever he goes abroad.

It was one of my keenest boyhood

22 Etnantu of tf^t Evttu

delights to go far into the woods with
the logging teams when the snow was
deep, and see with my own eyes what
was doing.

We could almost always find a fox
track near a little spring at the edge of
the woods. The spring was a boisterous,
bubbling vein of water, and did not like
to cease its motion, even at the touch of
Jack Frost. So on a warm day Mr. Fox
could get a drink there, although he
might have to eat snow during the ex-
tremely cold snaps.

Where the wood-road crossed a swampy
bit of land and there were scrub spruces
and a little laurel, we usually spied the
triangular rabbit track, with its four paw
prints in a bunch. The two by two's of
the squirrel or weasel could be seen al-
most anywhere, but the weasel's track
was heavier than the squirrel's and you

Wiiitvt K SttttrtrSr SZaootrctaft 23

could occasionally notice where his belly
brushed the snow.

A hole in the snow, with a lot of
scraggly tracks about it, showed you
where a partridge spent the night. Or
there might be a fox track leading to
the partridge's hiding-place ; then there
were usually feathers and blood upon the
snow.

I saw a track one winter that puzzled
me for a long time, but an old hunter
finally told me what made it. The track
was merely a succession of long trough-
shaped holes scooped out in the snow,
two or three feet apart. The old woods-
man's eyes were sharper than mine, and
he showed me where long fine hairs
upon the creature's belly had brushed the
snow between each track hole, and here
and there a footprint where the hind
paws had spurned the snow.

24 ^muntn of tJie ^vttu

It was an otter's track, and the snow
was too deep for his short legs, so he
travelled in a series of plunges, and this
had made the queer track.

A skunk makes something the same
track in soft snow, only he is not lively
enough even to jump, so his track is a
shallow trough ploughed from bush to
stump.

Did you ever notice a partridge track
running clear around a low bush ? If
you will examine the ends of the twigs
that are low down, you will find that the
buds have been stripped from them, for
the hungry partridge's supper.

This only happens in exceptional sea-
sons, for the partridge prefers to do his
budding up in a tree out of the reach of
cats and foxes.

Another country experience that brings
the boy near to nature is the maple sugar

WLfttvt K Sttttrtelr Wioontvuit 25

season. To stand in a maple sugar grove,
where scores of trees are festooned with
the brightly painted buckets, and hear
half a hundred sap spouts ticking out
their silver drip, drip, drip, is pleasant
music.

To boil sap at the lonely sugar camp
is quite as delightful. There is the awe
of a winter's night in the woods, when
the moonbeams play pranks with trees
and bushes, and people the dim ring at
the edge of your lantern's light with
phantoms and hobgoblins. The wind,
too, is full of pranks, and delights to
shriek, and moan, like an evil spirit,
while the great limbs of the maples
grinding together make uncanny sounds.
All these things make a boy's blood
tingle, and lend mystery and possible
adventure to the night's work.

The dry sugar wood snapping and

26 s:enant!$ of tJir STrees

gleaming in the spacious arch sends out
a cheerful, homelike light, and its wax-
ing and waning help to make the night
spectral. Then shrouded and hooded
figures dance and wave their arms wildly
in the clouds of steam that rise from the
sap pan, while a screech-owl fills in the
pauses between stories and songs with
hair-raising laughter and shrieks. Even
more ghostly than the graveyard scene in
Hamlet, is a winter night in the woods.

Like Hiawatha, I early learned the
use of bow and arrow, but could not slay
the roebuck, or even a chipmunk. The
only thing I remember killing with either
bow and arrow, or cross-gun, was a pine
grosbeak, that a friend wanted to mount.
But the big barn door and the gate-post
suffered, and even the house bore arrow
marks. There are scores of rude play-
things that every country child knows

Wifttvt K Stttirietr WiooXitvatt 27

how to make, that are quite as interest-
ing as manufactured toys. Bows and
arrows, sHng-shots and darts, spears and
lances, jumpers, and sleds, hoops, growl-
ers, kites, and water-wheels. All these
and many other simple devices, make
the country boy's life quite as full and
happy as that of the pampered, toy-laden
city child.

I was particularly fortunate in my
companionship afield, for I enjoyed the
confidence of two or three old woods-
men, at whose heels I tramped the
woods in spring, summer, autumn, and
winter.

Together we saw the wary partridge
spring from cover on roaring wings, and
speed away like an express trainc The
whistling wings of the woodcock did not
give us such a start, and as he flew much
slower, one had a better view of him.

28 ^tn^ntu of ttie ^vttn

Once we found tracks in the dust by
the roadside where a bevy of quail had
passed the night. They had stood in a
bunch, with their tails together and heads
outward as though for mutual protection.

We saw strange things on those long
rambles through the forest. Molly Cot-
tontail scurried across our path, but squat-
ted under a bush, to see what we were
like. Squirrels eyed us curiously from
the tops of trees, and the red squirrel
usually scolded away and made a great
fuss because we dared to come into his
woods.

I came to know all the call notes,
songs, and cries that floated down the
aisles of the sweet green woods. The
rat-a-tat of the black and white, and red
and white, woodpeckers, and the queer
cackle of their larger cousin, the yellow-
hammer. Once we heard the cackle of

anUT HTIV/ .HDWUa A

HI aOOTe QAH YSH'
"513HTaOOT eJIAT

28 ^tnantn of tftt ^vttu

Once we found tracks in the dust by
the roadside where a bevy of quail had
passed the night. They had stood in a
bunch, with their tails together and heads
outward as though for mutual protection.

We saw strange things on those long
rambles through the forest. Molly Cot-
tontail scurried across our path, but squat-
ted under ^ bush, to see what we were
like. Squirrels eyed us curiously from
the tops of trees, and the red squirrel
usually scolded away and made a great
fuss because we dared to come into his
woods.

I came to know all the call notes,
songs, and cries that floated down the
aisles of the sweet green woods. The
rat-a-tat of the black and white, and red
and white, woodpeckers, and the queer
cackle of their larger cousin, the yellow-

Viarrrrrrr^ J )n.u. wn bngrd the GO-Ckle of

JEY HAD STOOD I
TAILS TOGETHER

T"!:^.."'^^ -^^OO^ 'N A BUNCH. WFTH THEIR

Wifttvt K StttmeU amoolreraft 29

the piliated woodpecker, a very wild and
rare bird, sixteen or eighteen inches in
length, and the most beautiful of all the
woodpeckers, but only once were we
fortunate enough to see him.

On some of these long tramps we
learned that both the blue jay and the
bittern are spies or sentinels, and when
they hear or see any one coming through
the woods they quickly spread the news
and put the wood folks on their guard.

I have heard the woods ringing with
bird calls and the chatter of squirrels, but
at a call from a noisy jay it would be-
come as quiet as though entirely deserted.

There were wonderful songsters that
we stole quietly upon, at the edge of the
woods, or found in low bushes along
the swamps. The veery and the hermit
thrush are two of the sweetest singers
that ever trilled a note, not to mention

30 Etnant^ of tHe STrees

their merry cousin the brown thrasher,
who watches the farmer as he plants his
corn, and continually cries, " Plant it :
plant it : dig it up : dig it up. Pull it up.
Pull it up."

I also learned to tell many birds by
their flight when they were too far away
to distinguish colour or form. There
was the peculiar galloping of the wood-
pecker family, that is only imitated by
one other bird, and that is a small yellow
bird, or wild canary.

Then there is the habit of sailing
which is common to the hawk family,
and rarely indulged in by other birds.
The quick strokes of the quail and the
meadow-lark, and the darting and skim-
ming of the barn-swallow. The light-
ning plunges of the night-hawk down
the twilight sky, followed by that hoarse
booming sound. These are only a few

peculiarities of flight that make it pos-
sible to tell birds merely by their motion.

The boy who drives cows to pasture
at dawn, and goes for them again at
twilight, is always learning something
new if he keeps his eyes wide open.

Little brown birds are frequently flash-
ing out of the grass by the path, telling
you where their nests are, and the pasture-
land is the favourite resort of chewink,
and the queer cowbird, who is too lazy
to build a nest of its own, and so lays its
eggs in its cousin's nest, and expects
them to hatch and bring up her young.
I am told by one who knows all about
birds, that the outraged tohee bunting
always hatches a new brood, after he has
brought up the first brood with the
orphan cowbird.

Another sight that fills the young mind
with wonder is the steady strong sweep

32 ^Tenanti^ of ti)r Evttu

of a flock of geese through the trackless
sky, on their way to Hudson's Bay, or
some of the Canadian lakes. Nearly as
impressive is the flight of a flock of
pigeons, with their quick choppy strokes.

Another view that is less majestic,
though stirring, is had from the hilltop
of a winter's morning when sly Reynard
leads the pack by at a stiff* pace, while
the full-throated cry of the hounds echoes
from hilltop to hilltop.

These are some of the secrets that
nature yields to the bright eyes and eager
mind of the country boy, who follows
her ways faithfully, and is content with
seeing.

He may not have quite as much book
knowledge as the city boy, but he has
other treasures that are infinitely more
valuable. The wind has told him secrets
at the garden wall on a summer's eve,

Wifttvt K StttlrUlr SHootrrtan 33

and the wild flowers have opened their
hearts to him and lifted up their faces
for him to see.

He has heard the low sweet whisper of
spring rising from the dank mould at the
touch of sunlight, and his heart has been
glad with the joy of bursting buds, and
opening leaves.

He has seen the speckled eggs, and the
fledglings in the nest, and wondered at
the manifold life of bird, beast, and
plant.

But best of all, this is his world, made
especially for him. The birds have sung
just for him and the flowers have bloomed
for his delight.

Blackberries have ripened at the forest's
edge merely that he might pick them,
and the tall chestnut and walnut trees
have been mindful of him.

How could he be other than happy in

34 tRtn^ntu ot tJif JCrres

a world like this, and that he has been,
the world-weary man can best tell you.
It was out of such a heart, and with a
deep longing for the joy of childhood,
that the poet, Hood, wrote this beautiful
stanza :

" I remember, I remember
The Fir Trees dark and high,
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
It was childish ignorance ;
But now 'tis little joy
To know Vm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy."

C|)e ilartiinser of Spring

Tip AIR herald of the coming spring

Who fear est not the winter s snow.
The friendly fields begin to show,

0 haste thy gaily painted wing;

1 long to hear thee carolling
Upon the treetop, sweet and low.
For when I hear thy song, I know
That soon the robin, too, will sing.
And all the merry woods will ring
With Springtim£^s well remembered song.
That flowers will wake from slumber long
And lift their fragrant offering —

Didst know what joy thy song would bring,
Dear little harbinger of Spring ?

II

THE HARBINGER OF SPRING

rr^HERE was no hint of spring in the
-*- crisp winter air and no touch of
warmth along the broad heavens, or
across the white frozen earth, when this
little harbinger of spring appeared.

Although it was the middle of Febru-
ary, the eaves had dripped but twice dur-
ing the month, and the earth looked drear
and forbidding.

My own spirit was weighed down by
the cheerlessness of the landscape, for
nature's moods are usually reflected in my
own. The soul is like a looking-glass
reflecting the lights and shades of all life
which we see revealed in nature. I could

37

38 SCenantfiJ of tl)e Exttu

not shake off the idea of perpetual snow
and unending cold. My prophet's eye
was dim, and summer seemed ages away.

To break the monotony of indoor life,
I went into the wood-shed for a whiff of
outside air, and to try if, by coaxing,
spring would show her sweet face.

Fancy my astonishment and joy, almost
at the first moment, as though in greeting,
to hear three delicious little notes, sweet
as the breath of a new-born rose, and as
refreshing to the heart as an entirely new
joy. There was no mistaking the song.
It was as liquid and sweet as the sound of
molten silver falling into a resonant cru-
cible.

" Cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, I
bring you an olive branch and a promise
of better days."

My eyes swept the near-by fields for the
sweet little stranger, with a boy's eager-

2rj)e lJ^uvi}inQtv of Spttns 39

ness, but nowhere was he to be seen.
Yet still that slight song floated down the
crisp breath of morning like a benedic-
tion. *' Cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly/'

Then my eyes strayed up into the top
of the old elm, and I saw him, perched
upon the utmost twig, like the brave little
adventurer he is.

How his bright blue coat glistened in
the sunlight and how his red vest flamed.
How slight a messenger he seemed for so
great a message. How far he had brought
these tidings of great joy, across frozen
fields, and bleak moors : ^' Spring is
coming ; be glad, better days are
near."

How my eyes devoured him, as he
balanced himself nicely upon the very top
of the elm, and poured out his cheerful
news. He was the only bit of warmth
in the whole landscape that day, which

40 E^tnuntu of tfir 2Ctres

made his beauty and brightness even more
apparent.

Three months later, when the scarlet
tanager and the oriole had come, he
would appear as very commonplace, but
now his was the only gay coat in the
fields.

Would we remember then that it was
he who first sang of spring, when the
reality was yet a long way off? It is easy
to believe in spring, when arbutus is here
and the pasture-lands are green, but when
the snow is over all, how much more
courage it takes to sing of spring-
time.

I often wonder how it happens that so
fragile a body, and such slight wings, are
the first to penetrate the frozen north.
There must be a brave heart underneath
that scarlet vest, one that storms and cold
cannot quell.

2Cfie li^atvtiinoet of Sjittnfl 4i

God must have planted in the heart of
the first bluebird a seed of optimism, and
the flower of hope, for he is the sunniest,
cheeriest little herald that ever carried
good tidings.

For several days after this first glimpse
of this bright blue coat, we saw nothing
of him.

He was probably hiding in a barn, or
in some other sheltered nook, until
warmer days. He had done his part for
that week at least, and was bound to take
the best possible care of himself, for was
he not the first bluebird, and of more im-
portance than a whole flock of his fellows
who would appear later ? Had he not re-
vived the fainting hearts of those great
silly bipeds, men, and given them faith in
the power that never fails ?

I often wonder if his toes are not cold,
as he perches upon the bar-post of a bleak

42 2renantf$ of ti|t tEvttu

March morning and forces his sHght song
up the boisterous wind.

His little blue coat would seem to be
no protection against the winter cold.
Maybe it is his cheery heart that keeps
him warm, but in some miraculous way
he survives to greet the first robin with a
knowing nod.

"Hello, — you here?" chirps robin
as he hops over the mowing, looking for
seeds or grain.

" Been here a whole month,'* is the
cheery reply.

" You are awfully slow, robin. You
should have been here two weeks ago.''

It is a bright day for bluebird, in the
cheerless March calendar, when Mrs.
Bluebird appears. You at once notice
from the fulness and sweetness of his
song that something uncommon has hap-
pened, but it is not until you discover him

ffl:j)e ^avtinatv of Sptritifl 43

hovering about his modest little mate
that the cause of his rhapsody is apparent.

The male bluebird usually precedes the
female by a week or two, and her final
advent is the occasion of renewed court-
ship, and a deal of attention on his part,
which she receives as a matter of course,
and no more than her just due.

Her garments are not as gay as her
mate's, and she has no song, but she is con-
tent to shine with borrowed lustre, and
informs you with a queer little nod *'that
it is all in the family,'' so why does it
matter ?

House-hunting is the next event in the
lives of these spring heralds, and as Mro
Bluebird is particular about his abode and
Mrs. Bluebird is even fussy, it is a long
and arduous task, and often consumes
days, or even a week or two ?

All sorts of holes, both natural and

44 ^mantu of ti^e STrees

artificial, in trees, bar-posts, and frequently
old buildings, are explored, only to be re-
jected for some reason or other.

Finally, when the season is getting ad-
vanced, and the robins are here in large
numbers, they select a spot and set to
work upon the nest. As they are quite
dainty nest builders, and work slowly,
they do not get the house done and
really take possession as early as you would
think, considering how long they have
been with us.

When the eggs, ranging from four to
six in number, are finally laid, they are
just the colour that you would expect, for
what but a delicate blue, suggesting the
sky of a balmy day in spring, would a
bluebird want her eggs to be ?

As the season advances, and our great
army of songsters comes pouring in from
the south, bluebird is occasionally lost

E^fft ©attitnflet of Sjitrtnfl 45

sight of. Bright as it is, his coat is not
so bright as the livery of the flaming
oriole, or the gay scarlet garb of the
tanager.

His song, too, is soon drowned in the
great chorus of robin, oriole, bobolink,
and song-sparrow, but you will occasion-
ally hear his sweet " cheer-i-ly — cheer-
i-ly " in lulls of the great rhapsody.

It sounds faint and far away now, like
the retreating spirit of spring, but it al-
ways arouses a feeling of deep gratitude
in my heart, and I remember him for
what he was when the winds still whistled
boisterously and the face of the firmament
was sombre.

It is easy enough, I say, for bobolink
and all the rest to sing, when the dalliant
breezes are heavy with perfume, and earth
and sky are full of sunshine and gladness.
It is a dull heart indeed that would not

46 JSTtnantfii of titt Evttu

sing at this glad season, but my little
blue-coated songster showed you the way,
and his was the sweet prelude to this rap-
turous anthem. Would you, who sing
when life is nought but song, have sung
when the old world was bare and desolate ?

It was my little spring herald that
taught me the greatest lesson that we can
learn in this life ; that of hope and trust,
optimism and good cheer.

If, like him, we can smile when clouds
are over us, and laugh out of a lonely heart,
we are masters of life, and all it contains.

So I contend, that of all the birds that
we love, both for their song and their
plumage, for their morals and their
manners, if any one were to be stricken
from the list, we could least spare the
bluebird, for without him there would be
no spring, and no reawakening of glad
new life.

Movt Carl^ Comers

TTPON a friendly maple-tree

I hear the robin singing —
His rich and happy melody
Through all the woods is ringing —
Cheer-up, Cheer-up, all things clear up.
We are merry, cheery, cheery.

The sun has slowly sunk to rest.
The shades of flight are falling.
And from his hough beside the nest
The robin still is calling, —
Cheer-up, Cheer-up, all things clear up
We are merry, cheery, cheery.

Ill

MORE EARLY COMERS

'T^HERE is a long dreary stretch of
•^ wintry weeks between the coming
of bluebird, which was a red-letter day in
the calendar of late February or early
March, and the advent of robin redbreast.
You had begun to think that bluebird
was the only songster with courage and
faith enough to face the tardy New Eng-
land spring, when cockrobin appeared.

You first notice him hopping briskly
over the bare brown mowing looking for
seeds upon which to make his breakfast.
He much prefers worms and small fruit,
but one cannot be too particular on a crisp
spring morning about April Fool's Day.

49

50 ^tnantu of ttie ^vtm

The worms are sensible and have not tried
to bore up through the frozen earth, and
who ever heard of fruit preceding the
blossoms ?

Cockrobin is very brisk this morning
and hops nimbly about. I am afraid that
his toes are cold, and that he keeps on
the move to warm himself.

It is always the cockrobin that you see
first. The large flocks, of which these
scattering males are the advance-guard,
are still on Long Island or in Southern
Connecticut enjoying its sunnier clime.
When it is a little warmer cockrobin will
hurry back with the cheerful news,
** Cheery, cheery, all is well, come on."
Then the great flock will come north-
ward.

We are always glad to see this pert,
saucy fellow. Although we know that
he will steal our cherries and currants.

and eat half our peas a little later, yet
he is always welcome for the warmth
there is in his ruddy breast, and the hope
there is in his blithe song.

For a few days robin and bluebird
quarrel as to the brightness of their re-
spective liveries, and the quality of their
song, then some warm morning a very
modest little bird perches upon a bar-
post and invites you to behold him, in
the most plaintive little song that ever
came from the throat of feathered crea-
ture. ** Phoebe, phcebe,'* he sings, over
and over again. " Phoebe, phoebe, see
me, see me."

" Cheerup, cheerup, cheerup,'* replies
robin from the old elm. " You can't
sing a little bit. I would give up trying
if I were you.'* But the little stranger
keeps right on, unmindful of robin's scorn.

" Phoebe, see me, see me."

52 JUtnant^ of tftt Evttu

He is a flycatcher, and depends upon the
sun to drive flies and moth-millers from
wheir snug beds in cracks and corners so
that he can catch them.

Let's watch him for a few moments.
He is perched upon an apple-tree limb,
close to the barn, where it is warm and
sunny, watching for his quarry. Pres-
ently, if he is lucky, he will dart out,
make a slight swoop in the air, and snip
will go his bill and an unwary fly will be
buzzing in his crop. He will then fly
back to almost exactly the same spot on
the limb that he occupied a moment be-
fore and resume his watch. If we should
have a long cold snap he would have a
sorry time of it, for the flies would return
to their sleep, and the Phoebe would have
to be a vegetarian for awhile or starve.

Who is this gay fellow darting and
skimming over the brown mowings, as

light-heartedly as though he had not a care
in the whole world ? How airily and
gracefully he skims along, as though every
motion were a delight to him, as it prob-
ably is. Don't you remember him ? His
very motion is enough to tell you who he
is. No other bird flies as lightly as that.

His brown coat and lighter vest should
identify him as well.

It is barn-swallow. Welcome, gay
chatterer. Where is the rest of the noisy
colony that chattered under the eaves
last spring and plastered the niches with
a score of mud houses ? No barn is quite
complete or quite country-like without
its complement of barn-swallows, darting
in and out, and chattering like magpies.

But while we are talking of chattering,
just wait until some warm morning when
a flock of about five hundred purple
grackles, or blackbirds, as you children

54 tl^tnantu of tftt STrees

call them, settle in the big elm and begin
talking over old times and their plans for
the coming spring.

Then there will be a chatter and a
babel that will make the swallows seem
like very quiet birds. Each blackbird
will be croaking and squawking at the top
of his voice, all talking at once, and each
trying with might and main to make him-
self heard above the gossip of his fellows.

If the morning sun plays full upon the
flock you will see some of the brightest
garments that have yet appeared in the new
spring styles, all iridescent and shining, and
reflecting the sunlight in its many rainbow
hues, bottle green and plum colour, light
blue, navy blue, and all the darker shades,
down to the shiniest black imaginable.
They are all proud of their brilliant
colours, and prink and smooth out their
feathers with great care.

Movt iSatlff eotnets 55

Presently they will fly away like a black
cloud, only to return again in a moment,
noisier and gayer than ever.

Down in the meadows, the purple
grackle's cousin, the red-winged black-
bird, is disporting himself, not so noisily,
but quite as ostentatiously as his cousin.
You would never know from her dress
that Mrs. Redwing belonged to the same
family, for she is very modest, has no
flaming red wings, and looks more like a
retiring brown bird than a gay redwing.

You will notice that just the opposite
style prevails in the bird family from
that in the human family. With us the
females wear the gay feathers and bright
dresses, but in the bird family it is the
males, and they do all the singing as well.
So the world would be very desolate with-
out them. But what of the nest and
the bright coloured eggs, and the young

56 ^tnuntu of tJie ^vttu

mouths waiting to be filled ! Ah, that is
the mother bird's world, and she fills it as
only a mother can.

Song-sparrow will be along directly.
He is not much to look at, but wait until
his liquid song floats down the morning
stillness, then you will thank Heaven that
he has returned.

Yes, the whole gay-coated throng will
soon be here, for the spring comes on
rapidly, once the shad-blossom shakes
out its white folds. The Baltimore
oriole, with its orange and yellow tunic
and its flutelike song, the tanager, with
its scarlet coat and its high shrill melody.
Together tanager and oriole, who is the
true robin, will flash across the fields
catching the full sunlight and dazzling us
with their brightness. Down in the
meadow, the gayest, sweetest song of all
will soon be heard. For bobolink will

jWovt iSarlff (E^omtvu 57

be there in his plain black and white, and
Mrs. Bobolink, in her yellow gown.
The world will soon be flooded with sun-
light and song. But what of these sim-
pler songs that cheered us in early spring
days when our hearts were heavy ? Will
they be lost in the great chorus ?

Not while the human heart has grati-
tude, and the mind can still recall its
friends in need.

We will thank God for bobolink and
oriole, tanager and veery, but deep down
in our hearts we will still love the blue-
birds and the robin, for the olive branch
they brought us when we needed cheer.

ILittle flomes in ti)t ilea\)es

TpASHIONED so fair, this small inverted dome,
With bits of moss and grass and strings.
And underneath the brooditig wings.
Four tender tiny gaping things.
And near the nest the one who sings.
Ah, — heart of mine, is this not truly home ?

IV

LITTLE HOMES IN THE LEAVES

IT is the last of April, and for a few
brief hours the sky has caught the very-
smile of June. The wind and the sun
may think better of it in half an hour
and send us a cutting hail-storm, but
coquettish April is wearing her sweetest
smile just at this moment.

Underfoot there are still traces of
mud time, for the frost has been very
slow in coming out this year.

Bluebird has been prospecting for a
suitable place to build his nest for weeks,
and robin has been upon the same quest
for a few days, but active nest-building
has not yet begun.

With alternating sun and rain, heat

61

62 Em^nt^ of tfft tRvttu

and cold, the days slip by, with very little
change in the landscape, until about the
fifth of May. Then the sun leaps at a
single bound into new activity, and with
a glad rush the leaves appear. Not all at
once, of course, but they will come on
much faster than one would imagine,
once the conditions are right.

This is what the bird-folks have been
waiting for, and with a chorus of twitters
and chirps they fall to nest-building, with
an industry that knows no such word as
failure.

Several spots may be visited before the
right one is finally found. The proper
building-material may have to be brought
from a long distance, and the nest may be
blown down by the wind, or destroyed
in some other way, before it is finally
completed, but they pick and pull, poke
and twist, till the home is complete.

HittU y^omtu in tf^t Htui^tu 63

It may be a very plain mud and straw
house, lined with feathers and horsehair,
like that the robin builds, or it may be a
daintier house, like the bluebird's.

Perhaps it is a wonderful hanging
basket, carefully woven and swinging
from a limb, like the nest of the oriole,
or maybe it is no larger than a fair-sized
peach and lined with the finest, softest ma-
terial, like the nest of the humming-bird,
but wherever located, or however fash-
ioned, it is the abode of love and gladness,
song and sweet content.

Some of these pretty nests may be
placed in the tops of the tallest trees,
where curious boys and more curious
cats cannot get at them, while others are
under a clump of grass on the ground, as
the nest of the little brown bird who has
such dainty spotted eggs.

If I should undertake to describe all the

64 ^tnuntu of ti)t Evttu

delicate colours, shades, and tints of birds*
eggs, I would have to employ half the
painters' terms, which might confuse you.
Red and yellows do not occur to any ex-
tent in birds' eggs, but blues, greens, and
browns, and all the neutral tints between,
are used with the nicest art. One of the
most dainty colours on the painter's palette
is called robin's-egg blue.

One of the very first to sit is Mrs.
Woodcock, who is not particular about
her nest, and chooses almost any depres-
sion that is slightly hidden.

But the May days are not far advanced
when a dozen or more patient mother
birds are sitting upon their eggs, while
their mates sing through the morning
hours.

The most common of these are Mrs.
Robin, in her plain nest in the crotch of
an old apple-tree; Mrs. Bluebird, who is

Utttle Jl^omtu in tJje %ta\}tu 65

living this year in a deserted woodpecker's
hole ; which tenement has been entirely
rearranged to suit her own fancy since
the woodpecker family moved out;
Jenny Wren, in her nest among the
leaves of the woodbine ; Mrs. Phoebe,
comfortably installed in her plain house
upon a beam in the shed ; Mrs. Swallow
in her mud nest upon a rafter of the barn ;
Mrs. Oriole in her swinging nest in the
elm ; Mrs. Tanager occupying a less fash-
ionable nest in the hedge ; Mrs. Bobolink
in her grass home tucked under some bush
or stump ; and all the thrushes, living on
or near the ground. In all these pretty
little homes, warm mother hearts are
beating just above the eggs and the
birds are hoping that no evil will be-
fall them ; that the black snake and
the crow and the king-bird will not
discover their abodes, and that the

66 JEtnuntu of tfft JRvtm

"birds'-egg" boy will not come their
way»

Do you notice anything peculiar about
the song of robin or oriole this morning ?
It seems to me that it is fuller and more
exultant than usual. Perhaps something
is doing in the little nest, and he is telling
it to the world, that others may rejoice
with him, for his joy is almost too great
for his small breast to hold.

There he goes with a worm. Now
let's watch the nest and see if we can dis-
cover anything. Mrs. Robin has come
forth, and she would not do that if the
worm were intended for her. See ! look
quick ; there are four wide-open bills
thrust above the edge of the nest, and
there goes robin's worm, like a penny in
the slot. Now he is off for another. His
is the hungriest family I ever saw. He
will do little but bring worms all day

HfttU ^omtu in ttje Utai^tn 67

long, and at night those four gaping
mouths will come up as readily as in the
morning.

You would never know that Mrs. Blue-
bird's young family were bluebirds, for
they are black as coals. It is not until
they have been out of the nest for some
time that they put on any shade of blue.

Mrs. Towhee Bunting, also called
cheewink, is very much annoyed by the
cowbird, a lazy brown bird that inhabits
cow-pastures. This lazy bird will not
build a nest of her own, but lays her eggs
in the nests of her cousin, the cheewink.
Mrs. Cheewink always brings up the
orphan cowbirds as carefully as she does
her own, but she usually raises another
brood and hides her nest so skilfully that
the cowbird cannot find it.

I once knew of a cheewink who was
so annoyed at finding the cowbird's egg

68 ^tnantu of ttie tRvttu

in her nest, that she put a false bottom in
her nest and walled the cowbird egg in-
side, so that it should not hatch with
hers.

The night-hawk is not mindful of her
young, and she often lays her eggs on a
rock, with very little soft material under
them.

It would surprise you to watch a family
of young birds and see how fast they
grow. In two or three weeks first
feathers appear, and in as many months
they are shoved from the nest, never to
return.

One will often find in an old orchard
what the bird-student calls a robin-roost.
This is a favourite limb, where twenty or
thirty young robins all roost together at
night. There they will sit winking and
blinking, like a row of sleepy chickens.

Do the parent birds teach the young

aittle ^omt^ in ti^e Heatie^ 69

to fly, and other accomplishments that
are necessary to bird life ? Some natural-
ists say they do, and others that they do
not, but I incline to the former opinion,
else why does the father robin stand upon
a near-by limb, dangling a fat worm in
his beak, while the young stretch their
heads over the edge of the nest for the
prize ? Why is there such a chirping and
calling of the old birds and answering
peeps from the young, unless they are
trying in bird language to reassure the
fledglings, and coax them to make the first
attempt with their wings ?

The calling about a crow's nest is fairly
deafening when the young are learning
to fly. Even in the Scriptures it is writ-
ten, '* As an eagle stirreth up her nest, flut-
tereth over her young, spreadeth abroad
her wings, taketh them, beareth them
on her wings."

70 Ztnunt^ of ti^e artees

I wonder if my young reader has a col-
lection of birds' eggs nicely numbered and
lettered in his cabinet ; if so, here is a
thought for him to ponder when the
spring brings the birds back again.

Supposing there are one hundred eggs
in your collection ; one hundred less birds
sing to us and make the world glad. Im-
agine a tree filled with one hundred birds.
How bright it would be with their
plumage, and how your dooryard would
ring with the song of a hundred throats.
All this joy and gladness, these bright
coats and sweet voices, you have crushed
in the shell. Each time your hand stole
into the nest that was sacred to get an-
other egg for your collection, you took a
life that was precious in the eyes of God.

^ling:=fif)ot Cttne

fp LASHES a flame of gold and orange hy.

Dazzling the vision with its wondrous htie.
As though a lens shot all the sunlight through
Upon that form and dimmed the summer sky^
Or like a smith, with mimic hammer high.
Of rubies made, who from a rainbow drew
Showers of sparks ; thus when the oriole flew
His wondrous wings beat out such flames, the eye
Could only dream of him when he had flown.

V

SLING- SHOT TIME

IT is nesting time in Bird-land, but
sling-shot time in the world of the
enterprising boy, whose pockets are filled
with pebbles, and in whose hand is a
brand new sling-shot.

Now don't think for a moment, boys,
that I do not sympathize with you in all
the lawful sports that gladden a boy's
heart, — sports that make his eye quick to
see and his hand strong to act. But the
world is very large. God has made it so,
that there might be plenty of room for
you and your sling-shot and the birds and
their nests.

Did you ever try marking out a target
on the side of the barn, and shoot pebbles

73

74 tEtnantn of ti^e ^vttu

at that, in competition with a boy friend ?
It is good sport and quite as satisfactory
as shooting pebbles at every bird or
squirrel that comes near the house. This
is the way to make the target :

Mark out a circle four inches in di-
ameter, with a piece of chalk, then fill it
in solid white. This is the bull's-eye, and
counts five. About that draw a circle
eight inches in diameter. This is the first
ring, and counts four. Then outside that
another ring, twelve inches in diameter ;
this is the second ring and counts three.
Also make two more rings outside this
one, one sixteen inches, and the other
twenty. These count two and one, and
any stone that goes outside the last ring
does not count at all. Then stand ten or
fifteen paces away from the target and fire
ten shots each, and see which marks-
man can make the highest score. This

Slfnfl = sliot mmt 75

will hurt no one and will prove good
sport.

I do not think we usually consider how
much larger and stronger than the birds
and squirrels we are, when we hurl stones
at them. Supposing a giant as tall as the
maple-tree in front of your house were to
shoot a stone the size of a grindstone at
you, out of a mighty sling-shot, do you
not imagine it would hurt, if he hit you ?
Even if he missed and the great stone
whizzed by your head, would not your
hair stand up with fright ?

I remember as well as though it were
yesterday, the remorse of a small boy,
who threw a stone at a towhee bunting,
while on the way to school. The bunting
was sitting in an alder bush, cheerily
calling " Cheewink, cheewink'* to the
passer-by.

Now the small boy had no intention of

76 ^tn^ntu of ttie 2Ctreej5i

hurting the cheewink, but he was carry-
ing a fine round stone, that he had just
taken from the brook, in his hand, and
the hand let the stone go at the bunting
before the small boy knew what he was
doing.

There was a frightened twitter, a swish
in the bush, and the stone rolled away in
the grass. The boy peeped excitedly into
the bush, but no bird was to be seen.
Then he looked upon the ground beyond
the bush and saw two pathetic little feet
pointing up out of the grass at him.
*' You did this, you are a murderer,'* they
seemed to be saying.

The culprit did not wait to learn more,
but fled toward the schoolhouse, feeling
very sorry for what he had done. His
face was so red through the morning
lessons that he felt sure the teacher must
know he had done something naughty.

Sling :=sijot mmt 77

He missed words in the spelling class that
he knew quite well, so that altogether he
had a very sorry day of it.

He could hardly wait for the school to
close at night, that he might go back to
the scene of his crime and see if he could
find the wounded or dead bunting.

Stealthily he approached the spot and
peeped through the fence, but the accus-
ing feet were no longer thrust up through
the grass at him, and he does not know to
this day whether the bunting finally re-
covered and flew away, or whether some
small animal found the dead bird and ate
it. But in either case the act was thought-
less and wicked.

Tommy Andrews thought he was the
happiest boy in the whole world that
May morning, when his father put a new
sling-shot in his hand, and told him to
go out and amuse himself with it, but

78 ^tnuntu of tJif Evtt^

not to break the windows, or hurt any-
body.

Tommy went out to the driveway and
filled his pockets with small stones and
began throwing them at the barn. '' Zip,"
said the rubber; **Hum-m-m," said the
stone, and a moment later it would hit the
barn with a resounding whack. What fun
it was, and how Tommy would swell with
pride, when the stone struck the board
that he aimed at. He was a real David ;
if he only had a giant to throw a stone
at, what a hero he would be.

Just at that moment Chatterbox, the
red squirrel, ran out of the corn-crib,
carrying an ear of corn in his mouth, and
started along the wall for the woods.
*'Here is a mark,'' thought Tommy.
" Here is something alive, something that
will be afraid." " But father said not to hurt
any one," cried Conscience. " Pooh, a red

Slftifl = !5i)0t Zintt 79

squirrel ain't any one/' retorted Tommy.
" Zip," said the rubber. " Hum-m-m," said
the stone, and it struck upon the wall
close to poor Chatterbox, who dropped
his ear of corn and fled to the woods for
his life.

" Zip," said the rubber again,
" Hum-m-m," said the stone. But this time
it fell short of the flying squirrel, and
Chatterbox was soon out of range. " My,
wasn't that exciting," said Tommy. " I
wish I could see another squirrel, it's
great fun to see him scamper." But poor
Chatterbox was of quite another opinion.
He had been badly scared, but he did not
mind this. It was a great disappointment
for him to lose the ear of corn that he
had been to so much pains to get for
Mrs. Squirrel, who was very hungry and
poor with nursing her four baby squirrels.
All Chatterbox could take her after an

80 2renantf$ of tf^t SCvees

hour's patient search was a rotten apple,
from which she ate the seeds.

Tommy's bright eyes had barely lost
sight of Chatterbox fleeing along the
walls when he espied Baltimore oriole,
flying to the old elm with a long piece
of string dangling from his bill. He had
been searching for two days for just such
a string as this with which to hang his
nest from the limb he had chosen, and
was filled with joy at finding it.

Quick as a flash. Tommy slipped a
stone into the sling-shot. " Zip," said
the rubber. " Hum-m-m," said the stone,
and the frightened Baltimore oriole
dropped the string that had cost him so
much patient labour, and it was lost in the
bushes, and he was not able to find it
again, although he searched faithfully
while Tommy was gone to dinner.

Chippy, the pretty little striped squirrel

Sling ^ si^ot ffiitne 8i

who lived under the roots of the old elm,
was tired of his cold, damp hole, where
he had lived all winter long, and came
out to take the sunlight, and perhaps to
find a butternut with which to piece out
his pantry shelves, for food was getting
low. Anyhow, a butternut would taste
good ; he had not had one for months.

" Zip," said the rubber. " Hum-m-m,"
said the stone, and with a frightened
chirp, poor Chippy fled back into his
cold hole, and left all the sunlight for
Tommy, selfish Tommy.

The same evening, cockrobin perched
upon the old elm and began his twilight
rhapsody. His heart was almost bursting
with joy. Four eggs, as blue as the
heavens, had hatched that day, and cock-
robin was telling the good news to all the
world, that others might rejoice with
him. Rays of the setting sun fell aslant

82 tEmantu of ti^t JRvttn

through the branches of the elm full upon
cockrobin, making his bright breast to
glow like coals in the twilight fire.

"Zip," said the rubber. '' Hum-m-m,"
said the stone, and it flew straight to the
mark, striking innocent, joyous cock-
robin fairly upon the side of the head, and
turning his rich song into a squeak of pain.

He tottered for a moment on the limb,
then with a great effort flew away toward
the woods.

Just at the edge of the woods his wings
collapsed and he fluttered feebly to the
ground, staining the grass with drops of
crimson, brighter than his gay breast.
Here he lay for hours, unmindful of the
cold of the May night, or anything save
an aching head, that hummed and
throbbed just as a boy's head does when
he falls and strikes it upon the door-step,
or is hit by his playmate's bat. But when

Sling ::f$i^ot STime 83

the gray light of morning stole across the
fields, and the birds began to twitter in
their nests along the edge of the woods,
cockrobin aroused himself, and flew away
to the brook to bathe his bloody, throb-
bing head. He thrust it down into the
water many times, and the cool water
soothed the throbbing as long as he held
it under. When he had washed the
blood away, and made himself look re-
spectable, he flew home to his mate and
his little ones to tell them of his mishap.
But as he went he noticed that one half
of the world that had been so bright the
day before was black as night. He al-
most flew into an apple-tree before he
noticed it, for it was on his dark side.

The fact was, cockrobin was blind in
one eye, the stone from the sling-shot
having closed one of his bright eyes
for ever.

84 J!rfnant!5 of ttje Js:vtt^

Mrs. Robin was greatly grieved at his
mishap. She also had to bring all the
worms to the nest now. She was much
hindered in this task of feeding her
young, by stones from a tireless sling-
shot, that hummed about her whenever
she appeared in the road where worms
were plenty.

But Tommy was having great sport
with his sling-shot. His father had
merely told him not to break windows or
hurt anybody, and who ever heard of
calling the birds and the squirrels any-
body?

The following day cockrobin flew
down to the orchard to get away from
the whizzing stones and enjoy the sun-
light and sweetness of the May morning.

His head did not ache so badly this
morning, but the blindness on one side
made him very anxious. He was always

SUno^siiot mmt 85

afraid of running into something or
that some one of his enemies might
approach from that side and do him
harm.

But the sunlight and warmth and scent
of apple blossoms soon revived his spirits,
and he was singing softly to himself,
" Cheery, cheery, cheery,'' when a glit-
tering steely blue bird came sailing
noiselessly across the fields. The sun-
light fell full upon his bright back and
shining wings, and made him look like
a tinsel bird, instead of the cruel pigeon-
hawk that he really was. Usually cock-
robin would have seen him at once, he
was so bright and shining, but he was
approaching on the robin's blind side,
and the first warning of his coming that
cockrobin had was the swish of the
hawk's wings among the blossoms of the
apple-tree.

86 JEtnuntu of tlie STrees

With a frightened chirp the robin
spread his wings to fly, but too late.

The same instant the pigeon-hawk
buried his talons in his ruby breast and
flew away to the wood with him. From
the top of a beech the hawk sent down a
shower of bright feathers torn from cock-
robin's gay breast, and the old elm by
the farmhouse knew the sweet songster
no more.

Thus is the inquiry of the old nursery
tale brought back to us. ** Who killed
cockrobin ?'' Was it pigeon-hawk, who
found him maimed and helpless, or
Tommy, whose careless sling-shot first
blinded the robin and left him an easy
prey to all his enemies ?

9i ^tarlig|)t Cragetip

f^ AY crested tenant of the deep wild woods,
^^ Oft have I heard thee wake these solitudes
Where quiet loves to dwell, ivith lightning stroke,
Holding tvith clinging claw to elm, or oak.
Until the echoes of thy sturdy wJiacks
Gave back a sound, like to the tcoodmans axe.
While thou didst drive thy beak, with point like steel.
Deep in the wood to find thy morning meal.

VI

A STARLIGHT TRAGEDY

'' 'T^HE little brother to the bear/' as
several naturalists have so aptly
called him, came scratching down the out-
side of an old stub birch and alighted at its
foot. It was an old trick with him, for
the birch stub was hollow and its dry in-
side had been his home for two or three
years. So he had got used to this back-
ing out of his front door and sliding tail
first down his front walk.

The creature, who was about the size
of a small dog, weighing perhaps twenty-
five pounds, was not a bear, as you children
know bruin, but a large raccoon. His
habits are those of the bear, and as he
belongs to the family, it is quite fair

90 Etnnntn of ttje ^vttn

to call him the little brother to the
bear.

He dens up every autumn and sleeps
through the winter, living upon his fat
for several months, just as the bear
does.

His gait too, as he shambles along
through the woods, reminds one of the
movements of a bear, only he is rather
more agile and more stealthy.

Presently he came out into a meadow,
where a quiet little brook slipped gently
upon its way, winding in and out among
the meadow-grass, and about the feet of
tall willows.

This little stream was the favourite
haunt of the raccoon, for he is something
of a fisherman, and will eat almost any-
thing, if it has a fishy smell about it. In
fact, his Latin name means the Washer,
derived from his peculiar habit of tak-

^ StarUflJ)t ^vaatHs 9i

ing everything to the brook and washing
it before eating.

It was a very pretty face that was
mirrored by the moonlight in the little
brook. Cunning and roguishness, and
perhaps a bit of the bear's drollery were
its principal traits. About the end of the
nose was a white ring, and black rings
around each eye. His tail was also ringed
for nearly its entire length. There is but
one other North American animal who
enjoys this distinction of a ringed tail, and
that is the civet-cat of the Southwest.

Presently the starlight that fell across
the raccoon's shoulders showed him a
small moving object in the water.
Quickly and cautiously his paw went
down, and in another second a half-pound
sucker was flopping in the grass.

Mr. Coon broke the back of his catch
at a single bite and then leisurely ate his

92 ^tnantu of tl^e Zvttu

prize, all but the ofFal and head, which
he left in the grass.

This was all very good as far as it went,
but the coon was still gaunt from his
long winter's fast, and a meal of one
course would not satisfy him. A little
further on he poked out a fresh-water
clam, and breaking it open with his
teeth, scooped out its slimy contents.
Fish and clams were a good beginning,
but he must have warm blood before
he slept.

In a clump of alder bushes near the
brook he got a strong bird scent. It
must be on the ground and very near, for
it fairly ravished his nostrils. His habit
of blundering along was laid aside, and
he crept stealthily, almost foxlike, toward
his prey. It was from under an old log
that the scent came. He was just con-
sidering whether to try and creep nearer.

3HT HOUO^HT ^U a3JTeiHW >lDODaOOW A

92 JS^tnunt^ of tfte JCrrcs

prize, all but the offal and head, which
he left in the grass.

This was all very good as far as it went,
but the coon was still gaunt from his
long winter's fast, and a meal of one
course would not satisfy him. A little
further on he poked out a fresh-water
clam, and breaking it open with his
teeth, scooped out its slimy contents.
Fish and clams were a good beginning,
but he must have warm blood before
he slept.

In a clump of alder bushes near the
brook he got a strong bird scent. It
must be on the ground and very near, for
it fairly ravished his nostrils. His habit
of blundering along was laid aside, and
he crept stealthily, almost foxlike, toward
his prey. It w^as from under an old log
that the scent came. He was just con-
sidering whether to try and creep nearer.

WOODCOCK WHISTLED UP THROUGH THE
ALDER BUSHES"

or spring at once and trust to luck, when
a woodcock whistled up through the
alder bushes and whirred away into the
darkness.

Mr. Raccoon nosed along the edge of
the log, until the scent told him where
the woodcock had been, and then thrust
his nose into the nest. It did not contain
young birds, as he had hoped, but five or
six warm eggs. These he ate ravenously
and the setting was spoiled. Then he
crouched for awhile under the edge of
the log and waited for the woodcock's
return, but she had gotten a bad fright
and did not come back. It was lucky
that the raccoon had come in the night,
for the woodcock is more watchful at
night than by day, or she might have
been taken too. I have frequently had a
woodcock light upon the ground within
ten feet of me and stand winking and

94 lEm^ntn of tJie ^vttu

blinking for half a minute, before he
would make me out.

Finally the hunter got tired of waiting
and went in search of other game.

He crossed the meadow and climbed a
stone wall, close by an old apple-tree.
At the foot of the tree he stopped and
went carefully about it several times, snif-
fing critically. Then he went to another
tree and still another, going through the
same process, but finally came back to
the first tree. He seemed to be trying
to determine which one he wanted.

When he had satisfied himself that he
was right he began cautiously climbing,
going up a foot or two and then stop-
ping to snifF and listen. Once there
was a little squeak and a flutter. This
made him stop and keep very still for
several seconds. But finally he hitched
a few feet higher toward a large limb.

a Statlt0l^t STtafletfs 95

About six inches below the limb was a
round dark hole, three or four inches in
diameter. Toward this hole the raccoon
carefully wriggled, and with a sudden
stealthy motion thrust his pointed nose
into the old apple-tree.

There was a frightened squawk, and a
furious beating inside, but the struggle
was very brief, for in a few seconds the
relentless hunter pulled out a golden
winged woodpecker, and breaking her
neck at a single bite, dropped her, still
fluttering feebly, to the ground.

Then the inquisitive muzzle was again
thrust into the woodpecker's hole, but
the bottom of the nest was so deep that
he could not reach it.

But he wished to know if there were
fledglings, or eggs. So he thrust in his
paw and easily reached the bottom of
the nest. One by one he raked out the

96 JRtnant^ of ti^e tEivtt^

eggs, dropping them to the ground.
When he was sure that the nest was en-
tirely empty, he hastily slid down the
trunk of the tree to his late supper.

First he broke the eggs and licked up
their contents. Then he stripped the
gay coat from the yellowhammer and
deliberately ate her, crunching the bones
with keen relish.

As with the fish, he left the bird's en-
trails, and also her feet and beak, as too
coarse for the palate of a fastidious rac-
coon.

When the last morsel had been eaten,
and he had carefully licked every trace
of blood from his paw, he climbed the
wall and went home to his hollow birch
by a roundabout way.

It is merely upon circumstantial evi-
dence that I charge Mr. Raccoon with
the murder of Mrs. Golden-winged

Woodpecker, while sleeping safe and
snug, as she thought, in her well-protected
nest in the heart of the old apple-tree,
but I will give you each link in the
evidence and you can put it together for
yourself.

I was fishing along the little brook,
which was a favourite stream with me,
as well as with the raccoon.

I first noticed the tracks in the mud
along the brook and then the entrails of
the sucker, whom I identified by his
head, which the old epicurean had left.
Through the tall meadow grass I tracked
him as easily as though it had been in
snow, to the empty woodcock's nest,
where the egg shells had not yet dried.
Again the swale grass stood me in good
stead, for it was still pressed down where
he left a trail to the orchard. There at
the foot of the old apple-tree was seen

98 SCenants oC ttje 2Crers

the full measure of his crime, for golden
and black and gray feathers were scat-
tered about freely, and the two pathetic
feet of the woodpecker told their sor-
rowful tale.

Still more incriminating was bark,
torn from the tree, and claw marks
where the raccoon had climbed. Also
an occasional gray hair sticking in the
bark added its testimony to the guilt of
the accused.

This is the evidence upon which I
charge Mr. Raccoon, living at the time
in the old birch stub, in a neighbouring
sugar orchard, of murdering Mrs. Golden
Woodpecker, a peaceful tenant of the
old apple-tree.

If there be any defence for the culprit,
let us have it, that justice may be done.

" He was hungry and merely obeying
a law of nature," you say. He considers

the fish of the stream and the fowls of
the air his lawful prey. To sustain life he
sharpens his wits and practises patience
and cunning. He did not kill for sport,
as man frequently does, but for meat.

*' All other creatures do the same,"
you say.

The weaker animals are meat for the
stronger, and only the strongest of the
strong survive, in the battle for life.

Ah, Mr. Raccoon, we will have to
pronounce you not guilty of murder,
upon that score. You were merely
seeking your supper, like any other gen-
tleman. Go your way, but beware of
the trap at the edge of the corn-field, and
the hunters over the hill. A coon sup-
per may be planned in the autumn, and
he who dined upon Mrs. Golden-winged
Woodpecker may tickle the hunter's
palate.

jHucf) 911)0 Slliout jEotfiins

pATTER, patter, little feet.

In the morning cool and sweet.
Patter, patter on the wall.
In the treetops green and tall.
Chatter, chatter on the fence.
Just as though he was immense.
Chatter, chatter without scrimp.
What a gleeful little imp.

VII
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

/^NE warm May morning, when the
tender green mantle of spring-time
was being gently laid across the breast of
the old earth, and all the birds were
twittering softly to themselves because
they were so glad, I heard a great com-
motion in the old elm near the house.
It was not a song, although there were
many voices, but the noisiest medley of
squeaks, squawks, pipes, whistles, and
other sounds too queer to have a name.
All of the tones were very wheezy, and
some sounded petulant and scolding.

" The grackles have come," I said to
myself. " It must be a large flock. I
will go out and see." I found the old

103

104 tRtn^ntn of tftt Evttn

tree fairly black with them, a gay, noisy
colony. There must have been at least
five hundred in the flock, and as all were
talking and scolding at the top of their
voices, the din can easier be imagined
than described. I crept cautiously out to
the tree, and seating myself upon a root,
was an uninvited member of the black-
bird assembly.

The bright rays of the morning sun
fell full upon them, and they were as
gay a company as one would often see.
Their wonderful bottle-green heads and
necks shone like emeralds, and even their
black was as shiny as a new hat. They
seemed to be a very self-conscious crowd,
for they prinked and perked as they
scolded and chattered, until one could not
have told whether toilet or conversation
was the object of the meeting.

As I sat there under the old elm, with

JHttclft auro ^fiout TSTotfifnfl 105

the spring sunshine waking new joy in
my blood, an*^ the scent of lilacs in my
nostrils, the spirit of birdland came upon
me and I was able to see and hear as a
bird. Then in an instant all the croaking
and squawking above was plain to me and
I was one of the gay company.

" Keep your old tail out of my face.
There aren't any cobwebs in my eyes,
that I need my countenance dusted by
you."

"Take another limb then. There is
room enough in the tree for us all.*'

" Stop crowding I say. You'll have
me off. I've got as good a right as you.
How bright the sun is ! My, isn't it
nice to feel such beams again ! How
my muscles ache this morning. I'm
getting pretty old for such long flights."

" Hear grandpa. He says he's get-
ting old. His coat is rather dull. You'll

106 ^tnuntu nf ti)e Evtm

have to brush up your coat this year,
grandpa, if you want to get a mate."

" 'Tis getting pretty shabby," piped
the wheezy old grackle at the top of the
tree. ** I guess it don't make much dif-
ference whether I take a mate or not,
I'm so old," and the aged grackle settled
down into a dejected bunch of rusty
black feathers and was quiet.

At this point in the wild medley of
conversation a large and gorgeously dressed
grackle took a commanding position in the
tree, and cried, " Order, ladies and gentle-
men, order." In a very few seconds it
was as quiet in the tree as though there
had only been five blackbirds there in-
stead of five hundred. All the sound that
was noticeable was the occasional flutter
of a wing, as a bird balanced himself,
when the wind swayed his branch, or a
slight half-smothered squeak.

JEtttift ^iro ^liout ISTotiitnfl 107

When this silence had been maintained
for several seconds the splendid grackle,
who had called order, began speaking.
His voice was wheezy and asthmatic like
the rest of the family, but what he said
was quite plain.

" My friends,'' he continued, *' by the
authority vested in me for the past five
years " (here he swelled out his breast
and looked vain) " as chairman of this
goodly company" (squawks of ap-
proval) '* I call to order the tenth an-
nual assembly of Division Eighteen of
the North American Purple Crackles
Society."

" Good, good," cried several birds in
chorus.

" Order, gentlemen," piped the chair-
man. " Wait until I make a good point
before you applaud. There will be plenty
of chances later," and the magnificent

108 ^tnantu of tJie ^vttu

fellow spread one of his glossy wings in
the sunlight.

*'We have taken our northern flight
very leisurely this spring and have ar-
rived in fine condition, which is largely
due to my judgment, I take it."

" And good weather," squawked an old
grackle at the top of the tree.

** Don't interrupt me," snapped the
chairman in his most rasping tones, and
the offender looked very humble and did
not open his bill again for the entire
meeting.

" Three times upon the way have we
seen the fruit-trees blossom. Once in
New Jersey, once on Long Island, and
once here."

'' Where, where? " piped a score of birds
at once.

" Look yonder," returned the chair-
man, scornfully. I looked in the direc-

JWtttfi i«ro aiiottt tlSTottitnfl i09

tion indicated and saw that the pear-tree
by the barn had just come out that morn-
ing. Even at that moment a pufF of
spring wind wafted its fragrance to us.

" Good, good," cried the score of birds
who had cried, '* Where," a moment be-
fore. " Don't interrupt our chairman,"
and they looked about accusingly at their
neighbours.

" Now that our meeting is fairly open
and I have congratulated you all on our
safe arrival north, I call for our secretary's
report."

A very grave old blackbird then hopped
to the commanding limb occupied by
the chairman and gave the following oral
report.

" At our last meeting, which was held
about six months ago in this neighbour-
hood, our roll call showed five hundred
and twenty-seven members, in this divi-

110 srenants of tttt ^vtt^

sion of the North American Purple
Crackles Society. Since then we have
lost about fifty members. Some from
stress of weather, some from sickness,
while a few have strayed to other flocks.
We have spent a most prosperous six
months in Southern New Jersey, and are
returning to the north, which is our
breeding ground, with a firm determina-
tion to make our number one thousand
strong before we fly south."

" Good, good," cried a number of
voices. "We will," piped an old
grandpa, at the top of the tree. " Little
you'll do about it," squawked a dozen
young and gallant grackles. " Order,
gentlemen," piped the chairman. " Do
not interrupt your secretary."

" It is the opinion of all of our com-
pany that the libelous charges made by
many ornithologists, that the grackles steal

JHtttJi ^50 ilfmut t6<roti|(nfl in

the eggs and even eat the young of other
birds is hereby stoutly disputed as an in-
famous falsehood, that merely shows the
ignorance of the learned gentlemen. If
it is not too strong language, your secre-
tary hereby characterizes ornithologists
as red-nosed, goggle-eyed, old fools, who
couldn't fly if they had wings, and whose
eggs would not hatch even if they were
smart enough to lay them/'

This sally so pleased the female grackles
that their piping and squawking drowned
the voice of the secretary, and it was
several seconds before the chairman could
restore order.

" I appreciate your mirth, ladies,'' he
said, when he could make himself heard,
" but please be quiet."

"Although hardly a part of my report,"
continued the secretary, " I can inform
this assembly that our cousin redwing

112 Em^ntu of ti^e agrees

arrived in this vicinity yesterday. He
has taken up his quarters in the meadow
near by. He told me that our gay cousins,
Baltimore oriole and bobolink, told him
before he left that they intended to start
north in about two weeks if the weather
held good, so we can expect them in
about that time. This is the end of my
report. Now do what you please with
it."

On motion of the old grandpa at the
top of the tree, the report was unani-
mously accepted, and the piping and
croaking that recorded the vote were fairly
deafening.

" I have a matter of grave importance,''
piped the old grackle when the noise had
subsided. *' It seems to me that it is most
important that we go to some place that
will help our phthisic."

"Can't you ever learn to call it asthma.

JWttcti atro atiottt TSTotiftdifl ii3

grandpa?" asked a chorus of impatient
voices, ** it sounds so much better."

" It was phthisic, when I was hatched,"
squawked the old grackle, " and I guess
it is phthisic now. I don't see but we
are just as wheezy now as we were then.
For myself I want to see our voices im-
proved. I would like to see the family
ranked among the sweet singers. Why,
I think I could be a lark if I had the

voice."

This confession from the old grackle
brought a shout of mirth from the tree.

" Get an oil-can and oil grandpa's
throat," piped an old female grackle.

" Guess it would take more than that,"
said the chairman, gravely, when quiet
reigned again. " I am afraid that the
grackle family will never be called good
singers. We must be content with our
wonderful plumage, which I think I may

114 ^tnantn o( tf^t tRvttu

say without vanity is the finest in the
land/'

*' What of scarlet tanager ? '' piped some
one.

** His dress is too gay and gaudy/'
croaked the chairman with decision. '' He
is loud and not refined. The grackle is
the only tasty dresser in the bird family.
But I think we have discussed these and
other topics quite fully, and I now declare
the meeting adjourned and I will lead
you for a martial flight. Now mind and
don't crowd, and wheel when I give the
word. Ready, fly."

There was a whir of wings that made
the old elm fairly alive, as the black cloud
that cast a shadow on the ground rose in
air and flew away towards the meadow.
About twenty rods away they wheeled
suddenly to the right, and made for the
river, then they wheeled again and in

iWttcift ^no atiout :5<rotJitno 115

a few seconds were back in the old
elm.

" Bravo/' cried their leader. " When
we get our wind, we will be off for a
longer flight. I think I will take you all
up the river a mile or two to an island
where there is always a good supply of
weed seed this time of year. We can
make a good meal there. Are you ready ?
This is a longer flight."

*' Ready,'* piped a score of voices.
" Fly," shrilled the leader, and the black
cloud rose again, and with the whir of
many wings was off.

I strained eyes and ears after the flying
cloud, and as long as I could see them,
could hear the discordant piping. It was
a safe prediction that their chairman had
made.

The voice of the grackle never would
be musical. I was convinced of that.

Cfjattettjoi's i^istalie

^T^HE Grachles are here and that is quite clear.

The morning is ringing, — not with their singing.
But with their talking, they're 'piping and squawking
Some scandalous ditty, the more then's the pity.
The Grackles are here, thafs plain to your ear
And also your eye, for under the sky
Their bottle-green throats and dark purple coats
Are as fair as yoti'll find, to a tailor-bird's mind. —
But song, — what commotion, they haven't a notion.
Each harsh rasping iiote, it sticks in the throat.
For song we'll go then to an old Guinea hen.
She'll sing us Heydiddle to a broken-back fiddle.
But song do not tackle, you croaking old Grackle,

VIII
CHATTERBOX'S MISTAKE

/^ H E-atteratter-atter-chit-chee-e-e-e-e-
^^ Who-o-o- Do-o-o-o- I see-e-e-e, under
my tre-e-e-e—

The Chatterbox frisked frantically
about in the top of the old maple un-
der which I was sitting.

It always made him angry even to
have me walk through the woods. I
never molested him, or even returned
the bad names that he called me, but this
part of the woods was his particular prop-
erty and all trespassing was forbidden on
his premises. The red rascal's domain
consisted of about an acre of beech and
maple woods at the edge of the forest,
and also included the apple orchard near

119

120 tRtnuntu of tfie JS^vttn

by. He was a male squirrel, noisy and
combative, and the title to his strip of
woods had been gained by long occupa-
tion and many scrimmages with his fel-
low red-coats, not to mention the chip-
munk who always ran at his approach.

So you see, according to the ethics of
the woods, the Chatterbox was their
rightful owner and his title was fully
recognized as part of the unwritten by-
laws of the forest. So I really had no
right in his woods, although my neigh-
bours had placed certain boundary stones
and allotted to me the forest.

To-day I was doing more than tres-
passing, for I had presumed to sit under
one of the red rascal's trees, and, to add
to this great offence, was strumming on a
banjo.

Now, if the Chatterbox had been a
musician himself, like bobolink or oriole,

etiamrtiop^fii JHistafee 121

I should not have wondered at his rage,
but being a very noisy fellow, fond of fill-
ing the woods with discordant sounds,
he should have sympathized with me in
my musical efforts ; instead, however, he
took them much amiss.

One moment he would dash down the
trunk of the tree, within eight or ten
feet of me, as though he had a mind to
spring upon my head and eat me up ;
then he would frisk back into the top of
the tree again, all the time scolding
and barking at the top of his lungs.
His tail twitched, his head bobbed, his
eyes snapped, and altogether he was the
angriest bit of fur that ever raved
against the intrusions of man into the
forest.

Finally his curiosity got the better of
his rage, as it always does, and he came
down to within a few feet of me, and sat

122 ^tnantn of tJje STreesi

quietly watching and listening as I picked
the strings.

Hymns and soft low melodies seemed
to soothe him, and put him in a quiet
mood, but the gayer tunes set his little
feet to dancing and his tongue to scold-
ing and barking in the liveliest manner. I
imagine he thought the banjo was abusing
him when the notes fell thick and fast,
and so he scolded back, giving full meas-
ure for all he received.

When I stopped picking the strings
and drummed on the head, and whistled
in imitation of drum and fife he was all
attention. He cocked his head on one
side and hung intently on the notes, and
when the strain was finished, rushed up
the tree trunk, chattering gleefully. He
was not angry any more, but just happy.
There is all the difference in the world
between the scolding of a squirrel, and

eiftattetrtiors Mi^taUt 123

his gleeful chatter. His scolding is
harsh and spiteful, while his chatter is
noisy, but full of good feeling.

I took the banjo to the woods for sev-
eral days and finally the red rogue got
to like it better even than I did, for he
would scold, when I stopped for too long
a time.

I think that he considered me a sort
of " Pied Piper " and thought my queer
machine some kind of trap, for he was
always watchful and rather suspicious.
Maybe this was merely his wild instinct
that considered all men and all devices
of men harmful until they had been
thoroughly tested.

The birds were never attracted by my
playing, probably because they were
musicians themselves, so the Chatterbox
was my one regular listener during those
pleasant summer afternoons.

124 ^tnuntu of ttie Exttu

I could always tell him from his fel-
lows. He was larger than they, and his
face was quite gray, which I took to in-
dicate age, but wisdom and discretion I
do not think he ever possessed.

Our acquaintance had continued off
and on for nearly a month, when it was
cut short in a most unexpected manner.
At least, it was unexpected to me, but I
suppose the unexpected and the tragical
is the natural way of living and dying in
the woods.

My friend the Chatterbox was late in
coming to our trysting tree this day, but
at last I saw him, running at the top of
his speed. He was not racing along in
the top of the trees, as he frequently did,
but running on the ground, jumping
from point to point in a rapid, zigzag
flight.

At first I did not discover what made

€^utttvhov'n JttCstafee 125

him run in such a helter skelter manner,
but presently I noticed a small creature
of about his own size, following him
closely. The second comer was brown,
and from his swift gliding motion I
knew he was a weasel, even before I saw
his snakelike head. Although it was a
life and death game for the Chatterbox,
there was something in the gliding mo-
tion of the weasel that fascinated the red
squirrel, for occasionally he would partly
turn his head and watch his pursuer, and
the weasel always gained upon him at
these times.

Over logs and through bits of under-
brush, into deep bunches of ferns and
tangles of scrub hemlock they raced, the
squirrel fleeing wildly, and the weasel fol-
lowing relentlessly.

At last they came to within three or
four rods of where I sat, and the squirrel

126 JEtn^ntn of tt)e ^vttu

fled up a tall maple, the weasel following
ten or fifteen feet behind.

" Now you have lost him, you blood-
thirsty little wretch,'' I thought, for I
imagined that the Chatterbox would run
to the top of the tree, and then out on a
limb and jump to the ground.

The weasel would follow to the top
of the tree, but would not take the jump.
A red squirrel can spread himself out flat,
and, using his tail as a rudder, come down
easily and lightly from almost any height.
The weasel who is more rotund falls
heavily, and his tail is not bushy enough
to make it of any use as a rudder.

This would all have been as " easy as
rolling off* a log " had not the Chatterbox
lost his head just as he was at the point
of escape, and holed in the tree. A sec-
ond later the weasel flashed in after him.

There was a prolonged and frightened

"THE WEASEL APPEARED, BRINGING THE LIMP FORM OF
THE CHATTERBOX WITH HIM. "

etiattertiorJ5 JWistafte 127

chip-p-p- that ended in an agonized
squeak and all was still.

After about five minutes the weasel
appeared, bringing the limp form of the
Chatterbox with him. He dropped the
squirrel to the ground and then came cau-
tiously down, moving his snakelike head
from side to side whenever he stopped.
His chops were red with blood, and his
cruel glittering eyes were bloodshot.

At the foot of the tree he first noticed
me, and after viewing me intently, he
glided away into the ferns in search of
other victims.

I picked up the Chatterbox and saw
his throat had been slit, and his life blood
drained. There was no other mark upon
him.

But he was no longer the gay Chatter-
box, frisking and scolding, only a limp
little bunch of muscles and sinews. His

128 ^TenantfS of tiie ^vttu

coat was still beautiful, but the one thing
that made him interesting to me was
gone. His life had been taken for a few
drops of blood.

Clje iLittle iHocfemg astrti

TT is such fun down in the grass to lie
And feel the breezes as they gallop by.
And hear them stir the clover and the corn, —
It makes you feel real glad that you are born.

IX

THE LITTLE MOCKING BIRD

IT was luxuriant lying in the tall
meadow grass that enfolded one
like the arms of his mother. The blue
sky, in which there was no sadness, was
above, and the great heart of the old
earth was throbbing like a mighty engine
under me. The grass was cool and many
patterned, and in among its tangles was a
very busy world of ants and insects, all
working or eating as the mood seized
them. But the deepest joy of all was the
gleeful babble of the little brook that
prattled like a very happy child.

It gurgled and cooed, dimpled, smiled
and laughed, and suddenly, without the

131

132 Zmuntu of tftt screes

slightest cause, fell into a fit of melan-
choly just under a dark tangle of wil-
lows. It was not a weeping willow, but
one could hear half stifled sobs as the
brook slipped beneath its roots.

Is it any wonder that water is so often
used as the symbol of life and youth ?
De Leon spent a life-time searching for
the fountain of life, that he might bathe
in it, and put on abiding youth. We are
also told in holy writ of the great white
throne, and the fountain of eternal life.
The little child dabbles his hands in the
brook and laughs at the gentle lapping of
its current. Even the old wrinkled-faced
man cannot resist the childish inclination,
and he needs must trail his hand in the
water when the canoe glides smoothly
down the stream. How pure is this
symbol of life ! How clearly it reflects
the light of heaven ! Men cannot defile

2rj)e mmt m^tuina mvn m

it for long. Though they fill its current
with rubbish, the little stream will be as
pure and untainted the following day, as
though it had not been defiled. It can-
not contain grossness any more than the
spirit of love can entertain hate. All day
long it cleanses its heart that the stars of
night may behold their brightness in its
bosom.

There was a soft twitter in a deep
clump of alder bushes near by, and a mo-
ment later the full song of the hermit
thrush, joy-laden as the breath of morn-
ing and sweet as the notes of the flute,
floated out on the air. Again and again
the song was repeated, while I listened
breathlessly. I had never heard this rare
songster so near before, and the experi-
ence thrilled me with a poet's delight.
The song ceased and the very silence
seemed to be calling for more, when the

134 tEtnantu of tiie JEvttn

tender notes of the Baltimore oriole,
which is the true robin, stole out on the
morning stillness. Louder and louder
the song swelled, until I could imagine
the heaving breast of the songster under
his orange coat. For the space of thirty
seconds there was absolute silence in the
thicket, and then a song sparrow rattled
out a shower of notes, like the patter of
April rain, clear as a piccolo, and won-
derfully phrased.

Had all the birds of the countryside
congregated in this alder bush, just to
give me a sample of their respective
songs ? I was quite agreeable, so held
my breath and listened.

I could have tumbled into the brook
with astonishment when the lightning
crescendo of the bobolink, pure as the
clink of crystal, and rich as love's own
wordless ditty, fell like a rhapsody from

sue mnu i«ocfeinfl iSttU 135

heaven upon my astonished ear. Up and
down the scale he raced in mad ecstasy,
almost tearing his little heart out in his
vain attempt to express all that life, and
light, and breath of morning were to him.
It made me feel ashamed of my own shal-
lowness, and wonder if there were not
after all a world of joy in my very nostrils
that I was blindly unconscious of.

When gay Robert Lincoln ceased it
was as though a lamp of dazzling bright-
ness had been removed from a scene
dearly loved, and all was darkness.

I was too much entranced by this bird
chorus from the clump of alder to con-
sider its origin, but listened in stupid
silence, like a spellbound child.

What was that ! Could it be that here
in broad daylight, the soft and unutterable
evening prayer of the veery was falling
in notes as pure as dew drops or the tears

136 Etnuntu of tifte ^vttn

of angels ? This was no bird, but a spirit,
the soul of some departed saint, praying
in the bush. It was too pure for earth,
too deep for words, and was the mirage
of man's thought of God, his holy of
holies. At a touch, a gross suggestion,
it would vanish like the mists of morn-
ing.

Then there was a rustle and a flutter
in the bush, and the leaves parted to dis-
close the gray coat of a catbird, who bal-
anced himself upon a slender twig and
eyed me curiously.

" Mew-e-e Pew-e-e, Mew-e-e,'' he
called derisively. *' Mew-e-e, Pew-e-e,''
again and again, as though he thought
the joke too good to pass lightly by, and
would din it into my cranium that he
was just an ordinary catbird. Mew-e-e,
Mew-e-e, Pew-e-e.

^ Gentleman in Mut

Tp LY high, fly low, the breezes hloWy
The earth is green and sweet.
At the farmer's law we all say "pshaw.

For corn was made to eat.
Law, law, law, pshaw, pshaw, pshaw,
HoCy whoa, haw, caw, caw, caw.

Who gave the corn on earth's first morn.

Who brought the tassels out.
Who sheds the rain o'er mead and plain,

Until the stalks are stout?
At the farmer's law we all say pshaw.
Hoc, whoa, haw, caw, caw, caw.

X

A GENTLEMAN IN BLACK

A GENTLEMAN in black sat on the
top of a hemlock-tree at the edge
of the woods, watching a farmer who
was ploughing in a near-by field. It was
very pleasant for the old crow to behold
the farmer's industry. " For/* thought
the crow, as he sat upon his lofty perch
sunning, " ploughing means planting, and
planting means pulling."

The thought of fresh green shoots of
young corn so filled the black imp with
mirth, that he arched his neck and flung
his full-throated salutation across the
fields.

The farmer stopped his team to see
from what quarter so lusty a call came

139

140 Jl^tnantu of tfie ^vttn

and muttered, half angrily, when he saw
the crow :

" You old rascal, I will bet a dollar
you are watching me, merely to spy out
where I plant my corn, that you may
pull it. But have a care, I shall not let
you off as easily this year, as I did last.
If a scarecrow does not frighten you, I
will see what virtue there is in a shotgun/'

The old crow had been so intent on
watching the farmer that he did not
notice a very insignificant bird, who was
perched on a scrub apple-tree in the field
near by. Presently the little stranger set
up a great chatter, and started for the
hemlock where the crow was sitting.
Now to fly away from a bird so much
smaller than one's self was most cowardly,
so the crow hitched about uneasily on
his perch, but stayed where he was.

This just suited the chattering little

a ©entUman in iSlacft i4i

fury from the apple-tree and he flew
straight at the dignified gentleman in
black, picking at his eyes viciously.

*' Keep off," squawked the old crow.
'' I don't want you. I have half a mind
to kill you.''

" That's what Fm here for," chattered
the fury, and he flew at the crow again
and again, striking him upon the head or
back at each swoop.

Then the kingbird (or bee martin as
he is also called) was joined by his mate,
and they immediately made it so hot for
the poor crow, that he flew away at his
best pace and left the smaller birds mas-
ters of the field. This seemed to tickle
them greatly, and with endless chatter
they flew back to the apple-tree in the
mowing.

There is more audacity and clear grit
tucked away in that little bunch of

142 Etnuntn of tJie ^vtt^

feathers that we call the kingbird, than
in any other creature that flies.

I have frequently seen a kingbird, who
looked like the merest speck in compari-
son, chasing the largest hen hawk across
the fields at the hawk's liveliest pace.
He would dart at the larger bird as vi-
ciously as a bee, and occasionally, as though
to show his contempt for his great ad-
versary, would light upon the hawk's
back and peck away with might and
main at his head and shoulders. That
must have been a ride indeed, something
to remember and be proud of, — to sit
upon the back of a magnificent hawk and
drive him at will, while the old earth
dotted with farm-houses, and checkered
with grain fields, slipped by under one at
the rate of sixty or seventy miles an hour.
I doubt not, if the largest eagle that ever
spread wings should come his way, that

a eSrtntltmun in 39la^cite 143

this little terror would go after him as
fearlessly as he did after the hawk.

The discomfited crow who had been
forced to leave his watch-tower at the
top of the hemlock, by a pair of little
kingbirds, felt that his dignity had been
greatly hurt. His pride had been so
humbled that he was in very bad spirits.
But as good luck would have it, the very
first light that he made was in a tall
bushy-topped beech, where he discovered
an owl's nest. This at once put him in
good spirits, and he flew away calling for
his fellows at the top of his voice. The
crow loves to torment a hawk or owl as
well as the kingbird does a crow, and in
a very short time the trees about the
beech were black with them.

With his usual prudence, the sagacious
old leader posted two or three alert crows
as sentries in trees near by, that no one

144 Ztnantu of f^t JEvttn

might steal upon them at the height of
their sport, and the fun began.

First, they amused themselves by
merely circling about the tree, keeping
up such a cawing that the noise was al-
most deafening. But by degrees they
grew bolder, and occasionally a crow
would dart into the tree, where two
winking, blinking great horned owls sat,
guarding their nest from this noisy horde.

They did not much fear the crows, but
it was most annoying to have the quiet
of their home so invaded by such a noisy
company.

Finally the noisy gentleman in black
perched on a limb within six or eight feet
of the nest, and began deriding the two
yellow-eyed creatures.

" Ca-a-t-t-s-s- Ca-a-t-t-s-s- " he called,
his remark being intended to describe
the catlike face of the owl.

a (SimtUtam in ©lacfe 145

" Who, who ? " asked the owl, wink-
ing and blinking at the intruder.

"If I was an owl, with wings like a fowl,
And eyes like a bat, and a face like a cat,
I'd go to the brook ; with my beak like a hook,
I'd tear out my eyes, and change my whole guise.
Law, law, law ! Caw, caw, caw ! "

screamed the crow.

" Who, who, if I were you, the same I'd do.
But as all men know, a noisy crow is but a blow.
You, you, you,"

hooted the owl.

This retort so angered the clan that a
score of them settled on the beech and
cawed themselves hoarse, but the two
solemn owls made no reply.

At this point in the fun one of the
sentinels gave the signal of alarm, and
the entire clan flew away to another part

146 ^tnant^ of tfie 2Crus

of the woods^ the gentleman in black
leading the way

" What was it ? '* asked the leader, of
the sentinel, when the clan was again
quiet.

" A boy with a Thunder Stick," re-
plied the crow. *' I saw him just as he
began to creep up on us and gave the cry.
Perhaps he will find the owls' nest. He
will know surely that something was up,
for we don't have such a concert as that
every day. He will think it was a hawk,
or an owl if he isn't a fool. Guess he
wanted one of us to hang in his cornfield."

A few days later, the old crow was
again perched on his favourite limb in the
hemlock at the edge of the woods, watch-
ing the farmer plant his corn.

It took two or three days to plant the
entire field, and the crow was as much
interested in the process as the farmer'him-

^ ©entUman in mmU 147

self. When it had been completed the
gentleman in black flew away and told
the clan, and there was a great rejoicing
in the deep woods, the noise of which
could have been heard for a quarter of a
mile.

The following day the crow saw the
farmer do some very queer things, which
he did not quite understand.

He had brought a lot of small poles in
the wagon, and these he stuck in the
ground at regular intervals along the
edge of the field. When the poles were
all planted, he fastened string from one
to another until the field was entirely
fenced with string.

•* O, ho," chuckled the crow. " Does
he think it will keep us out ? We can
fly either over or under it, just as though
nothing were there.'' But it looked quite
queer to see a field fenced off with string

148 ^tn^ntu of tifte 2Crees

and the cautious leader was rather sus-
picious.

Then the farmer drove a stake about
six feet high at one corner of the field,
and nailed another shorter stake across it,
about four feet from the ground.

Next he pulled some straw, and some
black looking things from a bag, and al-
most before the crow had guessed what the
farmer was doing, the cross-like stake had
been changed into a queer-looking man,
but his insides were nothing but straw.

When the farmer had stuffed out the
man good and round, and had put a hat
on his head, he looked quite like another
farmer, whom the first farmer might
have got to stand in the corner of the
field, and keep the crows away. But the
gentleman in black knew it was all a
trick, for he had seen the man made.

When the farmer had gone home^ the

a ffientUman in matU 149

crow flew down and critically examined
all that he had done. He was quite
cautious at first, but finally was so sure
that the man was only a trick that he lit
on one of his shoulders, and pecked at
his straw face. If the farmer could have
seen the old crow pecking the eyes out
of his scarecrow an hour after he had set
it up, he would have felt very cheap, and
his respect for the crow would have been
greatly increased.

After about ten days, the leader reported
to the clan that the corn was up, and they
settled on the field one morning, and made
sad work with several rows. The farmer
discovered it the same day, and the fol-
lowing morning was in waiting with the
Thunder Stick.

He had often read that the crow could
count, so thought he would test his power
with figures.

150 ^tnantu of tiie Evttu

He made what is called a blind. This
was done by cutting three or four small
pines or hemlocks, and sticking them up
in the ground side by side. This made a
screen behind which he could hide.

First he took one hired man with him,
and both went into the blind. After a
few moments the hired man went away
to a different field, and left the farmer
with the Thunder Stick.

The crows were watching them from
the woods, and saw two men go into the
blind and only one come out ; so they
knew that the other was waiting there
to do them harm, and they did not go
to the field.

The farmer knew by this that they
could count two. So he got two hired
men and the three went into the blind,
two going away after a few minutes, as
the one had done before : but the crows

a <ffientUtnan in mmU i5i

still stayed at the edge of the woods, and
the farmer knew that they could count
three.

Then he took three men, and the four
went into the blind with no better suc-
cess. The crows could also count four.

Finally he took four men and the five
went into the blind, four going away after
a few minutes, as the three had done.

After a noisy consultation the old
leader of the clan flopped down into the
cornfield, and the farmer knew that they
could not count five and he had tricked
them at last.

" Bang,'' went the Thunder Stick, and
its echo rolled away to the woods. The
clan flew away in every direction, but not
so the gentleman in black. He started
to fly, but one of his wings crippled
under him, and he flopped helplessly
upon the ground.

152 H^tnantu of tfft ^vttu

" O, ho, my fine fellow," cried the
farmer, " so you will pull my corn will
you ? I will teach you better."

At first he thought he would wring
the crow's neck and hang him in the
field, but a better thought came to him.
So he fastened a piece of wire to the
crow's leg, and then tethered him with a
long string. This left the crow free to
flop about for a rod or two, but he could
not fly away to the woods with his
fellows.

The farmer's plan worked like a charm,
for whenever the captive crow saw the
clan coming his way, he at once gave the
danger call, and they always flew away.

A month dragged slowly by, and al-
though the crow was still a captive, yet
he was treated very well for a thief. The
farmer occasionally threw him a handful
of grain, and this, with what he could

HE FELL UPON THE WOULD- BE LEADER, BEAK AND CLAW

m eitntUmun (n 33lacfe i53

pick up within the length of his cord,
kept him fairly well.

At the end of that time the corn was
four or five inches high, and the farmer
did not fear the crows any more.

So one morning he untied the cord
from the captive's leg, and gave him a
toss into the air.

The crow had been merely winged,
and the broken end of the feathers had
grown out enough during the month of
his captivity, so that he could fly fairly
well.

He made all haste to the woods, where
he found the new leader of the clan sitting
on his particular hemlock. At the sight
of the one who had dispossessed him, a
great fury seized the gentleman in black,
and he fell upon the would-be leader,
beak and claw ; and clawing, pecking and
cawing, the two went tumbling down

154 ^tnuntu ot tttt ^vttu

through the limbs of the hemlock, and
landed in a black heap at the foot of the
tree.

In the very first round of the scrim-
mage, the old crow picked out one of
the eyes of the new leader, which dis-
qualified him for leadership. So the in-
dignant crow did not punish him further,
but flew away to find his clan, well satis-
fied with the way things had turned
out.

When it was learned how he had
worsted his rival, he was at once reinstated
as leader, and he led the clan wisely for
many years ; but his disgruntled rival was
chased out of the vicinity and never al-
lowed to return.

It is needless to say that the old crow
gained wisdom during his month's cap-
tivity in the cornfield, and although he
permitted the clan to pull corn, he would

§L URtntUman in mutU 155

never accompany them on any of these
expeditions.

" My wings and tail feathers are too
valuable to be pulled out by hailstones
from the Thunder Stick," he would say,
when rallied about his fear of the farmer.
" You gentlemen may all go, but don't
blame me if you do not come back.'*

Jeter's Olooti jTortune

^ LITTLE home within a tree.
And yet it held a world of joy.
Until there came a thoughtless hoy
And left a trail of misery.

XI

PETER^S GOOD FORTUNE

T ITTLE Peter lay in a snow-white
-■"^ cot in a long white ward of the
children's hospital. His wan face was
only a shade or two darker than the pil-
low upon which it lay. It was a thin little
face pinched by want and suffering, and
a mere shadow of what it should have
been. His eyes were sunken, and one
wondered as he gazed into their sad wist-
ful depths, if they had ever danced with
joy, in the child's whole life, which,
judging from his size, was about seven
years. It might have been more, how-
ever, for city children are often dwarfed
by bad air, and poor nourishment, until

169

160 tEm^ntn of titt ^vttn

their age can not be accurately told by
their size.

When they asked him at the hos-
pital how old he was, he did not know.
Father and mother he had none, and his
home had been the city streets. Any old
box or barrel that would hold a dog was
good enough for him.

By rare good luck, Peter nau been
knocked down by a fashionable team the
week before, and he now had a sweet
clean bed to sleep in, and plenty of good
food to eat.

He loved to lie quietly and watch the
nurses, as they glided noiselessly up and
down, ministering to the little sufferers.
They had such kind faces that it made
Peter's heart glow just to look at them.
Somehow his idea of the world had
greatly changed since he came to the
hospital. Before he had thought it a

pmrs CKootr iFottune lei

very cold hard place. The only people
who had noticed him, were hurrying,
bustling men and women, who told him
to get out of the way, or burly policemen
who advised him to move on. Like
Dickens's Joe, in '' Bleak House," he had
longed for some place where he would
not have to move on, and he had found
it at last, in the children's hospital.
Here he could lie very quietly, and be
quite happy with his broken leg.

When the nurses or the doctor asked
him how he was, he always said, " Very
well indeed, ma'am,'* at which they
smiled, and looked pityingly at his
pinched face, and great sad eyes.

Six weeks went by, and although the
leg was doing nicely, yet the patient little
fellow that they called number seventeen
still looked as though a good breath
would blow him away. He was per-

162 ^tnantu of tJ)e Evttu

fectly happy and contented, but he had
no desire to move about like the other
children who were getting better. Peter
was certainly getting better, for he told
the doctor and the nurses every day that
he was.

But they thought differently, so one
day they told Peter that he was to go into
the country for the summer, and get
some tan on his face and some roses in
his cheeks.

He did not know what that meant, but
as they were very good to him at the
hospital, he thought it must be for his
good, and quietly consented.

So one day after taking a heart-break-
ing farewell of his nurses, Peter was
wrapped in a blanket, and strong arms
bore him to a carriage in waiting,
which rolled rapidly away, across the city
to the depot. Here he was placed in

a^ettr^s ©ootr jFotrtune i63

an easy position, where he soon fell
asleep.

Peter never could tell just where he
went, or how he got there. He was so
tired that he slept nearly all the time, but
finally he remembered being laid in a
little bedroom, and the next thing he
knew it was morning in the country, and
a breeze, sweeter than anything he had
ever smelled before, was blowing in
through the open window.

He was just wondering where he was,
and how long he had slept, when the
door opened, and a motherly-looking
woman, with a bright face, and a cheery
voice, entered.

" How are you this morning, my little
man ? '' she asked, laying her hand upon
Peter *s head. There was something in
the touch that brought a great lump into
the boy's throat ; he had never felt a

164 ^tn^ntu of ti^e E^vtm

hand like that before, but he cleared his
throat and answered with his usual cheer-
fulness :

" Much better, ma'am. I think I will
be well to-morrow/'

The lady laughed and told Peter that
she thought he would, either to-morrow
or the next day, and they were the best
of friends from that hour.

" Did you make them beautiful red
things along the edge of the window?''
asked Peter, pointing to the open win-
dow through which the morning sun was
streaming.

** I don't see any red things," replied
the lady. " Where, child ? "

" Why, all along the edge of the
window. Don't you see them flop-
ping around when the breeze hits
them?"

" Why, child, those are roses. Don't

^tttv'u (Kootr iFortune i65

you know what roses are ? Didn't you
ever see any before ? ''

'* Yes," replied Peter, " I had some
given to me one day by a beautiful lady
who came into the hospital, and I
thought she made them herself; but
they didn't have any bush to them."

" No, they were broken off like this,"
replied the lady, and she went to the
window and pulled off the very largest
one, which she gave Peter.

Peter caught it from her hand with a
cry of delight, and buried his nose in the
sweet petals.

Then a disturbed look came into his
face.

** Didn't it hurt, when you took it ?
When I was first sick, the doctor used to
pull my leg and it hurt awfully, and he
didn't pull it off either."

" No, I guess it doesn't hurt," said the

166 ^muntu of tiie Evtm

lady smiling. ** Anyway they would
wither up, and die in a few days/'

" What a pity," said Peter, " that any-
thing so beautiful should die."

" I've brought you some milk to
drink," said Peter's new friend. *' I
want you to drink lots of milk every day
and get strong."

Peter took the mug, but looked doubt-
fully into its contents. " That ain't so
blue looking as our milk," he said. " I
guess it is a different kind."

*' I guess it is too," replied the lady.
" That is right from the cow."

" Then that's the reason," said Peter re-
assured. " Milk in the city all comes
out of cans, and of course that would be
different from milk out of a cow, but it
is good."

You would have been surprised to have
seen how the milk from the cow, and fresh

J&tttv^u (Koolr iForttttie i67

laid eggs, together with the sweet breath
of the country air, put roses in Peter's
cheeks, but it was not until he got out of
doors, that the tan of which the doctor
had spoken appeared.

He was the happiest child imaginable
when he could sit by the open window
and look out. "Whew," he cried, half
to himself and half to the good lady
whom he had learned to call Aunt
Ruth. " I guess you people must be
awful rich. Richer'n any one in New
York.''

" Goodness, child," exclaimed the lady,
" I guess you are mistaken in thinking
that. We don't owe any one, and that is a
blessing, but we ain't rich. Why, we
would be called just comfortable in the
country."

" How can you afford so much of it ? "
then asked Peter doubtfully.

168 ^tnantu of tfft STrns

" What, child ? We don't own any-
thing extravagant that I know of."

'' Why, the grass," said Peter, " it's
awful expensive. Why, the richest folks
in New York don't have only a little
piece as big as this room. They can't
afford it.''

Aunt Ruth laughed until her sides
ached. ** Grass don't cost much of any-
thing in the country," she said ; *' it just
grows, that's all."

" My, but that must be awful nice,"
cried Peter, taking a deep breath of the
fragrant air. " If I ever get to be a man
I am going to live in the country.
Where does your cop live. Aunt
Ruth?"

** Cop, child ; are you flighty ? See
here, let me feel of your head. You are
getting along fine and I don't want you
to go to getting a fever. Your head is

^tttv'^ esootr iFortttiie i69

cool as a cucumber, Peter. What put
that cop notion into your head ? It gave
me an awful start/'

" I didn't mean to scare you," returned
Peter sorrowfully, " but I thought sure
you would have to have a cop ter keep
the people off the grass, you have got so
much of it."

" 'Twould cost ten times more than
'twas worth," said Aunt Ruth. '' Grass
is just grass in the country, and it grows
everywhere, and people don't think of
telling people to keep off it, without it is
newly seeded."

Peter did not know what that meant,
but somehow he couldn't separate the
idea of grass from great wealth, and he
sat pondering in silence for several min-
utes. Then he happened to look out at
the sun that was just peeping around the
corner of the house. " I guess that's a

170 Etnuntu of tf)f tEvttn

different sun from what we have down to
New York, ain't it?" asked Peter.

" I never heard that you had a different
one," replied the lady. "I didn't know
that God had made more than one for
these parts."

" Well, it looks different, anyway,"
said Peter stoutly. " This sun is a good
deal bigger and brighter, and he looks
jolly and laughing, and our sun looks
sorter pale and as though he was going to
go out."

" I guess the New York sun has got
about tired of trying to get through the
smoke and dust," said Aunt Ruth. " It
must be mighty hard on him to have to
send his beams way down in between
them tall buildings.*'

" Aunt Ruth," said Peter the follow-
ing day, " there is one thing that I want
to do awful when I get out doors, but I

^tttv'u ©foolr iFortune i7i

don't want to do anything to make Uncle
Ephriam mad, he is so good. I think it
would help to make me well."

" What is it, child ? '* asked Peter's new
friend.

" Why," replied Peter hesitatingly,
" I am afraid Uncle Ephraim wouldn't
like it, but if I could just roll in the
grass out in the lot here, when I get out,
I know I should be well in a minute. It is
so fresh and green, but I am afraid it would
cost too much and you are so good to me."

Aunt Ruth turned away that Peter
might not see the tears in her eyes and
Peter's face fell. He had asked too
much and the kind lady had turned her
back on him.

" O, never mind. Aunt Ruth," he said
quickly, " I guess if I just look at it that
will be enough."

" Peter, child," said Aunt Ruth, laying

172 ^tnant^ of tiie Evtt^

her hand on his head in that way that
always made a lump come into the boy's
throat, " when you get out doors you just
take the ten acre lot and roll from one
end to the other, and if you lop down
every spear of grass in the whole lot, I
shan't care a cent, and if Uncle Ephraim
says anything about it, why I'll send him
to bed without his supper."

They both had a good laugh at the
idea of Uncle Ephraim's going to bed
without his supper, and Peter looked
forward more than ever to the day when
he should get out of doors.

The following day he surprised Aunt
Ruth even more than he had by asking
about the cop.

" Aunt Ruth," he said, when she had
made him comfortable for the morning
on the porch, ** do you and Uncle Eph-
raim keep angels ?"

J&tttv^u (ffiooti iFortune 173

"Land of liberty," said that good lady,
dropping her dish-cloth in her excite-
ment, " what funny ideas you do get into
your head. Now what got you that silly
notion ?"

" Why, I can see some from right here
where I am sitting," replied Peter.

" Well, well, I guess I had better come
and look right off. I haven't ever seen
an angel myself and I would like to know
what they look like.''

Peter pointed with his finger to a dis-
tant hillside, and Aunt Ruth laughed
merrily.

" Why, those are sheep," she said.
"Don't you see they haven't any wings?"

"That is so," said Peter, "but they
are white as snow and I thought perhaps
their wings would grow ; maybe they
were just horned."

Flowers were a passion with Peter and

174 t!lmantu of tJje ^vttu

he would talk to them for an hour at a
time. He had quaint names by which
he always called them.

Daisies were stars and pansies were
faces. Morning-glories were trumpets
and lilies were nice ladies. Dielytra was
earrings and peonies were redheads.
Dandelions were goldenheads and the
buttercups were yellowfaces, while the
queer Jack-in-the-pulpit was the little
man in the box.

Birds and squirrels also filled him with
unspeakable pleasure, and he would as
soon have thought of throwing a stone at
Aunt Ruth as at one of them.

The wind that whispered in the tree
tops and the little brook that laughed
through the meadows were his soul's
delight.

" How clean and pure everything is in
the country. Aunt Ruth," he said. " I

^tttv'^ CSootr iFortune 175

should think everybody would want to
be good here so as not to spoil all the
beautiful things that God has made.
Seems so God must have spent a pile of
time making the country. He made it a
good deal better than he did New York.''

" Man made the city, Peter, and God
made the country ; that is the difference,'*
said Aunt Ruth, and Peter pondered on
what she had said.

One day in midsummer, when the
crutches had been thrown away and
Peter was nearly well (although he still
limped a little). Aunt Ruth proposed
that he pick a box of flowers and send to
the hospital, where there were still many
little sufferers.

Peter at once set to work. He was
glad enough to do anything for these
children, whom he remembered well, al-
though his new life in the country had

176 Zmant^ ot titt tRvttu

nearly driven all thoughts of the city from
his mind.

There were six bouquets packed away
in the box that was finally sent, and a
little note from Peter went with each
one. Aunt Ruth wrote the notes for
him, and he was very proud when all was
ready and Uncle Ephraim took the box
to the depot.

The first was a bunch of buttercups
and daisies with the following note :
" For number eighteen, the little girl
with a broken hip who was next to me.
These are stars and yellowfaces. God
made 'em and he made us all. I hope
you will see the country before you go to
heaven."

The next was just dandelions with the
following : ** These are for the little
baby who had his throat cut open and an
iron put in. I thought he would like

^tttv'u ©ootr iFottttue i77

them because they are bright. I wish he
could hear the lambs bleat. I know it
would make him well."

Then there was a bunch of violets tied
with a bit of pink ribbon and this mes-
sage. " Little faces that grow down by
the brook. It is an awful jolly brook,
full of bright pebbles, and it is always
laughing and singing. I wish it ran
right through the hospital."

Then there were two other bouquets
with pleasant childlike greetings from
Peter to the little sufferers, and finally a
large bunch of lilies, which Peter de-
scribed as fine ladies, for the nurses who
are so good to poor little children in St.
Luke's Hospital.

" Now who shall I say it is from ? "
asked Aunt Ruth, when the box had been
tied with a strong string and it was ready
for the address.

178 J!^tnantu of tt|t ^vttu

"From Mr. Peter — " Peter's face
fell. The endearing names of father and
mother he had never known. The alley
had been his home, and a box or barrel
his bed. Two great tears welled over
his eyelids and rolled down his cheek.
" Just Peter Nuthin'/' he sobbed.

Aunt Ruth put her arms about him
and drew him into her maternal lap.
'' Don't cry/' she said, " I didn't think
when I asked you."

" Now I'll just tell you what I am go-
ing to do. Ephraim and I have been
talking it over and we are about decided.
I am going to put it Peter White.
That's our name, and that means you
are to stay right here and be our boy as
long as you live."

Peter thought his heart would burst
with joy when he fully understood it all,
but the lump in his throat was so large

^tttv'n Cfoolr ifovtunt 179

that he could only hug Aunt Ruth and
sob.

He was not Peter Nuthin' after all, but
Peter White, and as he looked at his own
name written on the box in large letters,
he was the proudest and happiest boy
in the whole world.

jfUr'Cf)atjrieto

/I LITTLE bird comes peeking at the 'pane.
His toes are cold out in the sleet and rain.
His coat is slight, though well it fits his form,
Poor little stranger in the driving storm.

There's but a pane of glass 'twixt him and you

And he is hungry, if you only knew,

A bit of bread, O such a tiny mite.

Would keep him warm all through the winter's night.

He's pecking still to make you look his way,
I'm hungry, sir, his manners plainly say.
He only asks the crumbs upon the floor.
You will not turn him hungry from your door.

When he has supped, perhaps he'll sing to you.
His song is slight, but it is brave and true.
He'd sing you more, but it is all he knows
And it is hard to sing with such cold toes.

XII

FUR THAT FLEW

TX 7HEN I was a lad of some seven
summers, I left my own home for
a short time and went to spend a winter
with my grandfather and grandmother,
who lived in a neighbouring town.

My grandmother was a great lover of
all small creatures, and it was her particu-
lar delight to feed the birds and squirrels
in the winter time.

Some pieces of meat nailed to the
piazza posts and a box of corn and grain
in the wagon-shed gave me a rare oppor-
tunity to study the winter birds and the
squirrels, who were only too glad to par-
take of grandmother's bounty.

On warm days I went with my grand-

183

184 ^tnuntn of f^t ^vttu

father into the woods where he was log-
ging, and I shall never forget the spectral
beauty of the snow-bound forest in the
dead of winter.

Some days the fir-trees would be bowed
down almost to breaking by a heavy fall
of new snow. Great masses of blue-green
needles would be capped and gowned
with spotless ermine.

When the wind rustled through the
branches, showers of tiny crystals would
come sifting down, sparkling and glitter-
ing in the sunlight. You wondered what
the mysterious mound of snow under the
spruces was, until you saw a bunch of
bright laurel leaves pricking through.

Everywhere there were tracks, — tracks
large and small, some made by padded
feet, and others scraggly and angular.
The problem always arose as to just what
animal or bird made the track ; which

iFttt 2rj|a^t iFleto i85

way he was going, and what his errand
was.

In many cases there were unmistakable
evidences of murder, which, by the way,
is lawful in the woods, especially if one
is hungry. All the way from the poles
to the tropics the cottontail, who is one
of the prettiest creatures in the woods, is
food for other and larger animals. The
lynx, the wildcat, the wolverine, the
martin, the weasel, and many varieties of
foxes, all prey on the poor cottontail, who
thrives and multiplies in spite of his
many enemies.

One day my grandfather came home
from the woods bringing something in
his mittens. He held each mitten by
the wrist and there was a wiggling and
squirming going on inside.

He told me to go to the attic for an
old squirrel cage, and when it had been

186 Ztnantu of tfie Zvtm

made ready he pushed into the cage as
pretty a pair of flying squirrels as ever
made a boy's eyes dance. I did not even
know what they were until I was told,
for they were quite different from any
squirrel that I had ever seen.

They were a little darker than the ordi-
nary gray squirrel, with broad bushy tails.
Their heads were rather small, with beau-
tiful soft eyes that seemed made for twi-
light rather than day. But the queerest
thing of all was a skinny membrane
stretching from the fore to the hind leg.
This membrane was spread out and very
much in evidence when the squirrels
flopped down off their wheel into the
bottom of the cage. When they at-
tempted this feat they looked very
much like bats. I named them Dick and
Dixy and guarded them as I did my
eyes.

iFttt m^t iFUto 187

During the daytime my pets were very
quiet little bunches of gray fur. The
bright light was evidently too much for
their dreamy eyes, so they kept them
closed against it, and put in the time
sleeping. But when twilight came, all
their natural frolicsomeness was let loose,
and for an hour or two they would make
the cage fairly hum with their capers and
pranks. But they did not like such close
quarters, and could not show off in the
cage to any advantage.

They were very fond of all kinds of
nuts, especially peanuts. Corn and other
grains were also to their liking, but when
they could not get these they were quite
content with a hard bread crust.

When spring came and the birds and
squirrels outside were rejoicing with song
and chatter, it seemed so cruel to keep these
two frolicsome creatures captive that I let

188 ^tnantu of tftt Evun

them go into the maples that lined the
roadway in front of the house.

I opened the cage door at the foot of a
tree and Dick shot up the trunk like a
flash. Dixy was not long in following,
and then they gave me as pretty an exhi-
bition of their powers of flying as one
could well wish.

When nearly up to the top of the tree
Dick ran out on a limb and sprang into
the air, spreading his parachute as he fell.
Down he came, as easily as a leaf, but
much quicker. He struck upon the
trunk of the next maple in the row, and
almost before I had time to see how it
was done was scurrying up the tree. He
had barely alighted when Dixy came
sailing after him, and she gave him a
lively race to the top of the second tree.

I noticed that always, just before they
struck, the forefeet were deflected up.

"DOWN HE CAME AS EASILY AS A LEAF.

iFur STJiat iFleto i89

This gave them a little upward motion
and greatly broke the shock of the long
swift slide from the top of one tree to the
bottom of the next.

Each time they struck I could hear the
pat of their feet. It was for all the world
like sliding down hill, and a great deal
easier it seemed to me. The tree was the
hill which they climbed each time they
coasted.

I watched them going from tree to
tree until they were out of sight, and
then heaved a deep sigh. They were
gone, the deep woods would claim them,
and I should see them no more. It was
too bad.

But this time I was mistaken, for the
graycoats cared more for their friends in
the farm-house than I had thought.
They were gone for two or three days,
but you can imagine my astonishment

190 arenantis of ti)e Evttu

one evening, just at dusk, to see them
coming back, chasing each other along
the maples just as they had gone.

I got a generous supply of corn and
placed it by the big maple in front of the
house, and they repaid me for my kind-
ness by making the tree their permanent
home. The old maple was hollow near
the top, and here they made their nest
and rarely went further from home than
the end of the row of trees.

I was never tired of watching their
twilight game of tag, but rarely saw them
during the day unless I knocked on their
front door. If one drummed on the
trunk of the tree with a stick the squir-
rels, who were quite curious, would al-
ways poke their heads out of the hole at
the top of the tree to see who was knock-
ing.

I used to call them out frequently this

iFut ffiJiat iFletu i9i

way to show them to the boys in the
neighbourhood and it was the knowledge
of this pecuHarity of the flyers that led to
their undoing.

In April or May Dixy became very
shy and was rarely seen in the tree-tops.
By midsummer she explained her stay-at-
home habit, by bringing out a family of
young squirrels and exhibiting them for
our special benefit. They were not en-
couraged to attempt flying until they were
nearly grown, which was in the early
autumn. Even then the cat got one un-
fortunate youngster who missed his aim
and struck upon the ground. He tried
hard to get back into the tree, but the
cat was much quicker on the ground than
he. She was also too quick for me, and
escaped under the house with her victim.
There had been seven young squirrels in
all and this left an even half dozen.

192 Etnuntn of tJie ^vttn

When the entire squirrel family were
playing in the maples at twilight it was a
lively scene.

Just before Christmas, when the first
snows had come, I went home for the
holidays, and when I returned the gray-
coats were all dead. They had been
murdered in cold blood by a thoughtless
boy with a new gun.

He had happened by the house with
his new fowling-piece. As the birds had
nearly all gone south, and most of the
squirrels were in their winter quarters,
there was not much to shoot at, and his
finger fairly ached to pull the trigger.
At least this is the only excuse I can
make for such a wanton act. In an evil
moment he remembered the squirrel fam-
ily that I had shown him in the big maple
the summer before. Seeing that my
grandfather and grandmother were gone

iFttt Srtia^t iFltUi 193

and the house locked up, he got a stone
and drummed on the trunk of the tree.

Hearing the knocking on his front
door, and thinking that some one wished
to see him, Dick ran to the opening and
thrust out his head. " Bang,'' went the
new gun and the father squirrel pitched
out of the hole and fell at the boy's feet.

He picked up the dead squirrel and
examined him. What a beauty he was.
What a daisy the gun must be to kill
him at the first shot. So he threw the
squirrel down and drummed on the tree
again.

Dixy was much surprised at the strange
noise and the squirrel family had been
greatly frightened. She also wondered
where Dick had gone, so she ran to the
hole and peeped out. '* Bang," went the
gun again and she fell at the feet of
the young hunter. Both father and

194 ^tnuntu of tl)e ^vttu

mother were now dead, and the six young
squirrels in the tree-top were orphans ;
but this was not all.

Again the cruel hunter drummed on
the tree and one of the youngsters poked
out his head to see where father and
mother had gone. "Bang'' went the
gun and the youngster joined his parents
at the foot of the tree.

*' What sport it is," thought the young
savage, and all the ferocity of the animal
side of his nature was aroused. He did
not stop to think that the squirrels were
useless to him when he had killed them ;
his thought was simply to Kill ! Kill !
Kill ! " Bang ! Bang ! Bang ! " went the
gun, until the entire squirrel family of
eight members lay dead in the snow.
The old maple was empty and the nest in
the hollow tree was desolate.

The young savage then picked up the

iFut m^t iFleto 195

dead squirrels and threw them over the
wall out of sight, for he knew that I was
fond of them and he did not want his
deed known.

But '' murder will out '' and I found the
squirrel family on my return and buried
them in a little snow grave in the garden.
My grief was too great for tears, but the
wood nymph, — that gentle guardian of
the wild things who watches the coming
and going of the great moose and the
tiny field-mouse, and who rejoices when
they rejoice, and is pained when they are
cold and hungry, — this sweet custodian
of the wood folks must have wept bitter
tears over that little snow grave in the
garden.

There is a belief among the wise people
of the Orient that keeps them from such
deeds as that of our thoughtless young
hunter, and if we had something of their

196 ^tnantu of tt|t tRvtm

spirit, it would be well for our wild
brothers. They believe each human be-
ing lives to endure all the pain that he
has caused other creatures to suffer. This
is his punishment and the justice of the
supreme judge.

If the boy had thought that some day
he might be a helpless squirrel in the
tree-top, while the squirrel was a boy
with a new gun eager to take his life, his
finger would have paused ere it pressed
the trigger.

jpttentis in Jleetj

/^ THERE'S a song on the fragrant breeze

From every bird that sings y
And the rapture of their melodies
Through all the welkin rings.

For His to nest that the birds are here^
In every breast is song.
And each Troubadour to his lady dear.
Is singing all day long.

XIII
FRIENDS IN NEED

T II THEN the fields were still bleak and
^ ^ cheerless with the unbroken snow,
and the skies were still dark from the
scowl of winter ; bluebird, the sweet har-
binger of spring, brought • us the good
tidings of great joy.

In the same manner, when the old
earth is naked and forsaken, and the tall
trees, bereft of all their green gladness,
stand shivering and complaining, certain
sweet little heralds bring us the news of
approaching winter.

It may be a flock of twenty snow-birds,
or only a solitary black-capped titmouse
perched in the old apple-tree near the
house, but either are reliable messen-

199

200 ^tnantu of tn^e ^vttn

gers, and both prophesy the first snow-
fall.

There is also a look in the sky, a feel-
ing in the air, and a minor song in the
tree-tops that make you turn up your
coat collar and say, " Well, I guess you
were right, little prophets. We will
wait and see what the morning will
bring."

How chaste and pure is the first fall of
snow. We dreaded its coming, but now
it is here we are all glad. How it covers
the naked scarred spots in the green-
sward, until you would not know that the
breast of nature bore a single wound.

Before this snow came it seemed bit-
terly cold and cheerless, but this warm
white blanket has put all things right.
Even the dead weeds, whose seared heads
show above the spotless purity, look con-
tented. There is lace-work upon every

iFtfenirs in Ktetr 201

weed and bramble this morning ; all have
been dressed in their winter robes.

Let us put on our overshoes and be ofF
to the deep woods, for there is always
something doing in the forest after the
first snowfall.

Ah, here is the jaunty little fellow who
told me yesterday that this was coming.
He sits upon a twig with his head cocked
upon one side, eyeing me in the most
confidential manner. What a tasteful
dress he wears. Could anything be more
comfortable than that black cap on his
little head ? How well his black necktie
matches the cap, and his blue-gray over-
coat is as neat and pretty as one could
well wish.

Who is this jaunty little friend who
meets us at the very forest's edge with a
welcome ? What is your name, little
fellow?

202 Etnunt^ of ttje ^vttu

Clear as crystal comes the answer.
" Chick-a-dee-dee. Why, don't you see, I
am the herald of winter. Chick-a-dee-
dee — Chick-a-dee-dee."

Well done, little chap ; but I see you
are not alone, for the woods are full of
your mates, all pecking away on limbs
and tree trunks and calling '' Chick-a-
dee-dee '' in the blithest manner.

Down in the bark of every tree in the
forest as well as on its surface the borer
and the bark louse are at work, and this
army of pest hunters have come to the
rescue. If the army of chickadees and
creepers were to be exterminated our
forests would soon suffer.

Here is another busy little fellow, but
he is not so tastefully dressed as chickadee.

This is the nuthatch, perhaps the most
remarkable of all the creepers. See him
hang head-downward, while with his

;-^«%;'

% .s

K

'^

■fQaia-WOM?. 10 XDOJT A eSMOD 3«3|^

202 Etnunt^ of tJie Zvttn

Clear as crystal comes the answer.
" Chick-a-dee-dee. Why, don't you see, I
am the herald of winter. Chick-a-dee-
dee — Chick-a-dee-dee/'

Well done, little chap ; but I see you
are not alone, for the woods are full of
your mates, all pecking away on limbs
and tree trunks and calling ** Chick-a-
dee-dee " in the blithest manner.

Down in the bark of every tree in the
forest as vv ell as on its surface the borer
and the hark louse are at work, and this
army of pest hunters have come to the
rescue. If the army of chickadees and
creepers were to be exterminated our
forests would soon suffer.

Here is another busy little fellow, but
he is not so tastefully dressed as chickadee.

This is the nuthatch, perhaps the most
remarkable of all the creepers. See him
ha ng head-downward, while with his

IIERE COMES A FLOCK OF SNOW-BIRDS '

iFtitntrs in TSTuir 203

stout beak shaped very much like that of
a small woodpecker he rattles down the
bark. How excited he is getting. Look,
there comes a long borer who has done
the last of his destructive work. How
this nuthatch in his gray-blue overcoat
and his white necktie creeps over the
bark, darting his sharp bill into every
crack and crevice. He can walk straight
up the trunk, or out sideways, or hang
head down as we have seen. Always busy,
always seeking a louse or a borer.

Whir-r-r, whistle, flutter ; here come a
flock of snow-birds. Junco is his real
name. They have lighted in the snow,
almost under your nose, but you can not
see one of them. The snow blinds one,
and they are so nearly white. Wait un-
til they move, then you will see the gray
upon their backs. There they go. Weed
seeds were not plenty here, so they are

204 J!!:muntu of tfjt Evttn

off for another feeding ground. They are
seed eaters and they save the farmer more
weed pulHng than he imagines.

Later on in the winter, when it is
colder, you will see other white birds in
flocks. These are snow buntings, who
have brought their greeting over thou-
sands of miles of frozen ice and glittering
snow, almost from the pole itself. You
marvel, as the white forms flash by, how
they could have come so far, for they are
really as much a part of the polar fauna
as the blue fox and the musk ox.

Another more gaily dressed visitor from
the frozen north who is occasionally seen
during extremely cold winters is the pine
grosbeak. He is a beautiful carmine and
black fellow, about the size of the robin,
but he only visits us during an extreme
winter. A great many times when people
say they have seen robins in midwinter.

jfvitnJan in Wren 205

what they have really seen is the pine
grosbeak.

The thought that I would leave with
you as you close these pages is this.

If the winter is cold for you who are
warmly cloaked and hooded, gloved and
mittened, what must it be for the birds,
who are scantily clad and unsheltered
from the elements ? If you draw close
to the fire and shiver on a winter's night
when the winds bellow down the chim-
ney, and the frost creeps high on the
window-pane, what must it be for the
chickadee and the snow-bird who are
perching side by side in the cedar-tree
near the house ? The wind rocks the
tree so that they can scarcely keep their
perch ; the snow sifts in upon them, and
the bitter cold bites their bare toes.
When the piazza floor groans and cries
aloud against the numbing frost as you

206 Btnantu of tttt ^vttn

step upon it, what must it be for bare
toes clinging to frost-covered limbs ?

If you shiver in your w^arm bed with
plenty of clothes piled upon you, and a
soapstone at your feet, what think you of
the quail and the partridge who make
their bed this night in the snowbank, all
unmindful of the fox who may dig them
out and eat them before morning, or the
sudden freeze that may lock them under
the crust where they may die miserably
of slow starvation ?

If your own cosy parlour is cold during
the great blizzard, how fares it with the
jay and the crow who roost at night in
the top of a hemlock in the deep woods
where the trees are loaded with snow and
gemmed with frost ? There the wind
howls in the naked tree-tops like a thou-
sand demons and the strong trees thrash
their mighty arms and groan and shriek

iFrtentifii in H^ttXi 207

for mercy, crying out against the ele-
ments.

A friend of mine while snow-shoeing
in the woods near here noticed a black
object under the crust at his feet. He
kicked away the snow and pulled out a
crow who was frozen stiff. He took off
his snow-shoes and began digging, and in
a space of twenty or thirty square feet
uncovered nearly fifty crows, all dead like
the first.

They had plunged under the snow to
keep warm on a winter's night, and to
escape a blinding snowstorm. The snow
had turned to rain, and this had frozen
making a stiff crust, and the whole flock
had perished.

Within thirty feet of the window
where I am writing, this very day crows
have been shaking frozen pears from a tree
and then lighting on the snow to eat a

208 Etnantu of ttie ti^vttu

cold meal. Their fear of man is great,
but their fear of starvation is greater.

A piece of pork rind or a bit of suet
nailed to a conspicuous post or tree has
saved many a chickadee or snow-bird
from starvation. A handful of grain
thrown upon the snow has sent many a
flock of buntings on their way rejoicing,
and it did not cost the giver a cent.

A box of corn at the corner of the
barn may keep alive the spark of life un-
der the coat of some improvident squirrel
whose winter store has run low.

The crow and the jay will also find
your bounty, and the sight of the blue-
coated and black-frocked rogues is enough
to repay one for his trouble.

Besides, the corn and the golden grain
are the bounty of the God of harvest who
fashioned the jay and the squirrel and
also the face of man after his own image.

iFtienirs in Ketlr 209

All creatures he has given into our keep-
ing, and the fear of man is upon all
things. Let us show mercy and good
will, for with what measure we mete
kindness unto the lesser creatures, the
same shall be meted unto us by the
great Father.

There is sweet companionship, too, in
the confidence of these little friends who
come pecking at our windows, and they
will repay us with gleeful chirps and twit-
ters and wise nods of their dainty little
heads.

Do you know the ruby kinglet, a mite
of a bird only four or five inches in
length ? Think of this little creature
pitting his small wit and his smaller
strength against midwinter and all its
terrors, before which deer and elk and
even the strong moose frequently suc-
cumb.

210 ^tnantu of ttft agrees

Then cast your bread upon the waters.
The handful of grain and the pork rind
mean so httle to you and so much to the
birds. It will save life that is a precious
and holy thing. Let us be friends indeed
to these little friends in need, and their
companionship and confidence and dainty
manners as they partake of our bounty
will be its own rich reward.

THE END.

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Tree Stories.

Stories of Little Fishes,

In this series of six little Nature books, it is the author's in-
tention so to present to the child reader the facts about each
particular flower, insect, bird, or animal, in story form, as to
make delightful reading. Classical legends, myths, poems, and
songs are so introduced as to correlate fully with these lessons,
to which the excellent illustrations are no little help.

THE WOODRANGER TALES

By G. WALDO BROWNE

The Woodranger.
The Young Qunbearer.
The Hero of the Hills.
With Rogers' Rangers.

Each I vol., large i2mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated,

per volume $1-25

Four vols., boxed, per set ..... 5.00

"The Woodranger Tales," like the "Pathfinder Tales" of J.
Fenimore Cooper, combine historical information relating to
early pioneer days in America with interesting adventures in
the backwoods. Although the same characters are continued
throughout the series, each book is complete in itself, and, whila
based strictly on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting
tale of adventure.

Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY

Born to the Blue. By Florence Kimball

RUSSEL.

i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.25
The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on
every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a
captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the
days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.
The author is herself '* of the army," and knows every
detail of the life. Her descriptions are accurate, which
adds to the value and interest of the book.

Pussy-Cat Town. By marion ames taggart.

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors ........ $1.00

" Pussy-Cat Town " is a most unusual, delightful cat story.
Ban-Ban, a pure Maltese who belonged to Rob, Kiku-san,
Lois's beautiful snow-white pet, and their neighbors Bedelia
the tortoise-shell, Madame Laura the widow, Wutz Butz
the warrior, and wise old Tommy Traddles, were really and
truly cats, and Miss Taggart has here explained the reason
for their mysterious disappearance all one long summer.

The Sandman : his farm stories. By Will-
iam J. HoPKixs. With fifty illustrations by Ada Clen-
denin Williamson.

Large i2mo, decorative cover . . . . $1.50
"An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very

small children. It should be one of the most popular of the

year's books for reading to small children." — Buffalo Express.
" Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the

little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this

book a treasure." — Cleveland Leader.

The Sandman : more farm stories. By Will-
iam J. Hopkins.

Large i2mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated . $1.50
Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories has met
with such approval that this second book of " Sandman "
tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life on
the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable
manner, and many a little one will hail the bedtime season
as one of delight.
I>-8

THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES

The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of
child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings,
and adventures.

Each I vol., 1 2mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or
more full-page illustrations in color.

Price per volume • $0.60

By MARY HAZELTON WADE {unless otherwise
indicated)

Our Little African Cousin Our Little Japanese Cousin

Our Little Armenian Cousin Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Dttle Brown Cousin

Our Little Canadian Cousin

By Elizabeth R. Macdonald

Our Little Chinese Cousin

By Isaac Taylor Headland

Our Little Cuban Cousin

Our Little Dutch Cousin

By Blanche McManus

Our Little English Cousin

By Blanche McManus

Our Little Eskimo Cousin

Our Little French Cousin

By Blanche McManus

Our Little German Cousin

Our Little Hawaiian Cousin

Our Little Indistn Cousin

Our Little Irish Cousin

Our Little Italian Cousin
»— 9

Our Little Korean Cousin

By H. Lee M. Pike

Our Little Mexican Cousin

By Edward C. Butler

Our Little Norwegian Cousin

Our Little Panama Cousin

By H. Lee M. Pike

Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Russian Cousin

Our Little Scotch Cousin

By Blanche McManus

Our Little Siamese Cousin

Our Little Spanish Cousin

By Mary F. Nixon - Roulet

Our Little Swedish Cousin

By Claire M. Cobum

Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin

THE GOLDENROD LIBRARY

The Goldenrod Library contains only the highest and
purest literature, — stories which appeal alike both to chil-
dren and to their parents and guardians.

Each volume is well illustrated from drawings by com-
petent artists, which, together with their handsomely deco-
rated uniform binding, showing the goldenrod, usually
considered the emblem of America, is a feature of their
manufacture.

Each one volume, small i2mo, illustrated, dec-
orated cover, paper wrapper . . . v^o.35

LIST OF TITLES
Aunt Nabby*s Children. By Frances Hodges White.
Child's Dream of a Star, The. By Charles Dickens.
Flight of Rosy Dawn, The. By Pauline Bradford Mackie.
Findelkind. By Ouida.

Fairy of the Rhone, The. By A. Comyns Cam
Qatty and L By Frances E. Crompton.
Qreat Emergency, A. By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
Helena's Wonderworld. By Frances Hodges White.
Jackanapes. By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
Jerry's Reward. By Evelyn Snead Barnett.
La Belle Nivernaise. By Alphonse Daudet.
Little King Davie. By Nellie Hellis.
Little Peterkin Vandike. By Chades Stuart Pratt.
Little Professor, The. By Ida Horton Cash.
Peggy's Trial. By Mary Knight Potter.
Prince YellowtOp. By Kate Whiting Patch.
Provence Rose, A. By Ouida.
Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John Brown.
Seventh Daughter, A. By Grace Wickham Curran.
Sleeping Beauty, The. By Martha Baker Dunn.
Small, Small Child, A. By E. Livingston Prescott.
Story of a Short Life, The. By Juliana Horatia Ewing,
Susanne. By Frances J. Delano.
Water People, The. By Charles Lee Sleight.
Young Archer, The. By Charles E. Brimblecom.
D — 10

COSY CORNER SERIES

It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall
contain only the very highest and purest hterature, —
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them-
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with
them in their joys and sorrows.

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known
artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover
design.

Each I vol., i6mo, cloth $0.50

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON

The Little Colonel. (Trade Mark)

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine
is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, 01 >
account of her fancied resemblance to an old-schoOi
Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family aie
famous in the region.

The Qiant Scissors.

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in
France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, and
in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences
of the " House Party " and the " Holidays."

Two Little Knights of Kentucky.

Who Were the Little Colonel's Neighbors.

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old
friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not, how-
ever, the central figure of the story, that place being taken
by the " two little knights."

Mildred's Inheritance.

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who
comes to America and is befriended by a sympathetic
American family who are attracted by her beautiful speak-
ing voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled to
help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her
eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one.
D-ll

Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON ^.Continued)

Cicely and Other Stories for Qiris.

The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles will
be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young
people.

Aunt 'Liza's Hero and Other Stories.

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal
to all boys and most girls.

Big Brother.

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven,
himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of
the simple tale.

0!e Mammy's Torment.

" Ole Mammy's Torment " has been fitly called " a classic
of Southern life." It relates the haps and mishaps of a
small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kind-
ness to a knowledge of the right.

The Story of Dago,

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a
pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells
his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is
both interesting and amusing.

The Quilt That Jack Built.

A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how
it changed the course of his life many years after it was
accomplished.

Flip's Islands of Providence.

A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his
final triumph, well worth the reading.

cosy CORNER SERIES

By EDITH ROBINSON

A Little Puritan's First Christmas.

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christ-
mas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the
Puritans, aided by her brother Sam.

A Little Daughter of Liberty.

The author's motive for this story is well indicated by a
quotation from her introduction, as follows :

" One ride is memorable in the early history of the
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul Revere.
Equally deserving of commendation is another ride, — the
ride of Anthony Severn, — which was no less historic in its
action or memorable in its consequences."

A Loyal Little Maid.

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days,
in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders im-
portant services to George Washington.

A Little Puritan Rebel.

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time
when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massa-
chusetts.

A Little Puritan Pioneer.

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at
Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds another to the
list of favorites so well known to the young people.

A Little Puritan Bound Girl.

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great
interest to youthful readers.

A Little Puritan Cavalier.

The story of a " Little Puritan Cavalier " who tried with
all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of
the dead Crusaders.
D — 13

Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

By QUID A {Louise de la Ramie)

A Dog of Flanders : a Christmas Story.
Too well and favorably known to require description.

The Nurnberg Stove.

This beautiful story has never before been published at
a popular price.

By FRANCES MARGARET FOX

The Little Giant's Neighbours.

A charming nature story of a '• little giant " whose neigh-
bours were the creatures of the field and garden.

Farmer Brown and the Birds.

A little story which teaches children that the birds are
man's best friends.

Betty of Old Mackinaw.

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the
little readers who like stories of "real people."

Brother Billy.

The story of Betty's brother, and some further adven-
tures of Betty herself.

Mother Nature's Little Ones.

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or
" childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors.

How Christmas Came to the Mul-
vaneys.

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children,
with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The
wonderful never-to-be forgotten Christmas that came to
them is the climax of a series of exciting incidents.

D~14

COSF CORNER SERIES

By MISS MI/LOCK

The Little Lame Prince.

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adven-
tures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.

Adventures of a Brownie,

The story of a household elf who torments the cook
and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the
children who love and trust him.

His Little Mother.

Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant
source of delight to them, and " His Little Mother," in
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of
youthful readers.

Little Sunshine's Holiday.

An attractive story of a summer outing. " Little Sun-
shine " is another of those beautiful child-characters for
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous.

By MARSHALL SAUNDERS

For His Country.

A sweet and graceful story of a Httle boy who loved his
country; written with that charm which has endeared Miss
Saunders to hosts of readers.

Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter.

In this touching litde book, Miss Saunders shows how
dear to her heart are all of God's dumb creatures.

Alpatok, the Story of an Eskimo Dog.

Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen
from his master and left to starve in a strange city, but was
befriended and cared for, until he was able to return to
his owner. Miss Saunders's story is based on truth, and
the pictures in the book of " Alpatok " are based on a
photograph of the real Eskimo dog who had such a strange
experience.
D — 15

L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE

The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow.

This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman,
will appeal to all that is best in the natures of the many
admirers of her graceful and piquant style.

The Fortunes of the Fellow.

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of
" The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow " will welcome the
further account of the adventures of Baydaw and the Fel-
low at the home of the kindly smith.

The Best of Friends.

This continues the experiences of the Farrier's dog and
his Fellow, written in Miss Dromgoole's well-known charm-
ing style.

Down in Dixie.

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of Ala-
bama children who move to Florida and grow up in the
South.

By MARIAN W, WILDMAN

Loyalty Island.

An account of the adventures of four children and their
pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their brother
from the suspicion of dishonesty.

Theodore and Theodora.

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mis-
chievous twins, and continues the adventures of the interest
ing group of children in " Loyalty Island."

«)— 16

COSY CORNER SERIES

By CHARLES G, D. ROBERTS

The Cruise of the Yacht Dido.

The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a
fishing boat to earn money to pay for a college course, and
of their adventures while exploring in search of hidden
treasure.

The Lord of the Air

The Story of the Eagle

The King of the Mamozekel

The Story of the Moose

The Watchers of the Camp=fire

THE STORY OF THE PANTHER

The Haunter of the Pine Gloom

THE STORY OF THE LYNX

The Return to the Trails

THE STORY OF THE BEAR

The Little People of the Sycamore

THE STORY OF THE RACCOON

By OTHER AUTHORS

The Great Scoop.

By MOLLY ELLIOT SEA WELL

A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a
bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon.

John Whopper.

The late Bishop Clark's popular story of the boy who
fell through the earth and came out in China, with a new
introduction by Bishop Potter.

D-17

Z. C. PAGE AND CO MP AN

The Dole Twins.

By KA TE UPSON CLARK

The adventures of two little people who tried to earn
money to buy crutches for a lame aunt. An excellent
description of child-life about 1812, which will greatly
interest and amuse the children of to-day, whose life is
widely different.

Larry Hudson's Ambition.

By JAMES OTIS, author of "Toby Tyler," etc.

Larry Hudson is a typical American boy, whose hard
work and enterprise gain him his ambition, — an education
and a start in the world.

The Little Christmas Shoe.

By JANE P. SCOTT WOODRUFF
A touching story of Yule-tide.

Wee Dorothy.

By LAURA UPDEGRAFF

A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of
the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and setting.
With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the story is other-
wise bright and sunny, and altogether wholesome in every
way.

The King of the Golden River: a legend

OF Stiria. By JOHN RUSK IN
Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally in-
tended for publication, this little fair}'-tale soon became
known and made a place for itself.

A Child's Garden of Verses.

By R. L. STEVENSON

Mr. Stevenson's little volume is too well known to need
description. It will be heartily welcomed in this new and

tractive edition.

D— 18

i2?^^*»^

^

)y

AMNH LIBRARY

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