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Citizen Bird: Scenes from Bird-Life in Plain English for Beginners

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Title: Citizen Bird: Scenes from Bird-Life in Plain English for Beginners

Author: Mabel Osgood Wright
        Elliott Coues

Illustrator: Louis Agassiz Fuertes


        
Release date: April 1, 2004 [eBook #11896]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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CITIZEN BIRD

Scenes from Bird-Life in Plain English for Beginners

BY

MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT AND ELLIOTT COUES

With One Hundred and Eleven Illustrations by Louis Agassiz Fuertes

1897






[Illustration: Long-eared owl.]




  TO ALL BOYS AND GIRLS
  WHO LOVE BIRDS
  AND WISH TO PROTECT THEM

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
  BY THE AUTHORS




  _SCENE_:
  THE ORCHARD FARM.

  _TIME_:
  FROM SPRING TO AUTUMN.

  _CHARACTERS_:
  DR. ROY HUNTER, a naturalist.
  OLIVE, the Doctor's daughter.
  NAT and DODO, the Doctor's nephew and niece.
  RAP, a country boy.
  MAMMY BUN, an old colored nurse.
  OLAF, a fisherman.




  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I
  OVERTURE BY THE BIRDS

  CHAPTER II
  THE DOCTOR'S WONDER ROOM

  CHAPTER III
  A SPARROW SETTLES THE QUESTION

  CHAPTER IV
  THE BUILDING OF A BIRD

  CHAPTER V
  CITIZEN BIRD

  CHAPTER VI
  THE BIRD AS A TRAVELLER

  CHAPTER VII
  THE BIRD'S NEST

  CHAPTER VIII
  BEGINNING OF THE BIRD STORIES

  CHAPTER IX
  A SILVER-TONGUED FAMILY
    Bluebird--Robin--Wood Thrush--Wilson's Thrush--Hermit
    Thrush--Olive-backed Thrush.

  CHAPTER X
  PEEPERS AND CREEPERS
    Golden-crowned Kinglet--White-breasted
    Nuthatch--Chickadee--Brown Creeper.

  CHAPTER XI
  MOCKERS AND SCOLDERS
    Sage Thrasher--Mockingbird--Catbird--Brown
    Thrasher--Rock Wren--House Wren--Long-billed Marsh Wren.

  CHAPTER XII
  WOODLAND WARBLERS
    Black-and-white Warbler--Yellow Warbler--Yellow-rumped
    Warbler--Ovenbird--Maryland Yellow-throat--Yellow-breasted
    Chat--American Redstart.

  CHAPTER XIII
  AROUND THE OLD BARN
    Red-eyed Vireo--Great Northern Shrike--Cedar Waxwing.

  CHAPTER XIV
  THE SWALLOWS
    Purple Martin--Barn Swallow--Tree Swallow--Bank
    Swallow.

  CHAPTER XV
  A BRILLIANT PAIR
    Scarlet Tanager--Louisiana Tanager.

  CHAPTER XVI
  A TRIBE OF WEED WARRIORS
    Pine Grosbeak--American Crossbill--American
    Goldfinch--Snowflake--Vesper Sparrow--White-throated
    Sparrow--Chipping Sparrow--Slate-colored Junco--Song
    Sparrow--Towhee--Cardinal--Rose-breasted Grosbeak--Indigo
    Bird.

  CHAPTER XVII
  A MIDSUMMER EXCURSION
    Bobolink--Orchard Oriole--Baltimore
    Oriole--Cowbird--Red-winged Blackbird--Purple
    Grackle--Meadowlark.

  CHAPTER XVIII
  CROWS AND THEIR COUSINS
    American Crow--Blue Jay.

  CHAPTER XIX
  A FEATHERED FISHERMAN
    The Osprey.

  CHAPTER XX
  SOME SKY SWEEPERS
    Kingbird--Phoebe--Wood Pewee.

  CHAPTER XXI
  HUMMERS AND CHIMNEY SWEEPS
    Ruby-throated Hummingbird--Chimney Swift.

  CHAPTER XXII
  TWO WINGED MYSTERIES
    Nighthawk--Whip-poor-will.

  CHAPTER XXIII
  A LAUGHING FAMILY
    Downy Woodpecker--Red-headed
    Woodpecker--Flicker--Yellow-bellied Sapsucker.

  CHAPTER XXIV
  TWO ODD FELLOWS
    Kingfisher--Yellow-billed Cuckoo.

  CHAPTER XXV
  CANNIBALS IN COURT
    Bald Eagle--Golden Eagle--Screech Owl--Long-eared
    Owl--Snowy Owl--Great Horned Owl--Marsh Hawk--Sharp-shinned
    Hawk--Red-shouldered Hawk--Sparrow Hawk.

  CHAPTER XXVI
  A COOING PAIR
    Passenger Pigeon--Mourning Dove.

  CHAPTER XXVII
  THREE FAMOUS GAME BIRDS
    Bob White--Ruffled Grouse--Woodcock.

  CHAPTER XXVIII
  ON THE SHORE
    A Long-necked Family: Black-crowned Night Heron--American
    Bittern--A Bonnet Martyr and a Blue Giant--Snowy
    Egret--Great Blue Heron.

  CHAPTER XXIX
  UP THE RIVER
    Turnstone--Golden Plover--Wilson's Snipe--Spotted
    Sandpiper--Least Sandpiper--Virginia Rail.

  CHAPTER XXX
  DUCKS AND DRAKES
    Wood Duck--Black Duck--Mallard--Pintail--Green-winged
    Teal--Blue-winged Teal--Redhead--Old Squaw--Hooded Merganser.

  CHAPTER XXXI
  GULLS AND TERNS AT HOME
    Canada Goose--American Herring Gull--Common
    Tern--Loon--Pied-billed Grebe.

  CHAPTER XXXII
  CHORUS BY THE BIRDS

  CHAPTER XXXIII
  PROCESSION OF BIRD FAMILIES

  INDEX




CHAPTER I


OVERTURE BY THE BIRDS

  "We would have you to wit, that on eggs though we sit,
    And are spiked on the spit, and are baked in a pan;
  Birds are older by far than your ancestors are,
    And made love and made war, ere the making of man!"

  (_Andrew Lang_.)



A party of Swallows perched on the telegraph wires beside the highway
where it passed Orchard Farm. They were resting after a breakfast of
insects, which they had caught on the wing, after the custom of their
family. As it was only the first of May they had plenty of time before
nest-building, and so were having a little neighborly chat.

If you had glanced at these birds carelessly, you might have thought
they were all of one kind; but they were not. The smallest was the Bank
Swallow, a sober-hued little fellow, with a short, sharp-pointed tail,
his back feathers looking like a dusty brown cloak, fastened in front by
a neck-band between his light throat and breast.

Next to him perched the Barn Swallow, a bit larger, with a tail like an
open pair of glistening scissors and his face and throat a beautiful
ruddy buff. There were so many glints of color on his steel-blue back
and wings, as he spread them in the sun, that it seemed as if in some of
his nights he must have collided with a great soap-bubble, which left
its shifting hues upon him as it burst.

This Barn Swallow was very much worried about something, and talked so
fast to his friend the Tree Swallow, that his words sounded like
twitters and giggles; but you would know they were words, if you could
only understand them.

The Tree Swallow wore a greenish-black cloak and a spotless white vest.
He was trying to be polite and listen to the Barn Swallow as well as to
the Purple Martin (the biggest Swallow of all), who was a little further
along on the wire; but as they both spoke at once, he found it a
difficult matter.

"We shall all be turned out, I know," complained the Barn Swallow, "and
after we have as good as owned Orchard Farm these three years, it is too
bad. Those meddlesome House People have put two new pieces of glass in
the hayloft window, and how shall I ever get in to build my nest?"

"They may leave the window open," said the Bank Swallow soothingly, for
he had a cheerful disposition; "I have noticed that hayloft windows are
usually left open in warm weather."

"Yes, they may leave it open, and then shut it some day after I have
gone in," snapped Barney, darting off the perch to catch a fly, and
grasping the wire so violently on his return, that the other birds
fluttered and almost lost their footing. "What is all this trouble
about?" asked the Martin in his soft rich voice. "I live ten miles
further up country, and only pass here twice a year, so that I do not
know the latest news. Why must you leave the farm? It seems to be a
charming place for Bird People. I see a little box under the barn eaves
that would make me a fine house."

"It _is_ a delightful place for us," replied the Barn Swallow; "but now
the House People who own the farm are coming back to live here
themselves, and everything is turned topsy-turvy. They should have asked
us if we were willing for them to come. Bird People are of a _much_
older race than House People anyway; it says so in their books, for I
heard Rap, the lame boy down by the mill, reading about it one day when
he was sitting by the river."

All the other birds laughed merrily at this, and the Martin said, "Don't
be greedy, Brother Barney; those people are quite welcome to their barns
and houses, if they will only let us build in their trees. Bird People
own the whole sky and some of our race dive in the sea and swim in the
rivers where no House People can follow us."

"You may say what you please," chattered poor unhappy Barney,
"everything is awry. The Wrens always built behind the window-blinds,
and now these blinds are flung wide open. The Song Sparrow nested in the
long grass under the lilac bushes, but now it is all cut short; and they
have trimmed away the nice mossy branches in the orchard where hundreds
of the brothers built. Besides this, the Bluebird made his nest in a
hole in the top of the old gate post, and what have those people done
but put up a new post with _no hole in it_!"

"Dear! dear! Think of it, _think_ of it!" sang the Bluebird softly,
taking his place on the wire with the others.

"What if these people should bring children with them," continued
Barney, who had not finished airing his grievances--"little BOYS and
CATS! Children who might climb up to our nests and steal our eggs, boys
with _guns_ perhaps, and striped cats which no one can see, with feet
that make no sound, and _such_ claws and teeth--it makes me shiver to
think of it." And all the birds shook so that the wire quivered and the
Bank Swallow fell off, or would have fallen, if he had not spread his
wings and saved himself.

The Martin had nothing to say to this, but the little Bank Swallow,
though somewhat shaken up, whispered, "There _may_ be children who do
not rob nests, and other boys like Rap, who would never shoot us. Cats
are always sad things for birds, but these House People may not keep
any!" And then he moved down a wire or two, frightened at having given
his opinion.

At that moment a Chimney Swift joined the group. This Swift, who nests
in chimneys, is the sooty-colored bird that flies and feeds on the wing
like a Swallow, and when he is in the air looks like a big spruce cone
with wings. He was followed by a Catbird, who had been in a honeysuckle,
by one of the farmhouse windows, and peeped inside out of curiosity.
Both were excited and evidently bubbling over with news, which half the
birds of the orchard were following them to hear. "I know all about
it," cried the Swift, settling himself for a long talk.

"I've _seen_ the House People!" screamed the Catbird.

"They wish well to the Bird People, and we shall be happier than
before!" squeaked the Swift, breathless and eager. "Listen!"--and the
birds all huddled together. "This morning when I flew down the chimney,
wondering if I should dare build my nest there again, I heard a noise on
the outside, so I dropped as far as I could and listened.

"A voice said, 'Mammy Bun, we will leave this chimney for the birds; do
not make a fire here until after they have nested!' I was so surprised
that I nearly fell into the grate."

"And I," interrupted the Catbird, "was looking in the window and saw the
man who spoke, and Mammy Bun too. She is a very big person, wide like a
wood-chuck, and has a dark face like the House People down in the warm
country where I spend the winter."

"There are children at the farm, _I've_ seen them too," cried the
Phoebe, who usually lived under the eaves of the cow-shed; "three of
them--one big girl, one little girl, and a BOY!"

"I told you so!" lisped the Barn Swallow; and a chorus of _ohs_ and
_ahs_ arose that sounded like a strange message buzzing along the wires.

"The BOY has a pocket full of pebbles and a _shooter_," gasped the
Phoebe, pausing as if nothing more shocking could be said.

"Yes, but the big girl coaxed the shooter away from him," said the
Chimney Swift, who was quite provoked because his story had been
interrupted; "she said, 'Cousin Nat, father won't let you shoot birds
here or do anything to frighten them away, for he loves them and has
spent half his life watching them and learning their ways, and they have
grown so fearless hereabouts that they are like friends.'

"But Nat said, 'Do let me shoot some, Cousin Olive. I don't see why
Uncle Roy likes them. What good are birds anyway? They only sit in the
street and say "chuck, chuck, chuck" all day long.'

"'You say that because you have always lived in the city and the only
birds you have watched are the English Sparrows, who are really as
disagreeable as birds can possibly be,' said the big girl; 'but here you
will see all the beautiful wild birds.'

"Then the little girl said, 'Why, brother, you always loved our Canary!'

"'Yes, but he is different; he is nice and yellow, and he knows something
and sings too like everything; he isn't like these common tree birds.'"

"Common tree birds indeed!" shrieked the Catbird.

"That is what the boy called us," said the Chimney Swift, who then went
on with his story about what he had heard the children say.

"'Why you silly dear!' cried, the big girl, laughing a sweet little
laugh like the Bobolink's song, 'that only proves how little you know
about wild birds. Plenty of them are more brightly colored than your
Canary, and some of those that wear the plainest feathers sing more
beautifully than all the Canaries and cage birds in the world. This
summer, when you have made friends with these wild birds, and they have
let you see their homes and learn their secrets, you will make up your
mind that there are no _common birds_; for every one of them has
something very uncommon about it,'

"Then our brother B. Oriole began to sing in the sugar maple over the
shed. The sun was shining on his gay coat; the little girl pointed to
him and whispered, 'Hush, Nat! you see Olive is right; please empty the
stones out of your pocket.'"

The Chimney Swift had hardly finished his story when there was another
excitement.

"News, more news!" called the Bank Swallow joyfully. He had been taking
a skim over the meadows and orchard. "These House People do _not_ keep
cats!"

"They may not have any now, but that doesn't prove they never will,"
said a Robin crossly. He had just flown against a window, not
understanding about the glass, and had a headache in consequence.

"They _never will keep cats_," insisted the little Swallow boldly.

"How do _you_ know?" asked the birds in one breath.

"Because they keep _dogs_!" said Bankey, twittering with glee; "two nice
dogs. One big and buff and bushy, with a much finer tail than the
proudest fox you ever saw; and the other small and white with some dark
spots, and as quick as a squirrel. This one has a short tail that sticks
up like a Wren's and a nose like a weasel; one ear stands up and the
other hangs down; and he has a _terrible_ wink in one eye. Even a poor
little Bank Swallow knows that where one of _these_ dogs lives the Bird
People need not fear either cats or rats!"

"I love dogs," said the black-and-white Downy Woodpecker, running up a
telegraph pole in search of grubs; "dogs have bones to eat and I like
to pick bones, especially in winter."

"Me too," chimed in the Nuthatch, who walks chiefly head down and wears
a fashionable white vest and black necktie with a gray coat; "and
sometimes they leave bits of fat about. Yes, dogs are very friendly
things indeed."

Then a joyful murmur ran all along the wires, and Farmer Griggs, who was
driving past, said to himself, "Powerful lot of 'lectricity on to-day;
should think them Swallers would get shock't and kil't." But it was only
the birds whispering together; agreeing to return to their old haunts at
Orchard Farm and give the House Children a chance to learn that there
are no such things as "common" birds.




CHAPTER II


THE DOCTOR'S WONDER ROOM

Nathaniel and Theodora, who were called Nat and Dodo for short, were
standing in the hallway outside Dr. Hunter's door, engaged in a very
lively argument.

"I say birds are animals," blustered Nat, pounding his fists together
after a fashion of his own.

"And I'm as sure as anything that they _can't_ be," persisted Dodo,
"because they have feathers, and nothing else has."

"That doesn't prove anything. Everything that lives and grows is either
an animal or a vegetable. Do you think that birds grow like potatoes and
are dug out of the ground, or come off trees like apples?" And Nat gave
himself an air of great wisdom, such as brothers are apt to wear when
they are in the fifth reader, and their sisters are only in the third.

"But isn't there anything besides animals and vegetables that they might
be? Perhaps they are minerals," said Dodo, brightening up as she thought
of the word.

"Oh! oh! what a stupid you are, Dodo! Minerals! Why those are rocks and
such things, that can't move and don't live." Nat laughed rather rudely,
and, putting his hands in his pockets, began to whistle.

"I think you might tell me _what_ kind of an animal a bird is, and why
it has feathers and can fly, instead of laughing," said Dodo in a shaky
voice; for her feelings were very tender and she remembered too late
what minerals are.

"Yes, tell her, Nat," said Olive, who came through the hall just then.
"Are you holding your knowledge tight in your pockets, or whistling to
keep from telling it?"

Nat scowled a minute and then said frankly, for every one was frank with
Olive, "I really don't know what sort of an animal a bird is, though I'm
sure it _is_ an animal. Don't you think Uncle Roy will tell us?"

"I'm sure he will be glad to, if he is not very busy, and he is seldom
too busy to talk of birds. He is writing a book now of all the things he
knows about them. Knock on the door, Dodo."

"I'm afraid to," said Dodo, clasping her hands behind her. "Mammy says
that room is _full_ of birds, and that we must never go in there.
Suppose when the door opens they should get out and fly away?"

"Mammy was right in telling you not to go in without asking, because
there are a great many books and papers there that father values, and
you might upset them. But the birds that are there are not alive. They
are dead birds that father has collected from all parts of
America--stuffed birds, such as you have seen in the glass cases in the
Museum."

"But, Cousin Olive," said Nat in astonishment, "if Uncle Roy has shot
enough birds to fill a big room, why won't he let me pop at a few with
my shooter?"

"You must ask him why yourself, Nat. Knock again, Dodo. Father, may we
come in? The children are here, with pockets full of questions;" and
Olive opened the door of the study, which Dodo named "the wonder room"
that very day.

It was a very long room on the southwest side of the house. The sun
streamed in through three wide windows, and at one end there was a deep
fireplace with brass andirons upon which some logs smouldered, for
though it was a mild May day the great room felt cool. Around the room
were deep cases with glass doors, from which peeped all kinds and sizes
of birds, while between the tops of the cases and the ceiling the spaces
were filled by colored bird pictures. The Doctor's desk stood in front
of one window, heaped with papers and books; down the middle of the room
were low book-cases standing back to back, and where these ended,
before the hearth, was a high-backed settle, almost as long as a bed.

The children stood still for a minute, speechless with surprise and
delight. Then Dodo made a rush for the Doctor's chair, and hugging him
round the neck, cried, "Dear Uncle Roy, will you please let us stay in
here a little while, so that we can learn what sort of animals birds
are, and all about them? And will you tell Nat why you let yourself
shoot birds when you won't let him?" Here Dodo stopped, both for lack of
breath and because she knew that her sentences were mixing themselves
dreadfully.

"So you have been here two whole days without finding me out," said the
Doctor, seating Dodo comfortably on his knee. "Aren't you afraid of the
old ogre who keeps so many birds prisoners in his den, and bewitches
them so that they sit quite still and never even try to fly? You want
to know about birds, do you, Miss Dodo, and Nat feels grieved because I
won't let him pop at our feathered neighbors that live in the orchard?
Oh, yes, my boy, I know all about it, you see; Cousin Olive has been
telling tales. Come round here where I can see you. I can answer your
question more easily than I can Dodo's. Don't look ashamed, for it is
perfectly natural that you should like to pop at birds until you learn
to understand the reasons why you should not. It was because you two
youngsters have seen so little of Nature and the things that creep and
crawl and fly, that I begged you from your parents for a time.

"House People are apt to grow selfish and cruel, thinking they are the
only people upon the earth, unless they can sometimes visit the homes of
the Beast and Bird Brotherhood, and see that these can also love and
suffer and work like themselves.

"Now, my boy, before we begin to learn about the birds I will partly
answer your question, and you will be able to answer it yourself before
summer is over. Animal life should never be taken except for some good
purpose. Birds are killed by scientists that their structure and uses
may be studied--just as doctors must examine human bodies. But if you
kill a bird, of what use is its dead body to you?"

"I would like to see if I could hit it, and then--I--guess," hesitating,
"I could find out its name better if I had it in my hand."

"Ah, Nat, my lad, I thought so; _first_ to see if you can hit it, and
_perhaps_ because you want to know the bird's name. Did you ever think
of trying to cut off one of your fingers with your jack-knife, to see
if you could do it, or how it is made?"

"Why, no, uncle, it would hurt, and I couldn't put it on again, and it
wouldn't do me any good anyway, for I could find out about it by asking
a doctor, without hurting myself."

"Yes, that is right; and for the present you can learn enough about
birds without shooting them yourself, and if you learn your lesson well
you will never shoot a song-bird."

"May we see the book you are writing, Uncle Roy, and learn all about the
birds out of it?"

"It is written in words too long and difficult for you to understand.
Here is a page on the desk--see if you can read it."

Nat stood by the Doctor's chair, but the longer he looked at the page
the more puzzled he became, and at last he said, "I think, if you
please, I'd rather have a book with only the birds' plain American
names." Then he spelled out slowly, "C-y-a-n-o-c-i-t-t-a
c-r-i-s-t-a-t-a. Why, that's Latin, but it only means Blue Jay."

"Couldn't you write a _little_ book for us, uncle--just a common little
book, all in plain words?" pleaded Dodo. "There's plenty of paper here,
and of course the know-how is all in your head; because Olive says you
know about every bird that lives in our America--and then you need not
put them quite all in our book."

"Bless your innocent heart! How many different kinds of birds do you
think there are in 'our America,' my little Yankee?" "More than a
hundred, I guess," said Dodo after a long pause.

"Nearly a thousand, my lady!"

"A thousand! I think we couldn't remember so many. Does Olive know about
'nearly a thousand'?"

"No, nor about a quarter of them, Dodo. There are a great many birds
that are rare or curious, but are not very interesting to people like
you and me," said Olive.

"Suppose you make us a little book about some of the very nicest
American birds," put in Nat, who had been looking at the row of stuffed
birds in one of the cases, and began to feel a real interest in knowing
their names and something about them. "Oh, Uncle Roy! Here's a Robin.
See! Dodo, see! I knew it in a minute; it's like meeting a fellow you
know;" and Nat pranced about while the Doctor laughed as if he was well
pleased.

"Now, children," said he, "I have an hour's more work this morning, and
then we will talk over this bird matter. Here is a little blank book,
and a pencil for each of you. Go down in the orchard, and when you find
a bird, write in the book how it looks to you. So--size, color of head,
throat, breast, back, tail, and wings--that will be enough for once; but
try to remember, also, how it sings. You had better help them a bit to
begin with, daughter," he continued, turning to Olive, who went as
gladly as if she were only ten years old like Nat, instead of being
seventeen, and nearly as tall as her father, with skirts that covered
her boot tops.




CHAPTER III


A SPARROW SETTLES THE QUESTION

The apple trees were not yet in bloom in the orchard, but the cherries
were tricked out in dazzling white, and the peaches were blushing as
prettily as possible. On either side of the walk that led down through
the garden, hyacinths, great mats of single white violets and bunches of
yellow daffies were in flower, and as far as the children could see the
fresh green orchard grass was gilded with dandelions.

"Isn't it lovely?" cried Dodo, "I want to pick everything." She began to
fill her hands with dandelions. "Only I wish that mother was here"--and
a little quaver shook the merry voice.

"She will come by and by, dear," said Olive. "You know your father had
to go away on business, and you wouldn't like him to go all alone."

"Why do people have business?"

"To earn money, to be sure, to buy your pretty frocks and shoes, and
give you plenty to eat."

"But House People are the only ones who must work for what they
have--everything else takes what it wants."

"There is where you are very much mistaken, Miss Dodo. Everything works
for its living in some way. Take, for example, the birds that you are
going to study. They have to build their own houses, and feed their
children, and travel about every year on their own particular business."

"Travel--do birds travel?" cried both children in the same breath. "Oh,
where do they go, and what for?"

"Father will tell you about that. Now you must do what he said--each
find a bird, and see if you can describe it. Suppose we sit on this
great root. It belongs to the oldest tree in the orchard, and
Grandmother Hunter used to play house up in the top of it when she was a
little girl. Father told me he had a perch up there when he was a boy,
so that he could watch the birds. Perhaps, if you are careful and really
want to keep quiet and see the birds, he will have one fixed for you."

"How jolly!" said Nat. "Sh-h! I see a bird now--such a queer little
thing--it's running round like a mouse. Oh! oh! it goes just as well
upside down as any other way." And Nat pulled out his pencil and book
and waited for the bird to come in sight again, which it was kind enough
to do very soon.

"Size"--wrote Nat, struggling with his pencil, which would squeak,
because he had foolishly put it in his mouth. "How big would you call
it?"

"Little," said Dodo promptly.

"Kind of little, but not so very. I've seen smaller in the Museum," said
Nat. "What would you call it, Olive?"

"I should call it rather a small bird, if I were not speaking exactly.
But if you wish to be more particular you must try to guess its length
in inches. When I was about your age father measured my right-hand
middle finger and told me it was three inches long. Then he made two
marks across it with violet ink, which takes a long time to wash off, so
that my finger made a three-inch measure. I soon grew accustomed to look
at a bird and then at my finger, from nail to knuckle, and then try to
tell how many times longer the bird was from the point of his beak down
over his back to the tip of his tail. Of course I made a great many
mistakes and could seldom tell exactly, but it was a great help."

"How long is my finger?" asked Nat eagerly, spreading out a rather large
hand for a boy of ten.

"About four inches."

"Then that bird is quite a little longer than that--five or six inches
anyway." And he wrote, "Length, five or six inches."

"Ah, he has gone," wailed Dodo. "Oh, no, he hasn't. He has come round
the tree again--he says _squank, squank, squank_, as if his voice was
rusty. Is that his song, Cousin Olive?"

"No, he is only talking now."

"Talking? It seems to me that birds can do ever so many more things than
I thought they possibly could."

"Black head," said Nat, as he continued writing; "sort of gray on top
and white in front; his tail is black and white and rusty looking
underneath, and--there, he has flown away! Do you think that will do,
and will uncle know his name? Oh, I forgot, he says _squank_, goes head
down, and picks things out of the tree bark." "Yes, that will do for a
beginning, but father will tell you some simple names for the different
parts of every bird, so that your descriptions need not confuse you. If
every one gave his own names, no two people would quite understand each
other."

"Oh! I see a bird," whispered Dodo, pointing to the grass at a little
distance. "See! it's quite as big as a Pigeon and speckled all over
black and brown and has a red mark on the back of its neck. Please write
it down for me, Olive; it takes me so long to write, and I haven't seen
it in front yet. There, it's turning round--oh! it has a black mark in
front of its neck like a cravat and it's speckled underneath. It has
flown a little further off and is walking up a tree, and it's very white
on its back where its tail begins. Oh! do hear it laugh, Nat." And the
Flicker, the big Woodpecker with golden lining to its wings, for it was
he, gave out peal after peal of his jolly call-note.

"Can't we go in now to ask Uncle Roy the names of these birds, and see
if he won't begin our book this afternoon?"

"It isn't an hour yet since we came out. Come down through the orchard;
I hear some Bluebirds singing and perhaps you can see them. They are
very tame, and often make their nests in the knot holes in these old
trees."

"See, Olive," said Dodo, "what is that down in the grass by the fence?
It is something moving. Do you think it can be any sort of a wild
animal?"

"No, it's a boy," said Nat. "I see his head. Perhaps he has come to
catch some birds. Let's drive him away." "Gently, gently, Nat," said
Olive; "it is a boy, but you are not sure that he is doing any harm, and
besides it was only yesterday that you were vexed with me because I
wouldn't let you pop at the birds yourself. We will ask him what he is
doing."

They went through the orchard, and found a boy, about twelve years old,
lying in the grass. He had dark hair and eyes, and a sun-burned face,
but was very thin, and a rude crutch was lying beside him.

"Well, little boy," said Olive pleasantly, "what is your name, and what
are you doing here?"

The child looked frightened at first and hid his face on his arm, but
finally looked up, and said timidly, "My name is Rap, and I was watching
the birds. Please, I didn't know anybody lived here, only cows, and I've
been coming in most times for two years."

Then they saw that he had a tattered piece of a book in one hand, which
he slipped inside his jacket as carefully as if it were a great
treasure.

"Watching them to like them or to catch them?" asked Nat suspiciously,
then feeling ashamed the next moment when Rap answered:

"To like them. I'd never kill a bird! I've sometimes found dead ones
that have hit against the telegraph wires; and it makes you feel lumpy
in your throat to see how every little feather lies so soft and lovely,
though they never will fly any more."

By this time the three were seated in front of the strange boy, looking
at him with great interest.

"What is the book you were reading when we came up?" asked Olive. Rap
pulled it out and laid it on her lap, saying, "I don't know its
name--the beginning part that tells is gone--but it's all about birds.
Here's a picture of a Bluebird, only it isn't quite right, somehow. Oh,
I do wish I had all of the book."

Olive turned over the leaves that looked familiar to her and saw that it
began at page 443. "Why, it is part of the first volume of Nuttall's
'Manual of Birds.' My father has the whole of this book," she said.
"Where did you find this bit?"

"The rag pedler that comes by every fall lets me look in his bags,
'cause sometimes there are paper books in them, and he gave me this for
nothing, 'cause it was only a piece."

"Why don't you ask your father to buy you a whole book, instead of
grubbing in rag-bags?" said Nat thoughtlessly.

Rap looked from one to the other, as if in his interest he had forgotten
himself for a time, and then he said quietly, "I haven't any father."

"I haven't any mother," said Olive quickly, putting her hand gently on
the thin brown one. "We must be friends, Rap."

Her sympathy soothed him immediately, and his gentle nature instantly
tried to comfort her by saying, "But you said your father owned the
whole of my book. How glad you must be!"

Then they all laughed, and Nat and Dodo began telling about their
uncle's room and all the books and birds in it, and about the book he
had promised to write for them, until Rap looked so bewildered that
Olive was obliged to explain things a little more clearly to him. "Come
home with us," cried Nat and Dodo, each seizing him by a hand, "and
perhaps uncle will tell you all the names we must learn--head, throat,
wings, and what all the other parts are rightly called--and then we can
go around together and watch birds."

But as Rap turned over and scrambled up with the aid of his crutch, they
saw that he had only one leg, for the trouser of the left leg was tied
together just below the knee.

Acting as if they did not notice this, they led the way to the house,
going close to the fence that divided the orchard from the road, because
there was a little path worn there.

"What is the whole of your name?" asked Dodo, who could not keep from
asking questions.

"Stephen Hawley," he answered. "My mother is Ann Hawley, who lives by
the mill, and does all the beautiful fine white washing for everybody
hereabouts. Don't you know her? I suppose it's because you have just
come. I believe my mother could wash a cobweb if she tried, and not tear
it," and a glow of pride lit up his face.

"But you said a little while ago that your name was Rap."

"Everybody calls me Rap, because when I go along the road my crutch hits
the stones, and says 'rap--rap--rap.'"

"Here's a dead bird," said Nat, picking something from under the fence.

"It's a White-throated Sparrow," said Rap, "and it's flown against the
telegraph wire in the dark and been killed." "We will take it to uncle
and ask him to tell us all about it."

"Yes, yes," said Dodo, "we will all go"--and Rap hopped off after the
other children so quickly that Olive had hard work to keep up with him.

This time Nat and Dodo did not hesitate outside the study door, but gave
a pound or two and burst into the room.

"Uncle Roy, Uncle Roy, we have seen two birds and written down about
them, but we didn't quite know what to call the front part where the
neck ends and the stomach begins, or the beginning of the tail, and
Olive says there are right names for all these parts. And we found Rap
in the orchard and he only has half a book, and here's a White-throated
Sparrow, and we want to know how it's made and why birds can fly and
why--"

Here the Doctor laughingly stopped them and turned to Olive for a
clearer account of what had taken place in the orchard, while Rap stood
gazing about the room as if he thought that heaven had suddenly opened
to him.

"Now, children," said the Doctor, as soon as the youngsters had stopped
chattering, "I will first _tell_ you some stories about the birds; then
if you like them I will make them into a little book that other girls
and boys may read." And as the children began to dance about, he
continued: "But before I tell you the names and habits of some of our
home birds, you must learn a few things that are true of all birds--what
they are; where they belong among animals; how they are made; how they
do good and why we should protect them; and the wonderful journeys some
of them take. To-morrow I will begin by answering Dodo's questions
whether a bird is an animal, and why it has feathers."

"I think a bird is something like a boat," said Rap eagerly. "When it
flies its wings are like sails in the air, and when it swims its feet
row under the water, and the tail balances behind like a rudder and the
head sticks out in front like the bowsprit."

"You are right, my boy," said the Doctor, looking at him attentively;
"and would you also like to know how this beautiful boat is made? If a
ship-builder could plan a vessel that would go through wind and water as
birds do, he would be the wisest man in the world. But you see, Rap, a
man did _not_ plan any bird.

"I will go down and ask your mother to let you come and hear the stories
with the other children--how would you like that, Rap?"

"Will you? Will you really let me come? Oh, I am so glad! I know
mother'll let me any day but Monday and Thursday, because I have to
watch clothes on those days."

"Wash clothes?" said Dodo in surprise.

"No, watch them," replied Rap, laughing. "Those two days the miller lets
mother spread her things to whiten in his big meadow, and I have to
watch and see that they are not stolen or don't blow away."

"Isn't it very stupid to sit there so long?"

"Oh, no, it's lovely; for there are lots of birds and things about."

"To-morrow will be Wednesday," said the Doctor. "Come up to Orchard Farm
by nine o'clock, Rap, and we will begin our lessons with this little
White-throated Sparrow Nat has found."

"And uncle!" cried Dodo, "you must make inch measures on our middle
fingers with violet ink, the way you did to Olive's when she was
little."




CHAPTER IV


THE BUILDING OF A BIRD

It rained on Wednesday--a warm spring rain, swelling the rivers and
ponds, and watering the newly planted garden; but discouraging the birds
in their nest-building, and disappointing Nat and Dodo, who wished to
have their lesson in the orchard.

"Come in here, children," said the Doctor. "The wonder room, as Dodo
calls it, is a good place for a talk about feathers and bones, and the
rest of the things birds are built of. I have sent for Rap, too, so that
the trio may be complete."

"Feathers and bones for building birds?" said Nat. "What a queer idea
for a bird story."

"Not a bird story exactly," answered the Doctor. "But some things are
true of all birds, and you must know them if you wish to understand the
_reason why_ of any bird in particular."

In a few minutes the three children were seated on the wide settle, with
a cheery log fire, to make them forget the outside dampness. Quick, the
fidgety little fox-terrier, sat by the hearth, watching a possible mouse
hole; and Mr. Wolf, the tawny St. Bernard, chose the rug as a
comfortable place for finishing his morning toilet.

Olive presently joined the group. The Doctor took the dead
White-throated Sparrow from the table, and began to walk about the room,
stopping now in front of the fire and then by the window.

"Here is a Sparrow, different from every other kind of Sparrow,
different indeed from any other sort of bird in the world--else it would
not be the particular sort of a Sparrow called the White-throated. But
there are a good many things that it has in common with all other birds.
Can you tell me some of them?"

"I know!" said Dodo; "it has a good many feathers on it, and I guess all
kinds of birds wear feathers, except some when they are very little in
the nest."

"Quite right, little girl," said the Doctor. "Every bird has feathers,
and no other animal has feathers. So we say, 'A bird is known by its
feathers.' But what do you suppose its feathers are for?"

"To make it look nice and pretty," said Dodo promptly.

"To make it lighter, so's it can fly," added Nat.

"To keep it warm, too, I guess," was Rap's answer.

"Well, you are all three partly, but not quite, right. Certainly the
beauty of a bird depends most on its feathers, being not even skin-deep,
as you may well believe, if you ever noticed a chicken Mammy Bun had
plucked. But, Nat, how can feathers make a bird lighter, when every one
of them weighs something, and a bird has to carry them all? They make a
bird a little heavier than it would be without them. Yet it is quite
true that no bird could fly if you clipped its wings. So some of its
feathers enable it to fly--the large ones, that grow on the wings. Then,
too, the large ones that make the tail help the bird to fly, by acting
like a rudder to steer with. Perhaps the small ones too, all over the
body, are of some help in flight, because they make a bird smooth, so
that it can cut through the air more easily--you know they all lie one
way, pointing backward from their roots to their tips. Then when Rap
said feathers keep a bird warm, he guessed right. Birds wear plumage as
you do clothes, and for the same purpose--to look nice and keep warm."

"But what is 'plumage,' Uncle Roy?" asked Dodo; "I thought you were
talking about feathers."

"So I was, missy. Feathers are the plumage, when you take them all
together. But see here," added the Doctor, as he spread the Sparrow's
wings out, and held them where the children could look closely; "are the
wings all plumage, or is there something else?"

"Of course there's something else to wings," said Dodo; "meat and bones,
because I've eaten chickens' wings."

"Why didn't you say, Dodo, because there has to be something for the
feathers to stick into?" said Nat decidedly.

"You both have very good reasons," said the Doctor. "The plumage of the
wings grows out from the skin, just as feathers grow from any other part
of the body, only the large ones are fastened to the bones, so that they
stay tight in their proper places. If they were loose, they would fly up
when the bird beats the air with its wings, and get out of order. See
how smoothly they lie one over another! When the bird closes its wings,
they come together snugly along its sides. But when the wing is spread,
they slide apart--yet not too far to form a broad, flat surface, quite
stiff, but light and elastic. By beating the air with the wings birds
fly along. It is something like rowing a boat. This surface pushes
against the air as the flat blade of an oar pushes against the water.
That is why these large stiff feathers are called the rowers. When the
Wise Men talk Latin among themselves, they say _remiges_, for 'remiges'
means rowers."

"But, Doctor," said Rap, who was looking sharply at the Sparrow's wing,
"all the feathers are not like that. Here are a lot of little ones, in
rows on top of the wing in front, and more like them underneath,
covering over the roots of the rowing feathers. Have they any name?"

"Oh, yes! Everything you can see about a bird has its own name. Those
small feathers are called _coverts_, because they cover over the roots
of the rowers. Those on top are the upper coverts; those underneath are
the under coverts, or lining of the wings. Now notice those two pretty
bands of color across the Sparrow's wing. You see one band is formed by
the tips of the longest coverts, and the other band by the tips of the
next longest coverts. Those two rows of feathers are the greater and
middle coverts, and all the smallest feathers, next to the front edge of
the wing, are called lesser coverts. Now look at the tail, Rap, and tell
me what you can find."

"Why, there is a bunch of long stiff feathers like rowers, that slide
over each other when you spread the tail, and a lot of short feathers
that hide the roots of the long ones. Are they rowers and coverts too?"
"A bird does not row with his tail--he steers with it, as if it were a
rudder; and the long feathers are therefore called rudder-feathers--or
_rectrices_, which is Latin for rudders. But the short ones are called
coverts, like those of the wings--upper tail-coverts, and under
tail-coverts."

"How funny!" said Dodo, "for a bird to have to row himself and steer
himself all at once. I know I should get mixed up if I tried it with a
boat. How do feathers grow, Uncle Roy?"

"Just like your hair, little girl," said the Doctor, patting her on the
head, "or your nails. Didn't you ever notice the dots all over the skin
of a chicken? Each dot is a little hole in the skin where a feather
sprouts. It grows in a sheath that pushes out of the hole, like a plant
coming up out of the ground from its root. For a while this sheath is
full of blood to nourish the growing feather; that is why new feathers
look dark and feel soft--pin-feathers they are called. The blood dries
up when the feather has unfolded to its full size, leaving it light and
dry, with a horny part at the root that sticks in the hole where it
grew, and a spray-like part that makes up most of the feather. The horny
part becomes hollow or contains only a little dry pith; when it is large
enough, as in the case of a rowing feather from a Goose's wing, it makes
a quill pen to write with. But the very tiniest feather on this Sparrow
is built up in the same way.

"See! here is one," continued the Doctor, as he twitched out a feather
from the Sparrow's back. "You see the quill part runs in the middle from
one end to the other; this is called the _shaft_. On each side of it
all along, except just at the root, the spray-like parts grow. They are
called the _webs_ or _vanes_. Now look through this magnifying glass at
the web."

The children looked in turn, and each, exclaimed in wonder at the sight.

"Yes, it is very wonderful. The web, that looks so smooth to the naked
eye, is made up of a great many small shafts, called _barbs_, that grow
out of the main shaft in rows. Every one of these small side-shafts has
its own rows of still smaller shafts; and these again have little
fringes along their edges, quite curly or like tiny hooks, that catch
hold of the next row and hold fast. So the whole feather keeps its
shape, though it seems so frail and delicate."

"Are all feathers like this one?" asked Rap.

"All are equally wonderful, and equally beautiful in construction; but
there is a good deal of difference in the way the webs hold together.
Almost all feathers that come to the surface are smooth and firm, and
there is not much difference except in size, or shape, or color. For
example, the largest wing-feather or tail-feather of this Sparrow is
quite like the one I pulled out of its back in texture, only the
back-feather is smaller and not so stiff. But near the roots of these
feathers you notice a fluffy part, where the webs do not hold together
firmly. Some feathers are as fluffy as that in their whole length. Such
are called down-feathers, because they are so downy. Birds that run
about as soon as they are hatched are always clothed in down, like
little chickens, before their other feathers sprout; and some birds,
like Ducks, wear a warm underclothing of down their whole lives. Then
again some feathers do not have any webs at all--only a slender shaft,
as fine as a hair."

"Do feathers keep on growing all the time, like my hair?" asked Dodo.

"No, my dear. They stop growing as soon as they are of the right size;
and you will find your hair will do the same, when it is long
enough--though that won't be for a good many years yet, little girl.
When the blood that has fed the growing feather is all dried up, the
feather ceases to grow. Then after a while longer, when it has become
ragged and worn, it gets loose in the skin and drops out--as I am sorry
to say some of my hair is doing already. That is what we call
_moulting_."

"I know about that," interrupted Nat. "It's when hens shed their
feathers. But I didn't know that it was moulting when people grow bald."

"It is very much the same thing," said the Doctor, "only we don't call
it moulting when people lose their hair. But there is this difference.
Birds wear out their feathers much faster than we do our hair, and need
a new suit at least once a year, sometimes oftener. All young birds get
their first new clothes when the down is worn out. Old birds generally
moult as soon as they have reared their broods, which in this country is
late in summer or early in the fall. Many also moult again the following
spring, when they put on their wedding dress; and one of the curious
things about this change of plumage is, that the new feathers often come
out quite unlike those that were cast off. So a bird may differ much in
appearance at different seasons and ages--in fact, most birds do. The
male also differs in many cases from the female, being more handsomely
dressed than his mate."

"I don't think that's fair," said Dodo. "I shouldn't like Nat to have
nicer clothes than I wear."

"But it is best for Bird People," replied the Doctor, "that the mother
bird, who has to keep house and tend to the little ones, should not be
too conspicuous. She is best protected from enemies when her colors are
plain, and especially when they match the foliage in which she sits on
her nest. If her mate has only himself to look out for, it does not so
much matter how bright his plumage may be. The colors of some birds are
so exactly like their surroundings, that you might look long before you
could find the sober, quiet female, whose mate is flashing his gay
plumage and singing his finest song, perhaps for the very purpose of
attracting your attention away from his home. 'Protective coloration,'
is what the Wise Men call it."

"What makes all the different colors of birds, Doctor?" asked Rap.

"That is a hard question to answer. It is natural for birds to have
particular colors, just as some people have black eyes and hair, while
others have blue eyes and yellow hair. But I can tell you one thing
about that. Look at this Sparrow. All the colors it shows are _in_ the
feathers, whose various markings are due to certain substances called
'pigments,' which filter into the feathers, and there set in various
patterns. The feathers are painted inside by Nature, and the colors show
through. You see none of these colors are shiny like polished metal. But
I could show you some birds whose plumage glitters with all the hues of
the rainbow. That glittering is called 'iridescence.' It does not
depend upon any pigment in the substance of the feathers, but upon the
way the light strikes them. It is the same with the beautiful tints we
see on a soap-bubble. The film of water itself is colorless, but it
becomes iridescent. You might divide all the colors of birds into two
classes--those that depend upon pigments in the feathers, and those that
depend upon the play of light on the feathers."

"That's pretty hard to remember," said Nat; "but I know how a
soap-bubble looks, though I never saw any birds look that way. Please
show us one."

"I will show you two," answered the Doctor, who then went to his glass
case, and took out a Wild Pigeon and a Hummingbird. "Look at the shining
tints on the neck of this Pigeon, and see how the throat of this
Hummingbird glitters when I turn it to the light."

"That's the prettiest color I ever saw," said Nat, "and I can remember
about it now. But," he added, thinking of the way he had seen hens mope
when they were moulting, "does it hurt birds to lose their feathers,
uncle?"

"It is probably not as comfortable as being nicely dressed, and
sometimes they seem quite miserable, especially if they shed old
feathers faster than new ones can grow to replace the lost ones. Some
birds, like Ducks, lose their wing-feathers all at once, and cannot fly
for quite a while. But Heart of Nature is kind to his children, as a
rule. Most birds shed their rowing feathers one at a time in each wing,
so that they never lose their power of flight. Now this will do for
wings, tails, and feathers. Come! what is the next thing you notice
about this Sparrow? Is it entirely covered with feathers?"

"Of course it isn't," said Dodo; "it hasn't any feathers on its beak or
on its feet, else how could it eat and hop about?"

"That is right. These parts of a Sparrow are bare; they never have any
feathers; and the skin on them is hard and horny, as different from soft
thin skin as finger-nails. Now look at the beak, and think how many
things a Sparrow has to do with it. He has no hands or paws, and so he
must pick up everything he eats with his beak. He has no teeth, and so
he must bite his food with his beak. He feeds on seeds like a Canary
bird; so his beak comes to a sharp point, because seeds are small things
to pick up; and it is very strong and horny, because seeds are hard to
crack, to get at the kernel. Notice, too, children, that his beak is in
two halves, an upper half and a lower half; when these halves are held
apart his mouth is open, so that you can see the tongue inside; and when
the two halves are closed together the mouth is shut. These halves are
called the _upper mandible_ and the _lower mandible_."

"Why, it's just like people's mouths," said Nat, "only people have lips
and teeth."

"Certainly it is like our mouths. Birds are built like ourselves in a
great many things, and live as we do in a great many ways. Bird People
and House People are animals, and all animals must eat to live. A bird's
beak is its mouth, and the under mandible moves up and down, like our
chins when we eat or talk. Birds can talk as well as sing with their
beaks. This Sparrow can say 'Peabody,' and some kinds of Parrots can
repeat whole sentences so as to be understood. That is another thing in
which birds' beaks are like our mouths. Now look again--can you see
anything else about the Sparrow's beak?"

"I see a pair of little holes at the root of the upper mandible," said
Rap.

"Well, those are the nostrils!" said the Doctor. "Birds must breathe,
like ourselves, and when the beak is shut they breathe through the
nostrils."

"So do I," said Dodo; and then she pursed up her pretty red lips
tightly, breathing quite hard through her nose. "I do think," she said,
when she had finished this performance, "birds have faces, with all the
things in them that we have--there are the eyes, too, on each side, like
people's eyes, only they look sideways and not in front. But I don't see
their ears. Have birds any ears, Uncle Roy?"

"I can show you this Sparrow's ears. See here," said the Doctor, who had
run the point of his penknife under a little package of feathers on one
side of the back of the Sparrow's head, and lifted them up; "what does
that look like?"

"It's a hole in the skin that runs into the head," said Nat. "Can birds
hear through that?"

"Of course they can. Ears of all animals are made to hear with. This
Sparrow can hear quite as well as you can, Nat. Now think, children, how
many things we have found about this Sparrow's head that are quite like
our own,--ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and tongue,--only there are no lips
or teeth, because the horny beak, with its hard edges and sharp point,
answers both for lips and teeth. I want you to learn from this how many
things are really alike in Bird People and House People, though they
look so different at first sight. When we come to the bird stories, you
will find that birds differ very much among themselves in all these
things. I will show you all sorts of beaks, of different sizes and
shapes. Here are pictures of several kinds of beaks--see how much they
differ in shape! But they are all beaks, and all beaks are mouths. They
all answer the same purposes in birds' lives, and the purposes are the
same as those of our mouths. But now, what do you notice about this
Sparrow's feet?"

"They are not a bit like my feet," said Dodo; "they are so long and slim
and hard, and the toes stick out so all around. I think mine are nicer."

"But they would not be so useful as this Sparrow's if you had to live in
a bush and hop about on the twigs," said the Doctor. "The bird's feet
are fixed as nicely for that, as yours are for walking on the ground. I
can show you, too, little girl, that a Sparrow's feet are a great deal
more like yours than you think. Come, Rap! Tell me what you see about
this bird's feet."

"Why, they are the ends of its legs, and there is a long slim part
beyond the feathers, hard and horny like the beak, and at the end of
this are four toes, three in front and one behind, and they've all sharp
claws on their ends."

"Very well said, my boy! Now I will show you that such feet as the
Sparrow has are as much like Dodo's as a Sparrow's beak is like her
mouth. Begin with the claws--"

[Illustration: FIG. 1. Insect-eating bill of Robin; 2. Seed-crushing
bill of a Sparrow; 3. Snapping bill of Whip-poor-will; 4. Needle bill of
Hummingbird; 5. Chiselling bill of Woodpecker; 6. Climbing bill of
Paroquet; 7. Tearing bill of Falcon; 8. Grooved drinking bill of Dove;
9. Gleaning bill of Ruffed Grouse; 10. Wedge bill of Plover; 11.
Straight probing bill of Snipe.]

[Illustration: FIG 12: Curved probing bill of Curlew; 13. Spearing bill
of Green Heron; 14. Strainer bill of Duck; 15. Hooked bill of Gull; 16.
Ornamental bill of male Puffin in breeding season.]

"I know!" exclaimed Dodo, "toe-nails! Only I think they need cutting!"

"Of course they are toe-nails," said the Doctor. "Don't nails grow on
the ends of toes? All kinds of claws, on the ends of birds' and other
animals' toes, are the same as nails. Some are long, sharp, and curved,
like a cat's or a Sparrow's, and some are flat and blunt, like ours. I
could show you some birds with claws that look just like our
finger-nails. Toes, too, are pretty much the same; only this Sparrow,
like most other birds, has but four, with three of them in a line in
front, and the other one pointing backward. That is what makes its foot
as good as a hand to hold on with when it perches on slender twigs.
Almost all birds have their toes fixed that way. Some, that do not
perch, have no hind toe; and birds that swim have broad webs stretched
between their front toes, like Ducks. All the different kinds of feet
birds have are fitted for the ways they move about on the ground, or
water, or among the branches of trees and bushes, just as all their
shapes of beaks are fitted for the kind of food they eat and the way
they pick it up. Here are two pictures that will show you several
different kinds of feet. Now you must answer the next question, Nat;
what do toes grow on?"

"Feet!" said Nat promptly, then adding: "But this Sparrow hasn't any
feet except its toes; they grow on its legs, because the rest of the
horny part stands up--I've noticed that in Canaries."

"But all this horny part is the foot, not the leg," answered the Doctor,
"though it does stand up, as you say. How could toes grow from legs
without any feet between? They never do! There has to be a foot in
every animal between the toes and the legs. Now what do you call the end
of your foot which is opposite the end on which the toes grow?"

[Illustration: FIG. 1. Ordinary foot of perching birds; 2. Foot of
Nighthawk, with a comb on claw of middle toe; 3. Climbing foot of
Woodpecker, with two hind toes; 4. Grasping foot of Osprey, for holding
prey.]

[Illustration: FIG. 5. Scratching foot of Ruffed Grouse; 6. Wading foot
of Golden Plover, with only three toes; 7. Wading foot of Snipe, with
short hind toe; 8. Wading foot of Green Heron, with long hind toe; 9.
Swimming foot of Coot, with lobed toes; 10. Swimming foot of Canada
Goose, with three toes webbed; 11. Swimming foot of Cormorant, with all
four toes webbed.]

"It's the heel in people, but I should think the hind toe of a bird was
its heel," said Nat doubtfully, and beginning to think he did not
understand.

"You might think so," said the Doctor; "but you would be wrong. All this
horny part that a bird stands up on is its foot. And the top of it,
nearest to the feathers, is the heel. Don't you see, when I bend the
foot _so_," continued the Doctor, as he bent the Sparrow's foot forward,
"that the top of the horny part makes a joint that stands out backward,
in the same position your heel always has? All this slender horny part
of the foot, above the roots of the toes, corresponds to the instep of
your foot, and of course the heel comes next. You must remember the name
of it--the Wise Men call it the _tarsus_."

"Then hasn't a bird got any legs, Uncle Roy, only just feet?" asked
Dodo.

"Oh! yes; legs too, with a knee-joint and a hip-joint, like ours. But
all these parts are up closer to the body, and hidden by the feathers,
so that you cannot see them."

As the Doctor said this there was a great commotion. Quick, who had been
watching the mouse hole all the while, gave a sharp bark and pounced on
something. There was a feeble squeak, and it was all over with a mouse
which had ventured too far from its hole.

"Poor little mousey!" said the Doctor, as he took the limp body from
the terrier's mouth. "It is quite dead. I am sorry, but it might have
nibbled some of my birds. Besides, this is exactly what I wanted to
teach you something about. Who can tell me the difference between a
mouse and a Sparrow?"

"I can!" said Dodo; "it's all difference; a mouse hasn't any feathers,
or any wings, and it has four feet, and a long tail and whiskers and
teeth--"

"That will do, little girl, for differences; do you see anything alike
between a Sparrow and a mouse, Rap?"

"I think the fur is something like feathers, Doctor," answered Rap; "and
you told us how a beak was like a mouth without any teeth or lips; then
a mouse has four feet and legs; but a bird has only two feet, and two
wings instead of four legs and feet like a mouse."

"That is just what I want you all to think about," said the Doctor. "Now
listen. If a Sparrow has a pair of feet that correspond to a mouse's
hind feet, what do you think a Sparrow's wings correspond to in a
mouse?"

"I should think they would be something like a mouse's fore feet,"
answered Rap, after thinking a moment.

"That is exactly right. Birds and beasts are alike in many respects.
They have heads, necks, and bodies; they have tails; and they have
limbs. Beasts have two pairs of limbs. We call them fore legs and hind
legs. People have two pairs also. We call them arms and legs. So you see
our arms correspond to the fore legs of beasts, though we never use them
for moving about, except when we go on our hands and knees, or climb
trees, or swim in the water. And as for birds--why, their fore limbs
are turned into wings, to fly with, so that they walk or hop on their
hind limbs only, just as we do. Animals that go on all fours are called
_quadrupeds_. Animals that go on their two hind limbs only, like Bird
People and House People, are called _bipeds_. A Sparrow's wings are just
as much like a mouse's fore legs, as a Sparrow's feathers are like a
mouse's fur."

"How funny!" said Dodo. "But how are a bird's wings like fore legs, when
they haven't got any paws or toes--or fingers--or claws--only just long
feathers?"

"They have fingers, and some birds' wings have claws; only you cannot
see them, because they are all wrapped up in the skin and covered over
with the feathers. Some day--not to-day, because you have had a long
lesson already--I will show you a bird's wing with only its bones. Then
you will see that it has finger-bones at the end, then hand-bones next,
then bones that run from the wrist to the elbow, and then one bone that
runs from the elbow to the shoulder--almost the same bones that people
have in their fingers, hands, wrists, and arms. So you see wings are the
same to a bird that fore legs are to a mouse or arms are to us.

"I could go through all the inside parts of birds, and show you
something like the same parts in people,--stomach and bowels, to take
care of the food they eat and turn it into blood to nourish them; lungs
to breathe with, and keep the blood pure; heart to beat and thus pump
the warm blood into all parts of the body; brain and nerves, which are
what birds think and feel with, just as we do with ours; and all their
bones, which together make what we call the _skeleton_, or framework of
the body, to keep the flesh in shape and support the other organs."

"Dear me!" sighed Dodo; "there must be ever so many more things inside
of birds that we can't see, than there are outside."

"Of course there are!" said the Doctor. "It won't be very hard for you
to remember the outside parts, and learn the names of them all. I have
told you most of them that you need to remember, to understand the
stories I am going to tell you about birds. See here! What do you think
of this?"


[Illustration: Outside parts of a bird.]

So saying, the Doctor unrolled a large sheet of drawing-paper that hung
on the wall. "Here is a picture of the White-throated Sparrow, drawn so
big you can see it almost across the room, with all the outside parts of
which you must learn the names. You see the names are all on the
picture, too; I am going to make it smaller, and put it in the book I
will write for you, so you can look at it whenever you wish.

"It is almost dinner-time now, and you must be very hungry. But now I
must tell you one thing more. You know there are so many, many different
kinds of birds and other animals that nobody could remember them unless
they were classified. To classify is to put things that are most alike
closest together, then next nearest them things that are next most
alike, and to keep furthest apart those things that are least alike. Now
it is true that all beasts, birds, snakes, lizards, frogs, and fishes
have some things alike, though each has some other things different from
all the rest. If they were not all alike in some things, we could not
call them all animals. One of the things in which all the animals I have
named are alike is, that they all have skeletons. One of the things in
which all their skeletons are alike is, that they have backbones.
Backbones are the chains of bones that run along the back from the head
to the tail. Backbones are called by the Wise Men _vertebrae_; animals
that have backbones are named _Vertebrates_; and animals that lack
backbones are named _Invertebrates_."

"Tell us the names of some Invertebrates, please, Doctor," said Rap.

"Well, all sorts of insects are Invertebrates, and so are lobsters and
crabs, oysters and clams, worms, starfishes, jelly-fishes, corals, and
even sponges. Then there are some too small to see without a microscope.
But never mind about Invertebrates now. I only want you to remember that
all beasts, birds, reptiles, and fishes are Vertebrates, and that there
are five principal classes of them. If I should tell you as much about
them as I have about the Building of a Bird, you would see that they are
all built on what we call the Vertebrate plan of structure. Here is a
chart of the Classes of Vertebrates--you can study it this afternoon,
till you learn it by heart."


VERTEBRATES

_Animals with Backbones_

CLASS I. Mammals.--Warm-blooded animals which have fur or hair, bring
forth their young alive, and nurse them. House People are Mammals.

CLASS II. Birds.--Warm-blooded animals which have feathers and lay eggs.

CLASS III. Reptiles.--Cold-blooded animals which have scaly skins, like
lizards, snakes, and turtles.

CLASS IV. Batrachians.--Cold-blooded animals which have naked skins,
like frogs, toads, and newts.

All the foregoing classes, except a few of the Batrachians, breathe air
in lungs, and almost all, except snakes, have legs; none now living can
fly, except bats and birds; but bats are Mammals.

CLASS V. Fishes.--Cold-blooded animals which have either scaly or naked
skins, but no fur or feathers; which live in the water, breathe it with
their gills, and swim in it with fins.




CHAPTER V


CITIZEN BIRD

The apple trees were in full bloom the day that the Doctor again found
time to be with the children. It was exactly the kind of a day that
birds like. The ground was soft enough to let the earthworms come up to
breathe, so that Robins could catch them easily, and the air was full of
all kinds of insects newly out from their long winter sleep in their
soft cocoon beds, much to the delight of the Swallows and Flycatchers.

It was also a beautiful day for House People to watch their bird
neighbors; for it was mild but not too bright, and every one knows how
it hurts the eyes to look at flying birds with the sun shining in them.

Olive, Dodo, and Nat went out first and found Rap waiting. The Doctor
followed, carrying something in his hand in a black leather case. When
they arrived at the old tree in the orchard, he told them to look up.
There was the perch arranged as it had been when he was a boy. Not a
perch for birds, but for House People--narrow board seats fitted in
between the largest branches and a bar fastened across some of the
highest ones, so that it was quite safe to climb up and look out of the
top of the tree. The branches had been trimmed away here and there, so
that a good view could be had of what was happening elsewhere in the
orchard. A scream of surprise and delight came from the group, in which
Olive joined. Quickly as the children scrambled into the tree, the
Doctor was up there first, laughing and saying that it was thirty years
since he had climbed that apple tree; for after he went away to college
the old seats had decayed and fallen down.

"Give me your hand and I'll help you up," called Nat to Rap, who had
dropped his crutch and was looking up at the others.

"No, you needn't," said Rap. "I can climb all right. Sometimes it isn't
so handy for me, but other times it's easier, for in tight places one
leg doesn't take up as much room as two;" and he swung and pushed until
he was up as high as the rest.

"Here's a nest with eggs in it," whispered Dodo, who had crept out on a
limb, where a rather large round nest, made of grass and little sticks
plastered together with mud, was saddled on the branch--in fact, a
Robin's nest.

"Four lovely smooth eggs, not quite blue and not quite green! Please,
can I have them? I saw them first."

"Think a minute, Dodo," said the Doctor. "A bird will come from each of
those eggs. Suppose you take the eggs away from the poor Robins, you
will be killing four young birds, besides hurting the feelings of their
parents and making them leave the orchard, very likely. You must not
take any eggs in the nesting season--not even one. I will tell you what
happened once in a field where there were some birds' nests in the
bushes.

"The man who owned the field was fond of birds and wished to protect
them, but he was so good-natured that when his little boy came to him
and said, 'I wish so much to have some birds' eggs--all the boys collect
them--_please_ let me take a few, father--only on our own land,' he did
not wish to say 'No.' Sometimes, to be good-natured is as bad as to be
cruel. This man said, 'You may take one egg from each nest, but only
_one_, remember.' So the boy went out and took a few eggs, but then he
carried them to school, showed them to the other boys, and told them
where they came from. Then each boy said to himself, 'It will be all
right if I take only one egg from each nest.' But when four or five boys
had each taken one, all the nests were quite empty. So the poor birds
left that man's field, where the bugs and worms grew and throve, till
they ate up his hay and all the rest of his crops.

"When the nesting season is over eggs that have not hatched are often
left in the various nests, that you can take without doing any harm. Of
course I know it is not easy to keep your hands off such pretty things
as birds' eggs; but if by doing so you can be patriotic and useful, it
is an act of self-denial that you will be glad to do for the good of the
country."

"What is in that black case, uncle?" asked Dodo. "Is it a pistol to
shoot birds? I think it looks too fat for that."

"Not the kind of a pistol that you mean, Dodo, but the only kind that
you youngsters need to bring down birds so that you can see them. It is
a double-barrelled gun, but you must use your eyes for bullets, instead
of leaden balls. See!"--and he took a fine pair of field-glasses from
the case, moved the screw a little, and held them before Dodo's
eyes--"what do you see down there in the grass?"

"Why, it's a Robin, but how big it looks! Every feather shows by itself,
and it has white rings round its eyes like spectacles. I never saw them
before, I'm sure."

Then, as the Doctor handed the glasses to Nat, Dodo looked in her lap,
expecting to find the bird there instead of a hundred feet away.

"This is jolly!" cried Nat, taking a peep and passing the glasses to
Rap, who put them to his eyes, gave a little "ah," and looked through
them until the Doctor said, "That will do now. Olive shall keep the
glasses, and whenever you children want them she will give them to you;
but you must be careful never to scratch them or rub your fingers over
the lenses at either end. With this magnifying instrument you will be
able to see the shape of beaks and wings, and many color markings you
would never notice otherwise. But what did I promise to tell you of
to-day, children?"

"Citizen Bird, you said," replied Nat, "though I don't think I quite
know what you mean."

"What does _citizen_ mean?" asked the Doctor, smiling.

"I think it is a person who lives in a city, but birds aren't people and
they don't live much in the city."

"You are right in one sense, my boy, but the word _citizen_ has also a
far wider meaning. Do you know what it is, Olive?" But Olive was not
sure, and the Doctor asked her to go to his study and look for the word
in the big dictionary.

In a few minutes she returned with a slip of paper from which her father
read: "Citizen--a member of a nation, especially of a republic; one who
owes allegiance to a government and is entitled to protection from it."

"Now, if you listen carefully I think I can prove to you that every bird
you can find is such a citizen of this country, and show you why we
should protect him.

"I told you the other day how the body of a bird was planned and built
to fill a place no other animal could take. Thus by his habits and
character every bird fills a place as a citizen of our Republic, keeping
the laws and doing work for the land that House People, with all their
wisdom, cannot do. Every such fellow-animal of ours, besides having eyes
to see with, and a brain which, if it does not tell him as many things
as our brains tell us, yet teaches him all that he need know to follow
the laws that Heart of Nature has set for him, has the same feelings and
affections as ourselves. Parent birds love each other and their little
ones, and often lose their lives in trying to protect them. They build
their homes with as much care and skill as House People use in making
theirs. Then they work hard, very hard indeed, to collect food to feed
their children, for bird children are, oh, so hungry! They grow very
quickly, and must eat constantly from morning until night.

"With them it is breakfast, luncheon, dinner, five-o'clock tea, and
supper, with a great many other meals between times that would not be
wholesome for House Children. So you can see for yourselves that we may
well call the bird a fellow-being."

"Yes," said Rap, his eyes beaming as if he had something to tell, "some
birds work as hard as mother does. I watched a pair of Robins all one
day last spring, when I was sick. They had a nest in a bush by our
kitchen window, where I could see it well, and all day long either the
mother or the father came about every two minutes with something for the
little ones to eat. I timed them by the clock until I was nearly dizzy,
and they seemed to do the same thing every day until the young ones flew
away. Then they went over to the grape vines, made a new nest, and
raised four more the same way"--and then Rap stopped suddenly, as if he
feared that he had been talking too much.

"That is all true," said the Doctor, looking very happy at finding that
one of his listeners not only saw for himself but remembered and thought
about what he had seen. "If you have used your eyes so well, my lad,
when we come to the bird stories I shall expect you to tell some of them
yourself." And the Doctor held out his hand to the child with a look
that sent him to bed to dream happy dreams for many a night.

The children gazed at Rap in surprise. It was a new idea that a poor
little fellow like him should know more than they, who had both parents
and nice clothes, and had been to school in a big city. That he should
be able to tell stories about birds seemed wonderful. But they were not
selfish, and instead of being jealous felt a great respect for Rap.

"Now," said the Doctor, "we will see what a good neighbor to House
People a bird is, and how in working for himself he helps them also."

"How can birds possibly work to help people?" asked Dodo and Nat
together; but Rap smiled to himself as if he knew something about the
matter, and said, "They eat the bugs and worms and things that kill the
gardens and fields."

"You are right again," said the Doctor heartily. "What is one thing that
man and every other animal must have to keep him alive?"

"_Food_!" shouted Nat, and then grew very red, as the others laughed,
because since he had been at Orchard Farm his appetite had grown so that
though he ate twice as much as Olive and Dodo he seemed always hungry.

"Yes, food. Bread, meat, vegetables, and fruits, but bread first of all.
What is bread made of?"

"Wheat, I think," said Nat.

"Rye, too--mother's rye-bread is drea'fly good," said Rap.

"Don't forget Mammy Bun's corn-bread," added Olive.

"All your answers are right, for many different kinds of bread are used
in various parts of the country; but whether it is made from
wheat-flour, or rye-flour, or corn-meal, it all grows from the ground,
does it not?

"Now the next sort of food--meat, the flesh of animals--oxen, sheep,
pigs, and poultry--what do they feed on?"

"Oxen eat grass and hay and meal," said Dodo, in great haste lest some
one else should speak first.

"Sheep eat grass and hay too. I've seen them over in the pasture on the
hill," said Nat.

"Pigs will eat any old sort of thing," said Rap. "Sour milk and snakes
and swill and rats."

"Ugh!" shivered Dodo. "Are all those nasty things in sausages?" "No,
Dodo," laughed the Doctor; "when pigs are shut up they eat a great many
dirty things, but naturally they prefer clean food like other cattle--
corn, acorns, apples, and so forth. Besides, those 'nasty things,' as
you call them, turn into pork before they are put in sausages, for pigs
know how to make pork. So you see that all the food of the animals whose
flesh we eat comes out of the ground; and that is what the Bible means
where it says, 'All flesh is grass.' But what other things are there
that grow up out of the earth, tall and strong, each one holding a
beautiful green screen to keep the sun from drawing all the moisture
from the ground and making it too dry; shading the rivers that their
waters may not waste away; some making cool bowers for House People to
sit under, others bearing delicious fruits for them to eat, and all in
good time yielding their bodies to make fires and give out heat to warm
us?"

"Trees! Yes, trees of course," cried the children eagerly; "all kinds of
trees, for trees grow apples and pears and plums and cherries and
chestnuts and firewood too."

"Now what is there that preys upon all this vegetable life--upon every
plant, from the grass to the tree, destroying them all equally?"

"Bugs and worms and all kinds of crawlers and flyers and hoppers," said
Rap.

"Yes, every plant has an insect enemy which feeds upon its life juices.
So a set of animals has been developed by Heart of Nature to hold the
plant destroyers in check, and these animals are the birds.

"Man may do all he can to protect his gardens, his orchards, his fields
and forests, but if the birds did not help him the insects that work by
night and day--tapping at the root, boring inside the bark, piercing the
very heart of the plant, chewing off the under side of leaves, nipping
off the buds--would make the earth bare and brown instead of green and
blooming. Yet House People, both young and old, forget this. They shoot
and frighten away the birds, either because some few of their feathered
friends take grapes or other fruits and berries by way of pay, or merely
from thoughtlessness, to see how many they can hit."

"Do _all_ birds eat bugs and such things?" asked Nat. "Olive said she
used to put out grain and crumbs in winter for some kinds."

"Some birds eat animal food and some seed food, while others eat both;
but almost all birds feed their babies upon insects. The nesting season
is chiefly in spring, when all plants begin or renew their growth.
Spring is also the season when the eggs of many insects hatch out and
when others come from the cocoons in which they have slept all winter.

"Then the farmer begins his annual war upon them, and day after day he
fights the Battle of the Bugs. But if he stops to think, and remembers
that Heart of Nature has a use for everything, he will win this battle
against the creeping, crawling, squirming regiments more easily. For
above him in the trees of his forest, in the hedgerows and bushes of his
pasture and garden, on the rafters of his barn, even in the chimney of
his house, live the birds, willing and eager to help him. And all the
wages they ask is permission to work for a living and protection from
those of his fellowmen who covet the Oriole and Cardinal for their gay
feathers and the Robin and Meadowlark for pot-pie."

"Singing-bird pie is wicked. I would like to pound them all," said Dodo,
striking her fists together, as Nat did sometimes, not making it clear
whether it was pie or people she wanted to pound. "But uncle, it is
right to eat some birds--Ducks and Chickens and Geese and Turkeys."

"Yes, Dodo, they belong to another class of birds--a lower order that
seem made for food--not singing nor helping the farmers; but even these
should not be shot needlessly or in their nesting season. But the higher
order--the perching Song Birds--should never be shot, except the common
Sparrow of Europe that we call the English Sparrow. His habits are
wholly bad; he meddles with the nests of useful birds and is a nuisance
to his human as well as bird neighbors.

"To prevent confusion Heart of Nature has divided the habits and
appetites of Birdland, so that instead of a great many families all
building in one kind of tree, or eating the same sort of insects or
seeds, each has its own manners and customs. Thus they divide among
themselves the realms of the air, the water, the trees, and the ground.
Some birds, as the Swallows and Flycatchers, skim through the air to
catch winged insects. Others, like the Woodpeckers and Warblers, take
the scaly insects from the bark of trees. Others that walk on the
ground, like the Robin, the Thrush, Meadowlark, Crow, and Red-winged
Blackbird, eat ground things, such as the fat cutworms which mow with
sharp jaws the young plants of corn, cabbage, and onions."

"Please, Doctor Hunter," asked Rap, "I thought Crows and Blackbirds
were wicked birds that ate up grain and corn, for the miller always puts
up scarecrows to keep them away."

But before the Doctor could answer the children caught sight of Mammy
Bun coming down from the house carrying a tray. Upon this was a pitcher,
some glasses, and a plate full of cakes, which, when she came under the
tree, they saw were delicious-looking buns, as light and brown as good
yeast and careful baking could make them.

"Ah, mammy, mammy," cried Olive, Dodo, and Nat together, "how did you
know that we should be hungry now, and we are simply famishing?"

"Well, honeys, I jess guessed it, I reck'n. I know'd massa was
a-learnin' you'uns suffin', and it allers 'peared to me that learnin'
was mighty empty work. I know'd Massa Doctor was never a one to keep his
patients holler, and least his own folks!" Mammy gave a big comfortable
laugh as the Doctor took the tray from her hands and the children
thanked her heartily, while little Rap smiled hopefully on seeing that
there were six buns on the plate--that meant one for each and two for
the Doctor, he thought.

"No one can make such buns as mammy," said Olive, old as she was
breaking hers in half, to find the lump of sugar soaked with lemon juice
that she knew was inside. "She used to make them for me when I was a
little girl; that is why I named her Mammy Bun, and we've called her
that ever since."

"I thought it was a funny name," said Rap.

"One for each of us, and one for the dish," said Olive, passing the
plate around. "One for the dish? What do you mean?" said Dodo.

"Mammy says it is always nice to have more food on a dish, than people
are likely to eat, so that they shall see there is enough and the dish
shan't feel lonely. You see, that last bun belongs to the dish."

"This time the dish will have to feel lonely," said the Doctor, who had
noticed that Rap was looking at his bun, and not eating it; "for I think
that Rap would like to take that one home to his mother by and by."

From that day Rap always believed that the Doctor could look into his
head and see what he was thinking of.

"As we have been talking about the insect-killing that Citizen Bird does
in order to pay his rent and taxes, as a good citizen should, I will
tell you of the six guilds in Birdland, into which these citizens are
divided in order to do their work thoroughly."

"What is a guild?" asked Rap.

"A guild is a band of people who follow the same trade or occupation,
and birds are banded together according to the ways in which they work,
though some may belong to several guilds. We will name each of the six
guilds:

"1. Ground Gleaners.

"The birds who feed largely upon the insects which live in, on, or near
the ground.

"2. Tree Trappers.

"The birds who feed on insects which lurk about the trunks and branches
of trees and shrubs.

"3. Sky Sweepers.

"The birds who, while on the wing, catch flying insects.

"4. Wise Watchers.

"The large, silent birds, who sit in wait for their prey of field-mice
and other little gnawing mammals, as well as insects.

"5. Seed Sowers.

"The birds who eat wild fruits and berries, and after digesting the pulp
and juice, sow the seeds with their bodily wastage.

"6. Weed Warriors.

"The birds who crack seeds in their stout beaks, eat the kernels, and so
destroy millions of harmful weed-seeds.


"You must write the names and definitions of these six guilds down in
your books, because when you hear about each bird I will tell you to
which guild he belongs, and if you know where and upon what a bird feeds
it will be easier for you to find him. All the Land Birds belong to one
or more of these guilds; but perhaps we shall find before we are through
that some of the Water Birds have a guild of Sea Sweepers."

For a few minutes the children scribbled away in silence.

"My book will be very mussy," said Dodo, "for I can't write well when I
sit all humped up on a branch."

"Of course you cannot," said the Doctor; "but by and by you can copy it
out neatly in a clean book, and it will give you something to do on
rainy days, for there are some things that we always remember better if
we have once written them down." Presently Rap said, "It must be
because you never have let any birds be killed here that there are more
kinds than I ever see anywhere else--some of every guild, I think. I've
often wondered how it was."

"There are four Robins' nests in this one tree," said Olive, "and the
old birds have been flying to and fro while we talked, and never dreamed
of being afraid."

"Yes, children, Orchard Farm always has protected its Bird Citizens, and
it always will, in my time."

"And in mine, too," said Olive. "You see if each person would care for
the birds on his own land, the Battle of the Bugs would soon become less
terrible."

Then the children laughed to think how funny a real battle would be,
with an army of little bugs drawn up on one side of a field and big
House People with guns and cannons on the other.

"But even against cannon," said Olive, "the bugs would have the best of
it, because they can fly or hop, and the worms can crawl into the
ground."

Then the Doctor finished this lesson by saying, quite seriously: "Every
time you children deny yourselves the pleasure of taking an egg from a
nest, or think to spread a little food for hungry birds, when cold and
snow almost force them to starve, you are adding to the food-supply of
your country. To be sure, it may be only a few grains of wheat here and
an ear of corn there, but it all means bread-food of some sort, and the
bread of a nation is its life. So we must learn to love and protect this
feathered neighbor of ours, who works for his own living as well as
ours, pays his rent and taxes, and gives, besides, free concerts to the
public, daily. He certainly deserves the name of Citizen Bird. His
patriotism, which is simply his love of the country where he was born,
leads him to return to it whenever he thinks of settling down in life
and making a nest-home, no matter how far he may have wandered away at
any other time; and this patriotism makes him one of the greatest
travellers on the face of the earth."




CHAPTER VI


THE BIRD AS A TRAVELLER

Rap went up to Orchard Farm one morning very early to take Nat for a
walk through the fields, down to the river, to see some birds that had
arrived in the night.

It was only five o'clock, but Dr. Hunter was walking to and fro in the
garden, listening to the burst of bird-music as eagerly as if it were
for the first time in his life. That is one of the best parts of our
friendship with Bird People; they never weary us by talking too much,
and every spring after winter's silence their music is as new as ever.

"Please, Uncle Roy, can I go with Rap?" pleaded Nat. "I will wear my
rubber boots."

"You may go if you eat something first. I wonder if Rap would invite me
also?" said the Doctor, leading the way to the big kitchen pantry.

"I know he would!" cried Nat joyfully. "He wished and wished you would
go with us, but we didn't think you'd care to, because you have been to
the river woods so many times before. But why must I eat something,
uncle? I'm in such a hurry to go."

"Because, my boy, the life in us is like a fire that must be supplied
with fuel to keep it burning, only instead of wood or coal we need food.
Very early in the morning this life flame of ours, that is called
vitality, is very low, like a fire that has burned down, and if we go
out in the damp air and breathe the mists that rise from the ground our
vitality has not strength to resist them. But if we put fresh fuel on
our inward fire by eating something before we go out, then that bad
little mischief-maker, which we call malaria, has harder work to creep
into us."

"How funny! May I call Rap to tell him? Rap! Rap! come in and have milk
and something to eat, to make your inside fire burn up chills and
fever!"

Rap thought at first that Nat must be crazy, but very soon understood
what the Doctor meant, and was overjoyed at the prospect of having him
join the expedition.

"Dodo will cry when she wakes up and knows where we have gone," said
Nat, who had been much more kind and thoughtful of his sister since
coming to the Farm. But kindness is very catching, and at the Farm
everybody was kind, from the House People to the big gray horses in the
barn, which let the chickens pick up oats from between their powerful
hoofs, without ever frightening them by moving.

"It is too long a walk for little sister, but you must remember
everything that you see and hear, and tell her about it. Don't forget
the field-glass," said the Doctor, following the boys along the road
where telegraph wires made bird-perches between the high poles.

"You said a lot of birds came last night," said Nat to Rap; "but how do
you know that they came last night and where did they come from?"

"I know they came last night because they were not here yesterday,"
answered Rap; "but I don't know where they came from, except that it
must be from where it is warmer than it is here, because they went away
just before it grew cold last fall. See, Doctor, there are some of them
now on those fence rails and more up on the telegraph wires. The miller
calls them 'Bee Martins,' and says that they eat up all the honey-bees.
Have they any other name--because I have never seen them catch bees?"

Nat looked at them first with the field-glass, then without it as they
drew quite near the fence, and saw a fine bird, twice as long as his
middle finger. Its back and wings looked dark gray; it was white
underneath, with a touch of gray on the breast, and had a black tail,
with white at the end of it. As Nat looked the bird raised a little tuft
of feathers on top of its head, as if angry, flew into the air, giving a
shrill cry, seized an insect, and returned to its perch.

"That is the Kingbird," said the Doctor; "one of the most useful of the
insect-catchers. Instead of living on honey-bees, as many people think,
he eats very few of these, but kills instead thousands of the bad
robber-fly, which is the honey-bee's worst enemy. This bird is really
king of the air and of all fly-catching birds. See how graceful his
flight is, and how easily be moves!"

"Why did he go away last fall?" asked Nat. "Does he feel the cold
weather very much?

"He does not stay in the United States until the weather is cold enough
to dull him; but he has to move away for another reason. The same reason
that forces so many birds to leave us--he must follow his food. This
food consists of insects--different kinds of flies, ants, and
grasshoppers, which disappear or die as the air grows cold.

"Rap, have you ever noticed the difference between the sounds in a
spring night and a night in autumn? In spring the air is humming with
the calls of all sorts of insects, but in autumn it is silent, and even
the crickets have stopped chirping.

"So about the last of September our Kingbirds, who live everywhere in
the United States, gather in flocks, start to find a place where insects
are still stirring about, and fly southward, following the sea-coast and
the great rivers for paths. Those from the eastern part of the country
stop in Central America or fly on to South America, and those from the
western part often stop in Mexico."

"But how can they fly so far?" said Nat; "it's hundreds of miles; and
how do they find the way?"

"The flight of a bird is a wonderful thing, my boy. He spreads those
frail wings of his, and launches into the air, up, up, above trees and
steeples, then on and on, being able to fly several hundred miles
without resting. Some birds, when the wind aids them, cover more than a
hundred miles in a single hour.

"As to the way, the eye of the bird is like a telescope. It magnifies
and sees from very far off. Flying through the upper air the bird
watches the line of coast and river, and the instinct that is placed in
him says, 'Follow these.' So he follows them, remembering that by doing
so he has found a place of safety in other seasons. All through the
spring and all through the autumn birds take these mysterious
flights--for so they always seem to House People, as flock after flock
gathers and disappears. You can watch them sometimes passing by day so
high in the sky that they seem like dust-motes--then perhaps you will
only hear a faint call-note and see nothing. At night the sound of many
voices falls from the clouds. Sometimes it will be the tinkling bell of
Bobolinks, sometimes the feeble peep of Snipes, and sometimes the hoarse
honk of Wild Geese."

"Why, Uncle Roy! Can you tell a bird's name without seeing it, only by
one little cry?"

"Yes, my lad. When you have lived with birds as long as I have, you will
know their different voices as you do those of your own family. When
some one calls you in the garden, can't you tell whether it is Dodo or
Olive?"

"Yes, but their voices are so _very_ different."

"So are the voices of birds, when you know them well."

"But the young birds who have been hatched up here--how do they know
about going the first time?" asked Rap.

"The young ones are led in their journeys with signals and cries by
their parents; they in turn lead their own young, and so the knowledge
is kept up endlessly."

"I can see why they go south," said Rap, after thinking a few moments,
"but why do they come back again? Why don't they stay and build their
nests down there?"

"That is a difficult question to answer," said the Doctor, "and one that
we House People try to explain in different ways. I think that the love
of the place where they were born is strong enough in birds to bring
them back every season to build their nests. So you see that Citizen
Bird is a patriot; for, though he may be in the midst of plenty in a
tropical forest, when the time comes he travels hundreds of miles to his
native land to make the young, that will fly from his nest, citizens
like himself."

"But the birds that can eat seeds and other things do not travel so far,
do they?" asked Rap.

"No, the birds who rove about the United States throughout the year are
either Weed Warriors, or Seed Sowers, or those Tree Trappers who creep
about tree-trunks picking the eggs and grubs of insects from the bark.
Or else those great Cannibal Birds, the Wise Watchers, who eat the flesh
of their smaller brothers, as well as of rats, mice, and all such
vermin--the Hawks and Owls; or else they are Gulls, Terns, Fishing
Ducks, and a great many other kinds of sea birds who feed on fish and
pick up the scraps floating on the surface of sea, lake, and river."

"Do the Barn Swallows that are making nests in the hayloft go as far
south as Kingbirds?" asked Nat.

"Yes, indeed! The Swallows' swift flight carries them far and wide, for
not only do they make homes all through North America, but they are so
sure of wing and confident of outstripping any cannibal birds who might
try to chase them, that when they leave us they fly by day and often
stop for a little visit in the West Indies on their way to South
America."

"Suppose, Uncle Roy, when they are travelling, a storm comes up and it
grows so foggy they can't see how to follow the rivers--don't they
sometimes lose themselves?"

"Yes, very often they become confused and fly this way and that, but
always toward the nearest place where they see a light, as if it meant
escape for them. But this instinct is frequently their death, for they
fly against the towers of great lighthouses, or the windows of tall
buildings, or even electric wires, and thus break their necks or wings."

"That is why I have so often found dead birds along the turnpike under
the telegraph wires," said Rap.

"Yes, Rap, the inventions of man are very wonderful, but some of them
have been sad things for Bird People, and this is another reason why we
should protect them whenever we can. These journeys that the birds make
when they leave their nesting haunts for the winter season, and return
again in spring, are called _migrations_. The word 'migrate' means to
move from one country to another with the intention of remaining there
for some time. The birds who only make little trips about the country,
never staying long in one place, we call visitors.

"Birds may be divided according to their journeys into three groups,
which will help you to place them:

"1. Citizens.

"Those Bird People whose families stay in or near the same place the year
round, roving about somewhat according to the food-supply and weather.

"2. Summer Citizens.

"The families that, though they are with us but six or eight months of
the year, make their homes here, and pay their rent and taxes by working
for the common good. As they are almost all insect-eaters, they are even
more useful than the stay-at-home Citizens, who are chiefly seed-eaters
or cannibals.

"3. Winter Visitors.

"The birds who come down from the North in severe weather, but do not
stay in one place for any particular time, arriving one day and
disappearing the next. They glean for their scanty board and return to
the cold countries, of which they are Citizens, before nesting-time."

"Please tell me the names of some of the birds that live here all the
time," said Nat. "Have I seen any yet?"

"I think the Bluebird, the Robin, and the Song Sparrow are Citizens,"
said Rap, "because last winter I used to see one of two almost every
day, unless the snow and ice were very thick."

"Yes," said the Doctor, "the Bluebird is a Citizen in the Middle and
Southern States, and the Robin also. But in the more northerly parts
they are Summer Citizens, returning early and staying late. But the Song
Sparrow is a Citizen almost everywhere, and is known about every bushy
garden from the east coast to the west, and from the cotton plantation
to the land of snow."

"Please tell me the names of some winter visitors," said Rap. "Isn't the
Great White Owl one of these?"

"Yes, the Snowy Owl is one of them; so is the Snowflake, who comes to
us on the wings of the storm; the tiny Winter Wren, the Great Northern
Shrike, and many others, who arrive when snow-tide is upon us in the
temperate part of the country, after our song birds have flown to the
warmer south. You shall hear of all these, and learn where each one
lives, in the bird stories I am going to write for you. But now let us
go down by the river and see what some of these newly arrived birds are
doing after their long journey.

"Hark! I hear the notes of a Thrasher in those bushes, and the
Red-winged Blackbirds are calling all through the marsh meadow. When I
was a boy the alder bushes were always full of nests."

"They have nests there now," said Rap eagerly; "a great many nests, and
they are very pretty. Ah! There is the big brown bird that you call a
Thrasher, with his striped breast and long tail that spreads like a fan.
I see him--he is building in that barberry bush!"

"Then the nest comes pretty soon after the up-journey," said Nat.

"Yes," answered the Doctor, as he watched the antics of the Thrasher;
"right after the journey the mate, and next the nest. Do not forget the
mate, Nat, for it is Mrs. Bird who usually makes the nest and _always_
lays the eggs, besides working in the guilds with her husband, whose
greatest distinction is in being the family musician."

"When do the Summer Citizens begin to come back to their nesting
places?" asked Nat. "And when do they go away again?"

"The great bird procession begins the first of March with Bluebirds,
Robins, Redwings, and Meadowlarks, but it is the first of June before
the latest comers, the little Marsh Wrens, are settled. Then in autumn,
from September until the first snows of December fall, the procession
flutters back south again, one by one or in great flocks, dropping away
like falling leaves in the forest, and the birds that we see later are
likely to be Citizens.

"The early Robin may have a second brood and the Hummingbird eggs in her
nest, before the Marsh Wrens have even been seen.

"In the Southern States the birds arrive and build sooner than in the
Northern. A cold spring may delay the on-coming migration, or a warm
autumn retard the return movement. But as you study birds you will soon
see that each one has his own place in the procession, and usually keeps
it. Year by year this vast procession goes on in the air, back and
forth, night and day, like the ceaseless ebb and flow of the tides at
sea. Bird-waves flow on forever, in their appointed times, and none of
Nature's aspects are more regular or more unfailing. It almost seems,
boys, as if birds made the seasons--as if winter in the Middle and
Northern States might be called the 'songless season.'"




CHAPTER VII


THE BIRD'S NEST

"I wonder why some birds build their nests so very early, when it is
cold, and there are no leaves on the trees, while others wait until it
is almost summer," said Rap, as they walked down a narrow lane toward
the river. There were bushes lining the path on each side, and from the
singing you would think that every bush had a bird on each twig. In
fact, there were so many birds in sight that Nat did not know which to
ask about first, and so kept looking instead of talking.

"The birds who are Citizens are usually the first to build," answered
the Doctor. "They merely roved about during the winter months, and had
no long journey to make before they reached the home trees again, and
then the hardy seed-eating birds can return from the South much earlier
than their frailer kin."

"Last year," said Rap, "when the men were chopping trees in the great
wood beyond the lake, the miller went up one day to hunt coons and took
me with him. It was the beginning of March and terribly cold; there were
long icicles hanging on the trees, and we were glad enough to go in by
the fire in the lumbermen's camp. But what do you think?--if there
wasn't an Owl's nest, up in a pine tree, with two eggs in it! It was in
a very lonely place, and the miller said the Owl had borrowed an old
Crow's nest and fixed it up a little."

"I should think the eggs would have frozen hard and been spoiled," said
Nat.

"No, the old Owl sat on them ever so tight and would hardly budge to let
the miller see them. We didn't stay long, for the Owl was a savage big
thing, nearly two feet high, with yellow eyes and long feathers sticking
up on its head like horns."

"A Great Horned Owl," said the Doctor. "I only wonder that it let the
miller go near it at all; they are generally very wild and fierce."

"This one was sort of friends with the lumbermen," continued Rap, "for
they used to hang lumps of raw meat on the bushes for it, and they said
it kept the rats and mice away from the camp and was good company for
them. It frightened me when I heard it first; it gave an awful scream,
like a hurt person. After a while another one began to bark like a dog
with a cold, just like this--'who-o-o-o--hoo--hoo--hoo.' And, Doctor,
one of the lumbermen told me that with Owls and Hawks the female is
mostly bigger than the male. Do you think that is so? Because with
singing birds the male is the largest."

"Among cannibal birds the female is usually the largest," answered the
Doctor, who was pleased to see that Rap so often had a "because" for his
questions. "These birds do a great deal of fighting, both in catching
their living prey and holding their own against enemies; and as the
female stays most at home, being the chief protector of the nest, she
needs more strength."

"Some singing birds are real plucky too," said Rap. "That same year I
found a Robin's nest in April, when the water-pail by the well froze
every night, and a Woodcock's nest in the brushwood. It's hard to see a
Woodcock on the nest, they look so like dead leaves. It snowed a little
that afternoon, and the poor bird's back was all white, but there she
sat. It made me feel so sorry, and I was so afraid she might freeze,
that I made a little roof over her of hemlock branches. And she liked
that and didn't move at all; so then I wiped the snow off her back, and
she seemed real comfortable. I used to go back every day after that to
see her; we grew to be quite friends before the four eggs hatched, and
I've seen them do queer little tricks; but I never told anybody where
she lived, though, because lots of people don't seem to understand
anything about birds but shooting or teasing them."

"Some day you shall tell us about what the Woodcock did, my lad. You
must tell us a great many stories, for you know what you have seen
yourself. That is the best knowledge of all, and it will encourage Nat
to hear you," and Dr. Hunter put his arm affectionately around the
shoulders of each boy.

"Hush! Wait a moment and listen to that Thrasher," said the Doctor,
stopping behind some thick bushes; "he is wooing his mate!"

"What is wooing?" whispered Nat.

"Asking her to marry him and come and build a cosy home in one of these
nice bushes. Listen! See! There he is, up on the very top of that young
birch, with his head thrown back, singing as if his throat would split."
As the children looked up they saw a fine bird with a curved beak,
rusty-brown back, and light breast streaked with black, who was
clinging to a slender spray, jerking his long tail while he sang.

"It seems as if I could almost hear the words he says," said Rap.

"Birds sing in many different tones," said the Doctor. "The Thrasher's
song is like some one talking cheerfully; the Meadowlark's is
flute-like; the Oriole's is more like clarion notes; the Bobolink
bubbles over like a babbling brook; while the dear little brown striped
Song Sparrow, who is with us in hedge and garden all the year, sings
pleasant home-like ballads."

"There are some birds that Olive told me can't sing a bit," said Nat,
"but only call and squeak. How do they ask their mates to marry them?"

"All birds have alarm cries, and a call-note that serves the same
purpose as a song, although it may not seem at all musical to us. We are
naturally more interested in that order of birds whose voices are the
most perfectly developed. These not only sing when they are courting,
but all the time their mates are sitting upon the eggs, and until the
young are ready to fly."

"Why do birds always build nests in spring?" asked Nat.

"I think because there is more for them to feed the little ones with,
than when it gets to be hot and dry," said Rap, "and it gives them time
to grow big and strong before winter comes, when they must go away."

"Quite right, Rap, and it also gives the parents a chance to shed the
old feathers that have been worn by rubbing on the nest, grow a new,
thick, warm coat for winter, and rest themselves before they set out on
their autumn journey. Do you remember what I told you that rainy day in
my study about this moulting or changing of feathers?"

"Yes, I do," said Rap and Nat together. "Most birds have two coats a
year, and the male's is the brighter," continued Nat eagerly, proud to
show that he remembered. "The one that comes out in the spring is the
gayest, so that his mate shall admire him and when this coat comes he
sings his very best and--"

"Stop and take breath, my boy," laughed the Doctor; "there is plenty of
time. Why do we think that the male has the gayest feathers--do you
remember that also?"

"No, I've forgotten," said Nat.

"I remember," cried Rap; "it is to please the female and because she
sits so much on the nest that if her feathers were as bright as the
male's her enemies would see her quicker, and when the little birds
hatch out they are mostly in plain colors too, like their mother."

"Oh, I remember that now," said Nat. "And after the young are hatched
and the old birds need new coats, they keep rather still while they shed
their feathers, because they feel weak and can't fly well."

"Then when the new feathers come they are sometimes quite different from
the old ones, and seldom quite so bright--why is this, Nat?" asked the
Doctor. But Nat could not think, and Rap answered: "Because in the
autumn when they make the long journeys the leaves are falling from the
trees, and if they were very bright the cannibal birds would see them
too quickly." "Have I told you about the Bluebird, and how, though he
only sheds his feathers once a year, yet his winter coat is rusty and
not bright clear blue as it is in spring?"

"I think not," answered Nat.

"Well, the outside edges of its feathers are blue, but a little deeper
in the feather is brownish. So when they have worn the same feathers
many months, and rubbed in and out of their little houses and bathed a
great deal and cleaned their feathers off every day in the dust, as
birds always do, the blue ends wear off and the rusty parts show. It is
quite worth while to tell little people things when they have the
patience to listen and the interest to remember."

"Yes, uncle, but it's the way you tell us about birds that makes us
remember. You talk as if they were real people."

"Oh, oh, Nat!" laughed the Doctor, "if you flatter me so I shall have to
hide my head in a bush like an Ostrich. Birds _are_ people, though of
another race from ours, and I am happy if I can make you think so. Ah!
we must be near a Redwing's nest--what a commotion the colony is
making!"

"Colony? I thought a colony was a lot of people who went off into a
strange wild land and made a new home," said Nat.

"That is one meaning of the word, but another one is when a number of
people of the same race or trade live close to each other. A bird colony
is a collection of the homes of many birds of the same family. After the
nesting season almost all birds live in flocks of different sizes, each
particular kind flocking by itself; but during the migrations great
flocks are often made up of smaller flocks of various kinds of birds.
During the nesting season it is quite different; the majority of birds
prefer a quiet home life, each pair being independent of any others.
Certain flocks, however, keep together, and all build their nests in a
particular swamp or wood, and sometimes, it is said, male birds build
nests to sleep in while the females are sitting. The Redwings nest in
colonies; so do the Herons, who eat frogs and nest near water, and the
little brown-cloaked Bank Swallows, who live in holes that they dig for
themselves in high banks."

There were some twenty pairs of birds in this Redwing colony, who seemed
to be much frightened by the approach of visitors.

"Here is a nest in this alder bush," said the Doctor; "step carefully on
the grass hummocks, and look at it for a moment, Nat. See how neatly it
is made of the dried leaves of flags and grasses, woven in and out
between three upright stalks."

"Isn't it pretty?" said Nat; "so even and deep like a cup, and not at
all ragged and mussy like a Robin's nest. There are a great many
different kinds of nests, aren't there, uncle?"

"Yes, the nests of birds are almost as different as their songs and
other habits, and the higher the order the brood belongs to the better
built is the nest. The lower orders often only make a hollow in the
ground or grass, but do not collect material and _build_ in the true
sense. None such can be called architects."

"What is an architect?" asked Nat, who thought it was a pretty big name
for any sort of a bird. "An architect, my boy," said the Doctor, "is
anybody who knows how to build anything as it ought to be built, to look
the best and be the most useful, whether it is a house or a nest."

"I wonder why nests are so different," said Rap, looking down the lane
toward the river where the sun was streaming in and so many little birds
were flying to and fro that they seemed like last year's leaves being
blown about.

"Because, as the habits of the birds cause them to live in different
places, and feed in various ways, so their homes must be suitable to
their surroundings, and be built in the best way to protect the young
birds from harm--to keep them safe from House People, cannibal birds,
and bad weather.

"The trim Thrushes and Sparrows, who are all brownish birds, and find
their insect or seed food on or near the ground, build open nests low
down in trees and bushes, or on the earth itself; but the gorgeous
Baltimore Oriole, with his flaming feathers, makes a long pocket-shaped
nest of string and strong plant fibres, which he swings high up in an
elm tree, where it cannot be reached from below, and the leaves hide
this cradle while the winds rock it. He knows that it would never do to
trust his brilliant feathers down by the ground.

"The frail Hummingbird has no real strength to fight enemies bigger than
its tiny self, but it has been given for protection the power of flying
as quick as a whizzing bullet, and courage enough to attack even a
Kingbird in defence of its nest, which is a tiny circle of down, covered
with lichens, and is so fastened across a branch that it looks like a
knot of the limb itself. The Woodcock you saw that snowy day, Rap, knows
the protection of color and draws together for a nest a few leaves of
the hue of her own feathers. This nest and the bird upon it are so
blended together that few eyes could separate them."

"Some birds do not make any nests, but live in holes like squirrels and
coons," said Rap. "Woodpeckers and all those."

"There again the home is suited to the occupation of the bird," said the
Doctor; "for Woodpeckers are Tree Trappers, who find their food by
creeping about trees and picking insects and grubs from the bark. What
more natural than that they should have a house close at hand in some
tree whose wood is soft enough to be hollowed out? You see they have a
bill like a chisel for gouging out insects, and with this same tool they
make their homes."

"Bluebirds and Wrens and Martins like to live in holes and boxes, though
they can't make holes for themselves," said Rap.

"Yes, the habits of many birds have changed since the country has become
civilized and House People are to be found in all parts of it. Many
birds, who have always been favorites with man, and have been protected
by him, have gradually grown less wild, or almost tame, and now prefer
living near houses and barns to building in wilder places. The Bluebird,
Martin, and Wren are three very popular birds. They appreciate cosy
homes and are grateful for the boxes built for them, though we know that
before they had such things they must have nested in tree holes." "I
wonder where the Chimney Swifts lived before there were any chimneys,"
said Rap, looking across the fields to where an old stone chimney
stood--the only thing left standing of an old farmhouse. Above this
chimney, Swifts were circling in shifting curves, now diving inside it,
now disappearing afar in the air.

"We think they must have lived in hollow trees as the Tree Swallows do
now," said the Doctor; "but when House People began to clear the land
they naturally cut down the dead trees first, and so the birds moved to
the chimneys."

"I used to call those birds Chimney 'Swallows,' but Olive says they are
made more like Hummingbirds and Nighthawks than real Swallows,"
continued Rap.

"Nighthawks?" said Nat. "I thought Olive said Hawks were cannibal birds.
How are they relations of Swallows?"

"That is a mistake a great many people make," said the Doctor; "for the
Nighthawk is not a real Hawk, but a shy bird, who has a rapid hawk-like
flight, though it eats nothing but beetles, moths, and other insects.
Hark! Do you hear that cry high in the air?"

"As if something was saying 'shirk-shirk'?" said Nat.

"Yes; that is a Nighthawk on its way home. Look! he is over us now, and
you can see two large white spots like holes in his wings. By these you
can tell it from any of the real Hawks."

"Does he build high up in a tree?" asked Rap. "I have never found his
nest."

"There is a good reason for that," said the Doctor. "There is no nest.
Two eggs are laid on the bare ground, that is about the same color as
the bird itself; and the eggs look too much like streaky pebbles to be
easily seen. When the young are hatched they keep still until they are
able to fly, and are colored so exactly like the place upon which they
rest that it is almost impossible to see them, even if you know where
they are."

"How much there is to learn!" sighed Nat. "I'm afraid you will have to
make us a big book instead of a little one, Uncle Roy, to teach us all
these things. Olive and Rap have such a start of us. Dodo and I don't
know much of anything, and even what I thought I knew about birds isn't
very true."

"Don't be discouraged, my boy; you do not need a big book--a little one
will do for the present. What you need is patience, a pair of keen eyes,
and a good memory. With these and a little help from Olive, Rap, and
your old uncle, you can learn to know a hundred kinds of every-day
birds--those that can be found easily, and have either the sweetest
songs, the gayest plumage, or the most interesting habits. Some we shall
find here in the lane and swamp meadow, or by the river. Others have
made their home in my orchard for years. And I am going to put in the
book more than a hundred beautiful pictures for you and Dodo, drawn so
naturally that you can tell every one of the birds by them, and that
will make it easier for you to understand what you read.

"For some of the water birds we must go up to the lake or in the summer
make a trip over to the seashore. How do you like that? Yes, you too,
Rap. By and by, when you know these hundred birds by name and by
sight, you will be so far along on the road into Birdland that you can
choose your own way, and branch off right and left on whatever path
seems most attractive to you; but then you will need big books, and have
to learn long hard Latin names."

"What birds will you begin with, please, Doctor Roy," said Rap, "the
singers or the cannibals?"

"The singers, because they will interest Dodo and Nat the most easily,
as they do you. Then we will talk about the birds that only croak and
call; then the cannibal birds; next those that coo, and those that
scratch for a living. Then we must leave dry land and go close to the
water to find the birds that wade; and finally, we must go to the lake
or sea itself for the birds that swim and dive."

"Why, here's Quick!" cried Nat, as the little fox-terrier came leaping
down the lane, tracking them, nose to the ground. "How did you get out
of the barn, sir?"

"I suspect that Dodo has discovered that we are missing and is looking
for us," said the Doctor. "There is the breakfast bell. Do you realize,
my lads, that we have been out two hours?"

"I often come out early in the morning," said Rap, "so it doesn't seem
strange to me."

"I'm starving, Uncle Roy," said Nat, "though I am only beginning to feel
it."

"Think how much worse you would have felt if you had not eaten some
bread and milk before you started."

"Yes, indeed," said Nat. "Do many sicknesses come from not eating
enough?" "Not so many as come from eating too much!" laughed the
Doctor. "Won't you come up to breakfast with us, Rap? There is always
room at my table, you know, for children who love their Bird Brothers."

"I can't," said Rap regretfully; "you see it's Thursday and I have to
mind clothes!"

There was a merry breakfast party that morning at Orchard Farm; Nat had
so much to tell, and the Doctor said he felt twenty years younger after
his walk with the boys. A letter had also arrived which made Nat and
Dodo very happy; it was from their mother, who said: "We are delighted
to hear that the Doctor is going to tell you bird stories this summer.
Be sure to ask Olive to tell you all she knows about the flowers too.
When we come home this autumn, perhaps your uncle will ask us to the
Farm for a visit, and then we shall see your friend Rap."

"Uncle, uncle!" cried both the children, "will you ask mother and father
to come here for a little? It will be lovely, and--and then we shan't
have to go away so soon either."

"I have already asked them for a long visit, you little rogues," said
the Doctor. "You seem to forget that your mother is my sister, whom I
wish very much to see."

"And does Olive know all the flowers," chimed in Dodo, "and will you
tell us about everything?"

"That would be a rash promise," said the Doctor, laughing; "but if you
will stay long enough I will promise to teach you something about all
the little wild beasts and bugs that live here, the flowers that bloom
about us, the earth, moon, and perhaps even a star or two! Who knows? Is
it a bargain?" "Oh, _uncle_!" was all they said. But Dodo gave him a
kiss on the end of his nose and Nat hugged Olive, who sat next to him.
Just then Mammy Bun brought in a plate of steaming hot flannel cakes,
and the Doctor said: "Now let us eat to the health of Birdland and a
happy season at Orchard Farm! Olive, my love, please pass the maple
syrup!"




CHAPTER VIII


BEGINNING OF THE BIRD STORIES

When the day came for beginning the bird stories, warm spring showers
were drenching the orchard, so that apple blossoms and raindrops fell to
the ground together when the children gathered in the wonder room once
more. This time there was no fire on the hearth; through the open window
floated bits of bird-song and the fragrance of the lilacs--for there
were lilac bushes all about Orchard Farm, close to the house, by the
gate posts, and in a long hedge that ran down one side of the garden to
the orchard itself. These tall bushes of purple and white lilacs were
veritable music boxes, for almost every one held a Catbird's nest.

"What bird do you think Uncle Roy will tell us about first?" said Nat to
Rap, as they walked about the room, looking at the birds in the cases,
while the Doctor was reading letters which Olive had brought in.

"I wish he would begin with that lovely fat bird, with all the red and
green and blue feathers," said Dodo, pointing to a Wood Duck. "I wonder
if it sings."

"No, that's a Duck and they don't sing," said Rap; "they gabble and
squawk and swim in the water, but they can fly as quick as Swallows, for
all they look so heavy." "I wish he would begin with this little mite
of a thing, that isn't much bigger than a bee," said Nat, showing Rap a
Hummingbird.

"I don't care what bird he starts with," said Rap, "only I hope he will
begin at the very beginning."

"That is a good idea, my boy," said the Doctor, who had finished his
letters and was leaving his desk; "only what and where is the
beginning?"

The children looked at each other in silence, and Olive said: "That is a
very hard question for them to answer. No wonder they looked so puzzled,
father."

Then the Doctor laughed and said: "The people who have studied the
birds, bone by bone and feather by feather, have grouped these Citizens
into orders and families to prevent confusion, so that we may easily
tell the relationship between them. These lists sometimes begin with the
lowest order, nearest to the crawling, reptile brethren,--the least
interesting, far-away birds that have no song and cannot fly well, but
swim and dive in the water,--and end with the beautiful singing birds
that live in our gardens."

"Couldn't you begin with the dear singing birds and end with the
far-away clumsy diving ones?" asked Rap earnestly; "it's so much easier
learning about things near home."

"You are right, my boy. In learning anything, whether of bird, insect,
or flower, begin at home, and let this be the centre from which you work
your way onward and outward. Then you will be sure of what you learn;
and ever afterward, though you may follow strange birds all over the
known world, you will come home again, to find that there are none more
charming and lovable than those few whose acquaintance you will make
this summer.

"I do not wish you to be confused by long words, so I shall give you
their plain English names and divide these birds of our stories into six
classes. By and by, when you have heard a few facts about them, we will
group them into families; and I will tell you so much that, if you use
your eyes well, you will be able to name any one of these birds when you
see it out in the open air. You must always remember, children, when you
see birds flying about, that you will not notice many little markings
and bits of color that would be quite plain to you if you held the bird
in your hand, or looked at it in a case, as you look at these stuffed
ones now. A bird, whose breast is spotted may look striped when seen at
a distance.

"When you are in doubt about the name of a bird that you have seen, you
can come here and look for it; but very few children can do so. At best
they can only look at pictures, and I do not wish you to depend upon the
specimens in this room."

"No," said Rap, "because if our bird stories are printed, and other
children read them, they may not have an uncle with a 'wonder room'; and
so they must learn the names without."

"That is another reason why we must have a great many pictures in our
book, for these children," said the Doctor. "Now write the names of the
six classes into which all our birds are to be gathered.

"I. The Birds that Sing.

"II. The Birds that Croak and Call.

"III. The Birds that are Cannibals.

"IV. The Birds that Coo and Scratch.

"V. The Birds that Wade and Paddle.

"VI. The Birds that Swim and Dive."


Squeak, squeak, went three pencils, two going fast and one toiling along
as if it was lame and needed sharpening.

"Please, uncle, what birds are cannibals?" asked Dodo, as she finished
writing this last word slowly, taking great pains. "I thought cannibals
were people that ate each other."

"Well, my dear, so they are; and cannibal birds are those who
_sometimes_ eat each other."

"If you please, Doctor, which of the birds that sing will you begin
with?" asked Rap. "I wonder if we can guess it."

"You may all try," said the Doctor. "It is a bird that every one
loves--the home bird who is so fond of House People that whenever we see
one, we know that there is a house not far away."

"Then it must be the Bluebird!" cried Rap.

"You are right," said the Doctor; "and if you will come here by the
window you can watch a pair who are flying in and out of the bird house,
on top of the woodshed. Do you hear? Bluebirds have a call-note and a
sweet warbling song. As I have told you before, all birds have some note
or sound that they use to attract attention or call their mates; but it
is only those whose voices are so highly developed that they can make
really continuous musical sounds, that are called song birds.

"The male is the only real singer in Birdland. Many females have pretty
musical notes that they give when about the nest, and some scraps of
song; one or two are quite good musicians, but the great chorus comes
from the males.

"These have their seasons for singing, and are not in equal voice during
the entire year. They sing most persistently from the time they put on
their spring coat, until after the nesting season, when they take it
off. In early autumn some species sing for a time, and in warm climates
there is more or less music all winter; but the great morning and
evening chorus belongs to spring and the nesting season. It is as rare
to hear the perfect song of a bird in autumn, as it is to see its
perfect plumage. The young birds of the season are then swelling their
little throats in trying to warble a few notes; and as their feathers
are a mixture of those worn by their father and mother, such birds and
their songs will both, most likely, confuse you.

"When you find a strange bird, try to see quickly a few of the things
most necessary to naming him. I will make a measure of your middle
finger for you such as Olive used to wear. Then you must try to answer
the following questions:

"How many inches long was he?

"What was his general color?

"Was his breast plain or speckled?

"What was he doing--feeding on the ground or in a tree?

"Did he walk with one foot after the other, or hop with both feet
together?

"Did he sing or only call?

"At first you may only remember two or three of these questions, and
they will probably be his size, color, and song, if he happens to be
singing at the time.

"You may not think that a bird, who is hopping about in the grass or
flitting among the branches of a tree, is doing anything in particular.
But really he may be either collecting material for his nest, or
searching for food of some particular kind, in a way which will tell you
to what guild of the Bird Brotherhood he belongs.

"Everything in the daily life of a bird is interesting. You will find
that every bird has its regular times for bathing, pluming, eating,
sleeping, working, and playing, all in its own ways, just as you
yourselves have. And everything he does is done cheerfully and promptly.

"I know that you think this a very long sermon, and that you would
rather see a bird than be told how to see it. Only one word more. I am
going to give you, as we go along, a few facts about the color and size
of each bird, that you may write in your books; so that if you forget
whether this bird or that one was striped or spotted you can look at
your 'bird table' (not multiplication table) and see which it was. Now
we will begin with our dear Bluebird."




CHAPTER IX


A SILVER-TONGUED FAMILY

THE BLUEBIRD

"It will be difficult for you to mistake this little blue-coal for any
other bird. He is 'true blue,' which is as rare a color among birds its
it is among flowers. He is the banner-bearer of Birdland also, and
loyally floats the tricolor from our trees and telegraph wires; for,
besides being blue, is he not also red and white?"

[Illustration: Bluebird.]

"To be sure, his breast is perhaps more brown than red, but when the
spring sun shines on his new feathers, as he flits to and fro, it is
quite bright enough to be called red. All sorts and conditions of people
love and respect the Bluebird; all welcome him to their gardens and
orchards. The Grossest old farmer, with his back bent double by
rheumatism, contrives to bore some auger holes in an old box and fasten
it on the side of the barn, or set it up on the pole of his hayrick;
while the thrifty villager provides a beautiful home for his blue-backed
pets--a real summer hotel, mounted on a tall post above a flower-bed,
with gables and little windows under the eaves.

"Why does this bird receive so much attention? There are many others
with gayer plumage and more brilliant songs. It is because the Bluebird
is gentle, useful, brave, and faithful under adversity, while he and the
Robin are the first two birds that children know by name. We must live
in a very cold, windswept part of the country not to have some of these
birds with us from March until Thanksgiving day, and then, when a week
has passed and we have not seen a single one, we say winter has come in
earnest. When weeks go by and our eyes grow tired of the glare of the
snow, or our hearts discouraged at the sight of bare lifeless trees and
stretches of brown meadow--suddenly, some morning, we hear a few liquid
notes from an old tree in a sunny spot. All eagerness, we go out to see
if our ears have deceived us. No, it is a Bluebird! He is peeping into
an old Woodpecker's hole and acting as if he had serious thoughts of
going to housekeeping there, and did not intend waiting to move in until
May-day either. When you see him you may know that, though there is
still ice on the water-trough and on the little streams, spring is only
around the corner, waiting for her friend, the sun, to give her a
little warmer invitation to join him in their old, old play of turning
the sluggish sleeping brown earth into a wonderful green garden again.

"As a Citizen the Bluebird is in every way a model. He works with the
Ground Gleaners in searching the grass and low bushes for grasshoppers
and crickets; he searches the trees for caterpillars in company with the
Tree Trappers; and in eating blueberries, cranberries, wild grapes, and
other fruits he works with the Seed Sowers also.

"So who would not welcome this bird, who pays his rent and taxes in so
cheerful a manner, and thanks you with a song into the bargain? A very
few straws are all that he asks for his housekeeping, and every time he
promises a meal for his household, scores of creeping, crawling, hopping
garden enemies are gobbled up. Then he, modest little fellow that he is,
comes to the roof of the shed and murmurs his thanks for your
hospitality, as if you and not he had done the favor; he continues to
whisper and warble about it all the way down the meadow until, having
caught another grasshopper, his mouth is too full for singing."

As the Doctor was speaking the shower cloud passed over, and the sun
burst out full upon the Bluebirds that were building by the woodshed.

"Oh, they _are_ red, white, and blue!" cried Dodo in great glee, "though
the red is a little dirty,--not so fresh and bright as the color in our
new flag."

"It is more the red of the ragged old flag they keep down in the Town
Hall--the one that has seen service," said Rap thoughtfully.

Some things to remember about the Bluebird

Length (from tip of beak over head to end of tail) seven inches.

Upper parts clear bright blue.

Throat and breast reddish earth color.

Belly white.

A Summer Citizen of the United States, and a Citizen of the milder
parts, of our country.

A member of the guilds of Ground Gleaners, Tree Trappers, and Seed
Sowers.


THE AMERICAN ROBIN

[Illustration: American Robin.]

"Another home bird, first cousin to the Bluebird, coming with it in the
spring, and often lingering through the winter in places that the
Bluebird is obliged to leave--"

"The Robin a cousin of the Bluebird!" interrupted Nat; "why, they don't
look one bit alike--how can it be, Uncle Roy?"

"I expected you to ask that question," said the Doctor. "The
relationship of bird families, like that of other animals, is based upon
a likeness in the formation of their bodies, and not upon mere size or
color. That sort of likeness proves that their ancestors of long ago
were the same, so that they are descended from one pair of very
great-great-grandparents; and that always makes cousins, you know. It
runs in the blood; thus, a cat and a tiger are blood relations; the
little coon and the great black bear are nearly akin. A tall
broad-shouldered man, with black hair and a full beard, may have a
cousin who is short and thin, with yellow hair and no beard. You see
nothing strange in this, because it is something to which you are
accustomed. But with bird families it takes the trained eye of the
student to see the likeness there really is between all birds who have
had the same ancestors, though it may be hidden under many differences
in their size, shape, color, voice, and habits.

"The Robin, like the Bluebird, is found in almost all parts of North
America. In the far Southern States, like Florida, where they take
refuge from winter storms, Robins begin to sing in chorus while the
weather in the Middle and Northern States is still so cold that it would
freeze the music before any one could hear it, even if the birds had
courage to sing. But delightful as the climate is there, where it also
provides a plentiful table of berries, these Robins break away from the
land of plenty and begin their northern journey before the first shad
dares venture up the rivers.

"On and on they go, this great army of Robins, flying in flocks of ten
and hundreds. Here and there they meet with smaller flocks, which have
been able to spend the winter in roving about not far from their nesting
places, and then there is a great deal of talking; for the Robin has a
great many ways of making remarks. Some of his numerous notes sound as
if he were asking a long list of questions; others express discontent;
then again he fumes and sputters with anger. It is easy to tell the
plump, well-fed birds, just home from the South, from those who have
been obliged to live on half rations during the northern winter.

"Before this flying army quite leaves the Southern States some of them
halt for nest-building, and then the Robin sings the best of all his
songs,--his happy, cheery melody,--all about the earth, the sky, the
sun, the tree he and his mate have chosen to build in,--a song of the
little brook where he means to get the water to wet the clay to plaster
his nest,--a ballad of the blue eggs it will hold, and the greedy little
Robins, all eyes and mouth, that will come out of them. But as he sings
something frightens him; then he cries, 'quick! quick! quick!' and
hurries away in a rather clumsy fashion. If any one could understand the
meaning of all that the Robin says and put it into our words, we should
be able to make a very good dictionary of the language of Birdland."

"I've noticed how different his songs are," said Rap eagerly, "and how
some of his ways are like the Bluebird's, too. We had a Robin's nest
last season in the grape vine over the back door, and I used to watch
them all the time--" and then Rap hesitated in great confusion, for fear
that he had been impolite in stopping the Doctor.

"Tell us about your Robins, my boy; we shall like to hear the story.
Don't look so troubled, but say exactly what you saw them do."

Rap wriggled about a little, then settled himself comfortably with his
chin resting on the top of his crutch, and began: "It was the year that
my leg was hurt. The miller was chopping a tree and it fell the wrong
way on me and squeezed my leg so that it couldn't be mended; so I was
around home all the time. It was a terribly cold day when the Robins
came back, along in the first part of March. If it hadn't been for the
Robins, anybody would have thought it was January. But in January we
don't have big Robin flocks about here, only just twos and threes that
pick round the alder bushes and old honeysuckles for berries. It was
such a cold day that the clothes froze to the line so that mother
couldn't take them off, and we didn't know what to do. Well, we were
looking at them, mother and I, when a big Robin flew out of the pine
trees and hopped along the clothes-line as if he wanted to speak to us.
'Maybe he's hungry,' said mother. 'I guess he is,' said I; 'the ground
is too hard for worms to come out, so he can't get any of them. Can't I
give him some of the dried huckleberries?' We always dry a lot every
summer, so as to have pies in winter. Mother said I might, so I
scattered some on the snow under the pine trees, and we went in the
house and peeped out of the kitchen window. At first the Robins
chattered and talked for a while, looking squint-eyed at the berries,
but then the bird that came on the clothes-line started down and began
to eat."

"How did you know that Robin from all the others?" asked Dodo.

"He had lost the two longest quills out of his right wing, and so he
flew sort of lop-sided," said Rap readily. "As soon as he began the
others came down and just gobbled; in two minutes all the berries were
gone, but the birds stayed round all the same, hinting for more. We
hadn't many berries left, so mother said, 'Try if they will eat meal.' I
mixed some meal in a pan with hot water and spread it in little puddles
on the snow. The Robins acted real mad at first, because it wasn't
berries, but after a while one pecked at it and told the others it was
all right, and then thirty Robins all sat in a row and ate that meal up,
the same as if they were chickens." Here Rap paused and laughed at the
thought of the strange sight.

"Pretty soon after that the snow melted, and by April Robins were
building around in our yard, in the maples by the road, and all through
this orchard. One day I noticed some little twigs and a splash of mud on
our back steps, and when I looked up I saw that something was building a
nest in the crotch of the old grape vine. 'That's a queer place for a
nest,' I said to myself, 'not a leaf on the vine and my window right on
top. I wonder what silly bird is doing it.'

"Flap, and my Robin with the broken feathers came along with his mouth
full of sticks; but when he saw me he dropped them and went over on the
clothes-pole, and called and scolded like everything. Then I went up to
my window and looked through the blind slats. Next day the nest was
done. It wasn't a pretty nest--Robins' never are. They are heavy and
lumpy, and often fall off the branches when a long rain wets them. This
one seemed quite comfortable inside, and was lined with soft grass.

"Mrs. Robin looked like her husband, but I could tell the difference;
for she didn't sit in the pines and sing, and her breast wasn't so red.
When the nest was done, she laid a beautiful egg every day until there
were four, and then one or the other of the birds sat on the eggs all
the time. Robins' eggs are a queer color--not just blue or quite green,
but something between, all of their own."

"Yes," said Olive, "it is their own color, and we give it a name; for it
is called 'robin's-egg blue' in our books."

"The old birds had been sitting for ten days, and it was almost time for
the little ones to come out, when one night there was a great wind and
the grape vine, that was only fastened up with bits of leather and
tacks, fell down in a heap. In the morning there was the nest all in a
tangle of vine down on the ground. The vine must have swung down, for it
hadn't tipped the nest over, and the mother bird was sitting on it
still.

"'That will never do,' said my mother; 'the first cat that strays by
will take the poor thing.' While I was looking at it mother went in the
house and came back with a little tin pail. She picked some branches and
tied them round it so that the tin didn't show. 'Now,' she said to the
Robin, the same as if it understood our language, 'get up and let me see
if I can't better you a bit.' Then the bird left the nest, making a
great fuss, and crying 'quick! quick!' as if all the woods were afire.

"'Oh, mother!' I cried, 'the eggs will get cold. What are you taking the
nest away for? It was better to chance the cats.'

"'Don't you fret, sonny,' said she; 'your mammy has some common sense if
she don't trampoose all over creation watching birds.' And before I
understood what she was doing she had put the nest in the top of the
tin pail and hung it on a hook under the shed roof. 'Now,' she said,
'Mrs. Robin, try how you like that!'

"I watched and after a few minutes first one Robin flew under the shed
and then the other, and the next thing one was sitting on the pail-nest
as nice as you please!"

"Did the birds hatch?" asked Olive, Nat, and Dodo, almost in the same
breath.

"Yes, they hatched all right; and then I noticed something funny. The
backs and breasts of the little birds were almost naked when they were
hatched, and their eyes closed tight; but when the feathers came they
were spotted on their backs and breasts and not plain like their
parents. Do you know," added Rap after a little pause, "that when
Bluebirds are little, their backs and breasts are speckled too, though
afterward they moult out plain? So there is something alike about
Bluebirds and Robins that even a boy can see."

"You are quite right," said the Doctor; "the 'something alike, that even
a boy can see,' is one of the things that shows these birds to be
cousins, as I told you. Every one of the Silver-tongued Family is
spotted when it gets its first feathers. It is strange," he added in an
undertone, as if talking to himself, "how long it took some of us to
find out what any bright boy can see."


The American Robin--Remember This

Length ten inches.

Upper parts slate color with a tinge of brown.

Head black on top and sides, with white spots around the eyes. Tail
black with white spots on the tips of some feathers.

Under parts brick-red, except the black and white streaked throat and
under the tail.

A Citizen of the United States and Canada.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.



THE WOOD THRUSH

One pleasant evening after tea, but before sunset, the Doctor sent Nat
to ask Rap to come up to the Farm, as they were all going for a walk
through the orchard and the river woods.

"What birds will you tell us about to-night?" asked Dodo, as they stood
in the porch waiting for the boys.

"Cousins of the Bluebird--more cousins--but really the heads of the
Silver-tongued Family. They wear much plainer clothes than the Bluebirds
and Robins, on their olive or russet-brown backs and light-tinted,
dark-spotted breasts, but have the most beautiful voices in all
Birdland. The names of these wonderful singers, who make a musical
quartette, are Wood Thrush, Hermit Thrush, Wilson's Thrush, and
Olive-backed Thrush; but you will have to keep both your eyes and ears
open to learn to tell them apart and name them rightly."

"There has been the beautifullest bird singing in the big elm on the
lawn for more than an hour, but I don't know his name and I want to ever
so much. Do you think he might be one of these Thrushes? He is singing
now, Uncle Roy." And Dodo began tugging at the Doctor's hand, to lead
him down the steps. They saw Nat and Rap coming along the road, and the
Doctor motioned to them to walk quietly, so that Dodo's bird might
continue his song.

"What is it? What are you waiting for?" whispered Nat. "A bird? Where?"

The bird answered Nat's question itself, telling him by its song in what
part of the tree it was perching. "Hea-r-me, Hea-r-me," it called; and
then followed a short song as if two musical instruments were playing
together. The bird seemed well pleased with his performance, and
perfectly unconscious of the group of House People who were listening to
him; for he repeated the strain over and over again.

"It's almost as big as a Robin," said Dodo.

"But its breast is speckled in big spots," said Nat. "I wish I could see
the top of it. There, it has flown to a lower branch, and its back is
kind of rusty-brown. What is its name, Uncle Roy?"

"Rap knows, I'm sure," said the Doctor.

"It's a Wood Thrush," said Rap. "People call them Wood Robins, too,
sometimes. I think that one, or his brother, has a nest in the spruce
back of your house."

"Uoli-uoli, a-e-o-lee-lee!" sang the Thrush; and as the children became
accustomed to the song they noticed that six or eight other
Silver-tongues were singing the same tune in different parts of the
orchard and garden. It sounded as if the evening breeze were stirring
Aeolian harps.

"Why is he called the Wood Thrush?" asked Rap. "I've hardly ever seen
him in the real woods--he loves to be in gardens and orchards. The trees
round the miller's house are full of them."

"It is not easy to say why he was named so," said the Doctor, "unless
it is because he builds his nest higher up in trees than most of his
Thrush kin. I am very glad you have had a chance to hear and see him at
the same time; for he is one of the home birds you must make a place for
in your very inside heart, with the Bluebird and Robin, though he does
not return from his winter outing until after these two have begun
nesting."

[Illustration: Wood Thrush.]

"When he comes we are sure not only that it is Spring, but that Spring
is in a pleasant, good-natured mood--that she is through with the
tempers and crying fits she suffers from in March and April, and is
kissing the buds of the early blossoms of May, coaxing them to open
their eyes. When you see the first Wood Thrush hopping among last year's
leaves, you may look for jack-in-the-pulpit's pointed nose and green and
purple hood.

"As soon as this Thrush makes up his mind to settle in a certain place,
he calls a mate to him with his thrilling song and begins
house-building. From this time until he moults, late in July, every one
in his vicinity may enjoy a free concert morning and evening, and at
intervals during the day. Sometimes in cloudy weather he even sings at
noon--a time when birds are most likely to be silent.

"In gratitude for what we owe him for his music and his work in the
guilds, we must be patient with him when he secures the first ripe
cherries from the top of the tree, before we House People know that they
are even red. For every cherry and strawberry he bites, he pays ten
times over by swallowing a hundred wicked hungry worms and bugs that eat
everything and do no work in return. But House People are very blind
about some things, and often act as if they had only one eye apiece,
like the Cyclopes. We see one of these darling birds take a little
fruit; we see more fruit with holes in it, and think that birds have
done the damage, though a wasp or hornet may be the guilty party; and
then we often say, 'What a nuisance those birds are!'

"But all the rest of the growing year, when these same birds toil from
sunrise until sunset, to clear away insect pests and give us a better
crop of fruit next year, we do not notice it. You children, however,
will have no such excuse for keeping one eye shut when you know Citizen
Bird as he really is."

"How late at night does the Wood Thrush sing?" asked Nat. "Does he never
sleep?"

"Oh, yes, he goes to sleep when it is really dark, but at this nesting
season the night in Birdland is very short; some of the feathered people
are stirring at three o'clock, and by four all thrifty birds have
dressed themselves to go out marketing for breakfast."

"The Veeries are singing down by the river," said Olive to her father;
"perhaps we had better go there before it grows dark."

"Veeries? Is that what you call those birds?" asked Rap. "I never knew
their name, so I called them 'sunset birds,' to myself."

"Veeries, yes, but called Wilson's Thrush, too," said the Doctor;
"because this kind of Thrush was named after Alexander Wilson, who wrote
a description of it, and published a colored plate of it, seventy-five
years ago. But your name of 'sunset bird' is very good, my lad, for they
sing best about twilight. We will go down to the river path and hear
them, though you cannot see them very clearly now."


The Wood Thrush

The largest of our Thrushes except the Robin--length about eight inches.

Upper parts warm brown, like ground cinnamon; brightest on the head, but
a little greenish on the tail.

Under parts plain white in the middle, but boldly spotted with black all
over the breast and along the sides.

Eye-ring whitish.

A Summer Citizen of the eastern United States, and a Ground Gleaner,
Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.


WILSON'S THRUSH

Commonly called VEERY from the sound of one of its notes

"How still it is here!" said Dodo, as they walked along the footpath
that wound in and out among the trees toward the edge of the river.
Swallows were skimming close to the water, which sang a little song to
itself as it ran along.

"What do you think those birds are doing, Rap," said Nat; "looking at
themselves in the water or playing tag?"

[Illustration: Veery.]

"They are Barn Swallows, who catch flies and little gnats and things
close down over the water. Hear them talking and laughing!" But the
Swallows really seemed to be playing some sort of game as they circled
about, every now and then turning sharply and giving little rippling
cries.

The Doctor halted under a beech tree that spread its branches over a
great mossy circle, seating himself on an old log that had been washed
down the river and lay on the ground. For a minute the Veeries were
silent; then from the tree over his head one sang a short tune--two
sentences in a high key, then two a little lower and softer, like an
echo.

"It is different from any other bird-song," said Olive, "and every
spring when it comes it seems as lovely as the first time I heard it."
"Is that Veery only visiting here, or will he build a nest?" asked Nat.

"He will build; and though he is so shy that we do not see him as often
as the Wood Thrush, his song makes him one of the best-known of the
family. He makes his home from the Middle States, east and west, all
over the country, up to the far North; but as insects are his chief food
he does not come as early or stay as late in his summer home as the
Hermit Thrush, and always tries to reach the warmer countries before the
trees are wholly bare and there is danger of snow."

"Do they live up in the trees where they sing?" asked Dodo, after they
had listened to the Veeries, who were then singing on both sides of the
river.

"No, on the contrary, he is one of the Ground Thrushes, who builds his
nest close to the ground in such places as that bit of brushwood
opposite; and as he spends most of his time about home we seldom see
him, even in places like this where many pairs live. But we do not need
to see a Veery to know of his presence if we once learn his song by
heart, because we shall remember it as long as our hearts beat."

The children sat silent for a long time, looking up through the trees at
the coming of the night. Then Dodo nestled close to Olive and whispered,
"I think that Veery is singing his prayers."


Wilson's Thrush--Veery

Length seven and a half inches.

Upper parts warm brown all over, not so bright as the Wood Thrush is on
the head, and not the least bit greenish on the tail.

Breast and throat deep cream color, finely specked with brown on the
upper part. Belly white. No white ring around eye.

A Summer Citizen of the United States east of the plains.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.


THE HERMIT THRUSH

"When we return to the house," said the Doctor, "I will show you the
Veery and Hermit Thrush also; for whether or not you will hear the
Hermit sing will depend very much upon what part of North America you
live or travel in, and this bird's song is its chief claim to fame.
Through all the southern and middle parts of the States he only pays
visits during the fall, winter, and early spring. At these seasons he
rarely sings, and spends his time in hopping about the underbrush,
searching for insects. In spring and autumn you will see him about the
magnolia trees in your yard or garden, or in the hedges along roads and
the edges of light woods, where wild berries are plentiful. The name of
Hermit would naturally make you expect to find a very shy bird, but he
is not--only he likes his own company in secret places. When on his
travels, unlike most birds, and like all good children in story books,
he is oftener seen than heard. At this time you must look for him on or
near the ground, for he is a famous Ground Gleaner.

"At first you may mistake him for a Wood Thrush. But look again--he is
smaller; the spots on the breast are more joined together like stripes;
the rump and tail are a very _reddish_-brown like ripe chestnuts,
different from the _greenish_-brown on the back and head. You will be
sure to notice this, for the Hermit jerks his tail about when he feeds
on the ground, giving a little warning call that sounds like 'chek!
chek!'"

[Illustration: Hermit Thrush]

"If you should happen to spend the summer among the mountains of New
York, New England, or northern Michigan, and see the Hermit in his
nesting home, you would find him quite another character, true to his
name. There he is shy--or perhaps cautious would be a better word to
describe the way in which he keeps the secrets of his precious nest. He
loves the little moist valleys between the pine-clad mountains, where a
bit of light woods is made an island by the soft bog-moss that surrounds
it. There, feeling quite secure, he makes his nest upon the ground, of
moss, leaves, pine-needles, and other such litter; and the eggs that it
holds are very nearly the color of the Robin's, without any spots.

"He goes a little way from home, a bit up the mountain side, so that
House People and squirrels, both of whom are sometimes cruel enough to
steal eggs, may not know exactly where he lives; and then he begins to
sing. His brother Thrushes have louder voices and know more brilliant
songs; but when the Hermit reaches his high notes, that sound as clear
as the music of a mountain brook, a strange feeling will suddenly come
over you. You will forget that you belong to House People and that he is
a bird; you will think he is telling you something in words that you
understand--a message that makes you think about pure and holy things.
The songs of some birds please the ear alone, but this little brown
Hermit sings to your conscience. Some call him the Spirit of the Pines.
If, however, you never hear his song you can remember that the Hermit is
the brown bird with the rusty tail and speckled breast that hops among
your bushes in spring and fall. You must be very kind to him, and tell
your pet cat about him, warning her never to touch him."


The Hermit Thrush

Length about seven inches.

Upper parts an even olive-brown, except the tail, which is rich
reddish-brown, different from the rest.

Throat and breast light buff, with black spots that run together in
chains.

Belly white. A yellowish ring around the eye.

A Summer Citizen of the northern parts of eastern North America,
spending the winter south of its summer home.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.


THE OLIVE-BACKED THRUSH

"Children who live where the Hermit Thrush sings will also have a good
chance to hear the Olive-back give his rapid bubbling music; for, like
the Hermit, he prefers a cool summer climate, and thinks that the
mountains agree with his health much better than the seashore. For this
reason he makes his home all through the Northern States, from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, following the mountains southward, and making
long summer excursions to Labrador, Hudson Bay, and even Alaska."

[Illustration: Olive-backed Thrush.]

"What stories of wild beasts he might tell us if he would! For he looks
out of his nest of grass, moss, bark, and rootlets, to see moose
browsing among the young trees, and hears black bears growling. His bird
companions are Snowbirds, Horned Larks, Crossbills, and Pine Grosbeaks;
and he trembles lest the Great Gray Owl shall find his nestlings.

"But much as he loves cool weather for nest-building, he tires of it
when the first frost touches the valleys, and snow caps the tops of his
favorite mountains; for then his insect food grows scarce. So he changes
his summer habits; leaving the guild of Ground Gleaners, and becoming a
Seed Sower, he follows the sun toward the tropics, where, likely enough,
he tells the alligators long tales of northern lands and assures the
water-moccasin that, big snake as he is, the mountain rattlesnake is
quicker at biting.

"This Olive-backed Thrush you may _hear_ more often than see--he is a
will-o'-the-wisp for shyness, whether on his journeys or about home. But
remember three things about him: his back is evenly olive (if you do not
know what this dark-greenish color is, look at the olives you have on
the table, or that stand in the tall glass jars in the grocer's window,
for if you wish to study birds you must learn to distinguish this color
from brown or the bright green); he has a cream-yellow ring round his
eye; and lastly, his black-speckled throat and breast are dull
yellowish."

"Won't you let us go up to the wonder room now and see all these Thrush
cousins in a row?" asked Nat, when the Doctor had finished describing
them.

"We will go up to the house and you may take a look at them, but I want
you to be also able to name them from what I tell you; for when you see
a bird out of doors you will seldom be able to have a stuffed one with
which to compare it.

"Now we will make a procession of these cousins,"
said the Doctor, as they reached his study. He then
opened a glass case, took out six birds, and stood them
on the window-sill. "See, this is the way they go
arm in arm when they walk in the great procession of
Bird families:

  "The Bluebird and the Robin;

  "The Wood Thrush and the Veery;

  "The Hermit and the Olive-back.

"Rap, my boy, look at each one and see if you can
remember some of the differences between them. Now
shut your eyes and think.

"What has the Bluebird?"

"A blue back and a red and white breast; it is the flag bird."

"The Robin?"

"A brick-red breast and dark back."

"The Wood Thrush?"

"A rusty-brown back, the brightest on the head, and a little greenish on
the tail."

"The Veery?"

"An even light-brown back, the same from head to tail."

"The Hermit?"

"A greenish-brown back, much redder on the rump and tail, like a
chestnut."

"The Olive-back?"

"An even greenish-brown back, the color of olives all over."

"And the under parts of the last four--what general color are they?"

"From white to buff, with different sized and shaped dark markings. The
spots on the Wood Thrush are the roundest and blackest; those on the
Veery are the smallest, lightest, and most on the throat; on the Hermit
they are longer and run together more like stripes; and those on the
Olive-back are most like the Hermit's."


The Olive-backed Thrush

Length about seven inches--the same as the Hermit.

Upper parts an even olive color all over.

Under parts cream-yellowish, whiter on the belly, the throat and breast
spotted with black.

A yellowish eye-ring, like the creamy color of the breast.

A Summer Citizen of the mountains of the northern United States.

A Tree Trapper and Ground Gleaner.




CHAPTER X


PEEPERS AND CREEPERS

THE GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET

"We have been looking at some of the larger song birds; now try the
sharpness of your eyes by finding a tiny little fellow--a veritable
midget, who belongs to the guild of Tree Trappers. He is usually intent
upon his work, continually hopping and peeping among little branches and
twigs, and thinks it would be time wasted if he stayed still long enough
to give you a chance to look at him. He is so small that there are very
few North American birds to compare with him in littleness. The
Hummingbird, is smaller still, and the Winter Wren measures no more,
only he is chunkier. But what of that? This Kinglet is as hardy and
vigorous as the biggest Hawk or Owl. His body is padded with a thick
feather overcoat that enables him to stay all winter, if he chooses, in
all but the most northern States.

[Illustration: Golden-crowned Kinglet.]

"Small as he is, however, every one knows him, for he disports himself
at some time of the year in the North, South, East, and West. If you see
a tiny bird, darting quick as a mouse in and out among the budded twigs
of fruit trees in early spring, now and then showing a black stripe and
a little gleam of red or yellow on its head, it is this Kinglet. If you
see such a pygmy again in autumn, exploring the bare twigs, it is this
Kinglet. When light snow is first powdering the spruces and bending the
delicate hemlock branches, dusky shapes flit out of the green cover. Are
they dry leaves blown about by the gust? No, leaves do not climb about
in the face of the wind, or pry and peep into every cone crevice, crying
'twe-zee, twe-zee, twe-zee!' They are not leaves, but a flock of
Kinglets forcing the bark crevices to yield them a breakfast of the
insects which had put themselves comfortably to bed for the winter.
Think of the work that these birds do, who not only fight the insect
army in summer, but in sleet and snow are as busy as ever destroying the
eggs that would turn in another season to worms and eat the orchards!

"Though the Golden-crowned Kinglets rove about in flocks a great part of
the year, they are extremely private in the nesting season. They go to
northern and high places to hide their homes, putting them as far out of
reach as does the Baltimore Oriole. This nest is made of moss and seems
very large when compared with the size of the builder. It is partly hung
from the concealing bough of an evergreen, sometimes quite near the
ground, sometimes swinging far up out of sight." "Does this Kinglet lay
two little white eggs, like the Hummingbird?" asked Nat.

"No," said the Doctor, "this sturdy bird lays eight or ten white eggs
with brown spots."

"Ten eggs!" cried Dodo. "How can it sit on them all at once and keep
them warm enough to hatch?"

"Perhaps the birds stir the eggs up every day to give them all an even
chance," said Rap.

"It is possible that they may," said the Doctor; "but that is one of
many things about home life in Birdland that we do not know.

"There is one thing more that I must tell you here, lest you make a
mistake about the Golden-crowned Kinglet. He has a twin brother, so much
like himself that their own parents can hardly tell them apart without
looking at the tops of their heads. The other twin's name is Ruby-crown,
for he has a beautiful little crest of that color, half hidden in dark
greenish; but not any of the black and yellow marks on the head that
will always enable you to recognize the Golden-crown, if you can get a
chance to see them while the little fellow is fidgeting about. It is a
snug family that contains these two birdlets, for there is only one
other member of it in all this part of the world, and you will not be
likely to see him about Orchard Farm."


The Golden-crowned Kinglet

Length four inches.

Upper parts olive-green, browner on the wings and tail, which have some
yellowish edgings.

A bright-red stripe on the crown, bordered by a yellow and then by a
black line; but young birds and females have only the yellow and black
stripes, without any red.

Under parts soiled white, without any marks.

A Citizen of the United States, and a Tree Trapper.


THE WHITE-BREASTED NUTHATCH

"'Yank! yank!' says the White-breasted Nuthatch, as he runs up
tree-trunks and comes down again head foremost, quite as a matter of
course.

[Illustration: White-Breasted Nuthatch.]

"At first, or from a distance, you may mistake him for his cousin the
Chickadee, who wears clothes of much the same color and is seen in the
same places; or perhaps for the little Downy Woodpecker, who also
hammers his insect food out of the tree bark.

"But at a second glance you will find the Nuthatch is very different. He
keeps his body very close to the tree and uses his feet to creep about
like a mouse or chipmunk; he also goes upside down, in a way that
Woodpeckers never do, clings to the under side of a branch as easily as
a fly to the ceiling, and often roosts or takes a nap head downward on
the side of a tree-trunk--a position that would seem likely to give him
a severe headache, if birds ever have such things."

"This is the bird I saw the first day I went to the orchard with Olive;
but why is he called a Nuthatch?" asked Nat.

"Because, besides liking to eat insects and their grubs or their eggs,
he is also very fond of some kinds of nuts, like beech and chestnuts,"
said the Doctor, "and he may be obliged to live entirely upon them in
winter, when insects fail him. Having no teeth to gnaw and crack them
open as squirrels do, he takes a nut in his claws and either holding it
thus, or jamming it tight into a crack in the bark, then uses his bill
for a hatchet to split or hack the nut open. I have seen the bird crack
hard nuts in this way, that it would take very strong teeth to break.
People used to call him 'Nuthack' or 'Nuthacker'; these words mean
exactly the same thing, but we always say 'Nuthatch' now."

"Then there are Nuthatches up in the hickory woods," said Rap, "but I
never knew their real name until now; for the miller calls them
'white-bellied creepers.' Last summer I found one of their nests, when I
wasn't looking for it either."

"Do they build here?" asked Olive. "I thought they only visited us in
winter. I don't remember ever hearing one sing, or seeing one in late
spring or summer."

"They live and nest everywhere in the eastern part of the country," said
the Doctor; "but they are very silent and shy except in the autumn and
winter. In fact, this Nuthatch keeps his nest a secret from everybody
but his wife and the Dryad of the tree in which he places it; he will
not even trust the little branches with his precious home, but makes it
in the wood of the tree itself. You say, Rap, that you found one of
these nests--won't you tell us about it?"

"It was this way," said Rap. "I was up in a hickory tree trying to look
over into a Woodpecker's hole that was in another tree, when I stepped
on a stumpy branch that was rotten and partly broke off; and there,
inside, was a soft nest made of feathers, with, four very little birds
in it. I was afraid they would fall out, but there was enough of the
branch left to hold them in. While I was wondering what sort of birds
they were, the father and mother came running along a branch above, and
gave me a terrible scolding, so pretty soon I slid down and left them.
How they did squeak!" and Rap laughed at the remembrance of it.

"They have not very musical voices at best," said the Doctor; "even
their spring song is a rather husky performance."

"Isn't that a Nuthatch now?" asked Nat. "There--hanging to the end
tassel of the big spruce; and a lot more above--do come and look,
Olive."

"No, Nattie, they are the Chickadees that father said, a moment ago, you
might mistake for Nuthatches."

"Chickadee-dee-dee!" said a bird, looking at the children with one eye.


The White-breasted Nuthatch

Length about six inches.

Upper parts grayish-blue.

Top of head and back of neck black.

Some black and white marks on wings and tail.

Sides of face and whole breast white, turning rusty on belly.

Bill strong, straight, sharp-pointed, two-thirds of an inch long.

A Citizen of the eastern United States and Canada.

A Tree Trapper.

THE CHICKADEE

"I see them, I see them, _lots_ of them!" almost screamed Dodo, growing
so excited that Nat and Olive each grabbed one of her hands to keep her
from clapping them, and so driving the Chickadees away.

"I never saw a strange new bird so near by," explained Dodo, "and if my
eye was only a photograph machine I could take his picture."

[Illustration: Chickadee.]

"You can make a word-picture instead, by telling us how the bird appears
to you," said the Doctor in a low voice, "but you need not whisper, for
whispering is an unnatural use of the voice; it makes birds and other
people suspicious, and is more likely to attract attention than a quiet
low tone."

"That is what mother said when she was sick last winter and the
neighbors came in to sit with her. If they talked softly she stayed
asleep and didn't mind, but if they whispered she said she dreamed that
the room was full of geese hissing and always waked up frightened," said
Nat.

The Chickadees did not mind the conversation in the least, but kept on
flitting in and out of the spruces, swinging from the little pink buds
that would grow into cones by and by, doing a dozen pretty tricks, and
all the time calling "chickadee-dee-dee" as if they were repeating a
joke among themselves.

"They mean we shall know their name, anyway," said Nat. "Have they any
other song?"

"Oh, yes, some nice little whistle-tunes like this--'whée-ewèe,
whée-ewèe,'" said Rap, "and if you whistle back they'll answer. I've
done it lots of times."

"Try now--do, Rap, and see if they will answer," begged Dodo.

"It's too open out here, but I will go back of the trees and perhaps
they will answer. I heard one whistling in there a minute ago."

The children listened, and presently "whée-ewèe, whée-ewèe," came two
high notes from among the trees. They were answered by two others, very
musical, but a little bit sad. So the duet went on, boy and bird, until
Dodo and Nat lost count and could not tell which was which. Then the
music stopped and Rap returned laughing, saying that when the Chickadee
found out it was not another bird that he was calling to, he was vexed
and flew away.

"Some Chickadees lived around our house all last winter," continued Rap,
"and used to eat out of the chickens' dish. I watched them every day but
one that was terribly windy, and then they stayed under the miller's
cow-shed. Even strong winter birds don't like the wind much--do they,
Doctor?"

"No, my lad, wind is one of the greatest enemies that a bird has. A
hardy bird who has plenty to eat can endure bitter cold, but when the
food-supply is scanty, as it often is in winter, and the trees are
covered with snow and ice, life is a battle with the Bird People. Then
if a high wind is added to all this discomfort their strength gives way,
and they often die in great numbers.

"If people who own gardens and farms, where there are no evergreen trees
or hayricks for birds to hide in, would put up each fall little shelters
of brush and branches, they would save a great many bird-lives, and
their orchards would be freer from insects in the spring. But, Dodo, you
are not painting the word-picture of the Chickadee. Haven't you watched
them long enough to think it out?"

"Y-e-s, I believe I have," said Dodo slowly. "I see a dear little bird
about as big as a Chippy Sparrow, only fatter, and he is nice soft gray
on top, about the color of my chinchilla muff. He has a black cap on his
head, that comes down behind where his ears ought to be, fastened with a
wide black strap across his throat, and his face is a very clean white,
and his breast, too. That is, it is white in the middle, but the sides
and below are a warmer color--sort of rusty white. And that's all,
except that he's as fidgety as ever he can be," ended Dodo, quite out of
breath with her haste to tell all she could before the bird flew away.

"Do you think you will remember the Chickadee, while he is in the deep
woods nesting this summer, so that you will know him again in the
autumn?"

Dodo and Nat said they were quite sure they would, but Rap said: "I've
known him ever so long, only the miller called him a 'black-capped
titmouse.' Isn't he a relation of the Nuthatch, Doctor?"

"Yes, a second cousin, and Black-capped Titmouse is one of his right
names. They used to belong to the very same family, but they had a
little falling out, and are not now so intimate as they were before each
went his own way, and acquired some different habits."

"I thought they were alike in a good many things," said Rap, "and their
nests are something alike, too."

The Chickadee

Length about five inches.

Upper parts ashy gray.

Head, back of neck, and throat, shining black.

Cheeks pure white.

Middle of breast white; sides and belly buffy.

A Citizen of the eastern United States.

A Tree Trapper.



THE BROWN CREEPER

"Another bird that, like the Nuthatch, spends his days peeping into the
cracks of tree bark in search of food. He is not a relation of the
Nuthatch, but a lonely bird and the only one of his family in this part
of the world.

[Illustration: Brown Creeper.]

"He does not advertise his whereabouts as freely as do the Woodpeckers
and other tree-trunk birds, so you will have to keep a sharp lookout to
find him. In the first place he is nearly the same color as the brown
and gray bark upon which he creeps, the white under parts being quite
hidden, and his call, which is the only note that is commonly heard, is
only a little sharp squeaky 'screek, screek,' given as he winds his way
up and around a tree-trunk, in the same way as a person would go up a
circular staircase.

"You may catch sight of a brown object moving as swiftly as a mouse, and
before you have made up your mind what it is he will have gone round the
other side of the tree. But the Creeper has one habit that will some day
give you a good chance to look at him. When he wishes to remain still a
moment, he spreads his tail with its stiff pointed feathers and props
himself by it against the tree. This is your opportunity."

"Does the Creeper stay here all summer?" asked Nat. "And doesn't he sing
a song like the other birds when he makes his nest?"

"He is not a Citizen hereabouts; he likes a cooler climate and makes his
home near and across the northern border of the United States. We shall
see him in the autumn, when he has become a wanderer through the
country. If the trees are not coated with ice, a little flock may stay
here all winter, while others drift further south."

"Then we shan't hear him sing or see his nest--have you ever seen it,
Uncle Roy?"

"Yes, my boy, and it was the beauty of his little song that made me stop
one day, in going through an old pine wood, and search for the singer.
The song was very strange and wild, unlike any other I had ever heard.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, I saw that my old friend,
the Brown Creeper, was the musician. At the same time he flew to one of
the pine trees and seemed to disappear inside of it. I watched awhile
until the bird flew out, and, climbing to the spot, saw that the nest
was squeezed in a sort of pocket between the loose bark and the tree
itself. You see, like the Chickadee and Nuthatch, he loves trees so well
that he tries to creep as close to their hearts as he possibly can."

"Would you call this Creeper mostly a winter bird?" asked Dodo. "I'm
going to remember the winter birds by themselves and write them in my
book, because there will be fewer of them."

"Yes," said the Doctor, "at least a winter bird in places where we
mostly see him; but you know that every bird must be a summer bird
somewhere."



The Brown Creeper


Length five and a half inches.

Upper parts mixed brown, white, and buff.

A plain brown tail, and a light-buff band on the wings.

Under parts white, without any marks.

Bill very sharp and slender, curved like a surgeon's needle.

A Summer Citizen of northern North America.

A Tree Trapper.




CHAPTER XI


MOCKERS AND SCOLDERS

THE SAGE THRASHER

"I thought that more tree-trunk birds, such as Woodpeckers, would come
next," said Rap.

"We are still taking the Birds that Sing," said the Doctor. "Woodpeckers
have no real song; they belong to the Birds that Croak and Call; but the
Nuthatch, Chickadee, and Brown Creeper each has a little tune of its
own, as you have heard."

"Of course--I don't see why I said that, for I know Woodpeckers only
hammer and croak," said Rap.

"The family of Mockers, Thrashers, and Wrens is one of the most
interesting that we shall meet in our Birdland excursions, for all its
members are bright intelligent birds and great talkers. They have
something to say for themselves and say it so cleverly that we do not
care if their feathers are of sober grays and browns. This family should
be very proud of itself, but it does not show any false pride or
exclusiveness; its different members are as sociable and friendly as
possible, building their nests in bushes not far from the ground, and
taking every occasion to chat confidentially with House People. Some of
these friendly birds are the Sage Thrasher, the Mockingbird, the
Catbird, the Brown Thrasher, the Rock Wren, the House Wren, and the
Long-billed Marsh Wren, the last being the only really shy bird among
the seven I am going to tell you about."

[Illustration: Sage Thrasher.]

"Do Wrens and Mockingbirds belong to the same family?" asked Nat. "One
so little and one so big! Mother had a Mockingbird in a cage once, but
it got out and flew away to live in the park, she thought."

"They are cousins and belong to the same large family, though to
different households, like House People.

"The Sage Thrasher belongs only to the West, just as its relative the
Brown Thrasher belongs to the eastern part of the country. When your
Cousin Olive and I lived one summer here and there, from Colorado
westward, it was this bird that made us feel at home by its sweet
sociable music.

"Everywhere in that mountainous region the sagebrush, with its blue
flower spikes, spreads over the ground, making a silvery greenness where
other plants could not grow. In and out of the sage, nests and scratches
and hops this Thrasher, taking its name from the plant. He also ventures
up on the mountain sides, giving his inquisitive, questioning, mocking
notes, and so earns a second name in those places, where he is called
the Mountain Mockingbird.

"Though he is a good deal smaller than the true Mockingbird of the
South, they have many points in common. They can both imitate almost any
sound that strikes their fancy, such as the songs of other birds,
whistle various tunes of their own, and almost mock the peculiarities of
human speech. Not that they all do it--oh, no, many have only their own
beautiful natural song; every Mockingbird has not the power of
imitation, but certain members of the tribe acquire a knack of mockery
of which they seem quite conscious.

"The Sage Thrasher, though gentle and sociable in its wild state, does
not thrive in cages as well as the true Mocker. It seems to miss the
broad expanse of plain and mountain to which it has been used, and
seldom lives long in confinement.

"Read what you have written about the size and color of this Thrasher,"
said the Doctor to Rap.


The Sage Thrasher


Length eight inches.

Upper parts gray, tinged with brown.

Under parts white shaded to buff, and spotted thickly on the breast with
very dark brown, almost black.

Two white bands on each wing, and white spots on the end of the tail.

A Summer Citizen of the western United States.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower. THE MOCKINGBIRD

"Mammy Bun knows about Mockingbirds," said Dodo. "She says the bushes
were full of them down in Louisiana where she was born, and that
sometimes they used to sit on the top of the cabins and sing so loud at
night, when the moon shone, that the children couldn't go to sleep, and
they had to throw sticks and things at them."

"Did the children throw sticks at the birds, or the birds pelt the
children?" laughed the Doctor--for poor Dodo was famous for mixing up
her sentences.

"No, no, Uncle Roy, neither; the children's _mothers_ threw the sticks
at the Mockers."

"What else did Mammy Bun tell you?"

"Lots and lots of things, and a song, too, that her people used to sing
about the Mockers, only I can't tell it as she does because you know she
has a sort of language all her own."

"Suppose we ask mammy to come and tell us about the Mockingbirds
herself," said Olive, "May we, father?"

"Certainly, if you can coax her."

The children followed Olive to the house and soon returned leading
mammy, who was chuckling and out of breath, but evidently very much
pleased to be asked. She could not be persuaded to try the apple-tree
perch, so they made her a sort of throne at the foot of the tree and sat
respectfully in a row in front of her. Mammy wore a dark-blue print
dress with white figures on it, but as she was one of the good old sort,
she had a plaid handkerchief tied turban fashion round her head. As she
talked she rolled her eyes and waved her hands a good deal, and her
words had a soft comfortable sound like molasses pouring out of a big
stone jug.

"Does I know de mockin'bird, I reck'n so--'bout de fust t'ing I did
know, 'cept how ter suck sugar-cane. Sugar-cane am good eatin' long in
de 'arly fall, but de Mocker ain't doin' much singin' dese yer times,
least not 'less he's in a cage in a good sunshiny place. He am a kind ob
a peart gray bird, darker in some places, lighter in oders, and clean as
a parson. But come 'long spring and time for droppin' de cottin seed, de
Mocker he know mighty well what's a-doin'. 'Long in March he comes inter
de bushes and orange scrub round de field a-makin' a fuss and tellin'
folks to git along to work, or dere won't be no cottin, and he keep it
straight up all de day long till cottin's out o' bloom. All de day long
kind o' chatterin' and hurryin' de niggers up when dere a-droppin' de
seed in de line, and scoldin' and hurryin' all de day long, when dere
a-hoein' down de weeds. Den when it come night, de she-bird keep close
onter de nest, and de he-bird go in de scrub or de redwoods or de
gin'gos, nigh de clarin', maybe right on de cabin roof, and he say to
hisself--'Now dem niggers done dere work, I'll gib 'em a tune ter
courage 'em like.' Den he jes' let hisself onter his singin'. Sometime
he sing brave and bold, like he say big words like missis and de folks
dat lib in de big house. Den he whisper soft an' low widout any words,
jes' like a mammy was a-singin' to her baby. Den agin he sing kin' o'
long and soft and wheedlesome, like Sambo when he come a-courtin' o' me.
Sho, now! come to t'ink o' Sambo, he didn't nebber like Mockers, a'ter
one time he 'spicioned a Mocker tole tales on him. Massa Branscome--he
were a mighty fine man and your gran'dad, Miss Olive--he say he wouldn't
have no puss'n to rob de nests o' Mockers, not anywheres on his 'states.
Dey did eat a pile o' fruit, but dat was nuffin'. Fus' place he jes'
loved ter hear 'em sing, an' den he 'lowed dat dey was powerful fond o'
cottin worms, what was mighty bad some years.

"Now lots o' coon darkies dey uster steal de youn' Mockers jes' afore
dey lef' de nest and sell 'em to white trash dat ud tote 'em down the
ribber an' sell 'em agin in N'Orleans, to be fetched off in ships. And
I'se hear tell dat dere ain't any sech birds in oder countries, and dat
de kings and queens jes' gib dere gold crowns offen dere heads t' have a
cage o' Mockers.

"Dem coons nebber got no gold crowns, howsumever. What dey got was
mos'ly a quarter foh free he-birds. Now Sambo he was a-courtin' an'
wanted a banjo powerful bad, an' he didn't want no common truck, so he
'lowed to get one up from N'Orleans. So he 'greed to pay for it in
Mockers, an' he to'ht he know'd where he'd get 'em foh sure. Mockers
don' nes' in de woods and wild places, dey allus keeps roun' de
plantations near where folks libs.

"He know'd he war doin' wrong and he felt mighty uncomfoh'ble; but he
done took de youn' Mockers on our plantation right under massa's nose.
He war crafty like and on'y took one outen each nes' and at night de ole
birds never miss 'em. When he got de banjo 'bout paid foh, dat time he
took a whole nes'ful to onc't an' de birds what it b'longed to saw what
he war a-doin' an' gib him a piece o' dere mind, an' folled him 'round
all day an' sat on de roof ob his quarters an' talked all night, 'an
tole him to bring back dem Mockers or dey'd tell; an' Sambo war skeered
an' wanted to put de birds back an' den he didn't like to. Nex' day, he
'lowed de he-Mocker wen' to de big house, an' tole massa 'bout it, an'
he an' Miss Jessamine--dat was your ma--dey come down to de quarters an'
tole Sambo he done took Mockers an' ask him what had he done wid all on
'em. An' he mos' turn' white an' he say, 'I sol' 'em down de ribber';
an' massa say, 'I'se a great mind to sell you down de ribber, too'--but
he nebber sol' nuffin'--gib us all our freedom. Now, no nigger want' to
be sol' down de ribber, an' Sambo say, 'Oh, Miss Jessamine, dere's f'ree
I didn' sell, an' I'll gib 'em back to dat he-bird, an' ax his pardin.'
Massa he laff and say, 'If dat he-bird will 'scuse you, I will.' So
Sambo put 'em back an' de he-bird act' s'if he know'd an' talk' a lot o'
good advice to Sambo, but I'se shore 't war anoder nigger w'at tole on
Sam.

[Illustration: Mockingbird.]

"Dey uster have a song 'bout de Mockers roun' de cabins, an' a dance
went wid it, 'cause it was a berry long song; but aftah dat Sambo done
change it some when he uster sing it."

Mammy then chanted a verse, keeping time by beating her hands on her
knees.

  "De sugar-cane hits pushin' in de bottoms,
     De rice hits a-sproutin' now fo' shore!
  De cotton hits a-greenin' in de furrer,
     An' honey I'se a-waitin' at de door!

  "Did I tole you dat I know'd whar dere's a possum?
     Did I tole you dat I know'd whar dere's a coon?
  Oh, mah lady, come out soon!
  Oh, mah honey, come out soon!
     While de Mocker, while de Mocker
     Am a-singin' to de moon!"

Suddenly mammy jumped up, and waving the children off, started for the
house as fast as she could trot, muttering to herself.

"What _is_ the matter?" called Olive; "has a bee stung you?"

"No, nope chile, but t'inkin' 'bout dem times I done forgit I lef' a big
pan o' buns a-risin' foh yoh lunch. Like's not dey's rised till dey's
bust an' popped over!" And mammy disappeared amid a chorus of laughter.

"What mammy has said about the Mockingbird in his summer home is true.
As a visitor who sometimes stays and builds, he strays east and north as
far as Massachusetts, and westward to Colorado and California. If he
were not a hardy bird who sometimes raises three broods a year, I'm
afraid the race would come to an end, because so many nestlings are
taken each year and sold for cage birds."

The Mockingbird

Length about ten inches.

Upper parts gray, but dusky-brownish on the wings, which have a large
white spot. Three white feathers on each side of the tail, which is
blackish. The males, who sing, have more white on the wings and tail
than the females, who are songless.

Under parts whitish.

Sings his own true song, a rapid, sweet melody, heard best after
twilight; but has many comic songs of whatever nonsense comes into his
head.

A Citizen of the southern United States, often straying northward to New
England.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.


THE CATBIRD

When the Doctor said "Catbird" the children began to imitate the various
calls this famous garden bird utters, for by this time they were
familiar with all his tricks and manners. Some of the imitations were
very good indeed, if not musical. "Miou! Zeay! Zeay!"

"That is all very well in its way," said the Doctor, "but which one of
you can imitate his song?"

"I've often tried," said Rap, "but somehow he always gets ahead of me,
and I lose the place."

"Listen! There is one singing now in the grape arbor, and he has a nest
somewhere in the syringa bushes," said Olive.

The Catbird was not alarmed when he saw that five pairs of eyes were
turned upon him. He seemed to know that the secret of his nest was in
safe keeping, flew out to the pointed top of a clothes-pole, and
continued his song, jerking his tail up and down and showing the rusty
feathers beneath, as if this motion had something to do with the force
of his music. "I can hear the words as plain as anything," said Nat;
"if I only understood his language!"

"That is the difficulty," said the Doctor; "if some kind bird would
write a dictionary for us we should soon learn a great many strange
things."

"Roger, the gardener, says that Catbirds are bad things and if he had
his way he would shoot them. He says they bite the strawberries and
grapes and things, even when he is looking at them," said Dodo.

"There is some truth in what Roger says," replied the Doctor, "but on
the other hand, the Catbird, besides being a merry garden neighbor and
musician, which in itself is enough to pay his rent, belongs as a
citizen to the Tree Trappers and Ground Gleaners, and is also a great
sower of wild fruits. Though he does provoke us at times by taking a
bite from the largest berries in the bed, yet he really prefers wild
fruits if he can find them. So it is better for us to protect our grape
arbors and strawberry beds with nets and bits of bright tin strung on
twine to frighten him away from them, than to lose him as a friend and
insect destroyer.

"Surely his song is worth a few handfuls of cherries. Then he is such a
quick-witted, sympathetic bird, always willing to help his neighbors
when they have trouble with Crows or squirrels. And when half a dozen
pairs of Catbirds choose the garden for their home, you may be sure that
they will furnish fun as well as music."

"Why does he jerk his tail so?" asked Dodo.

"It is a trick that all the family have," said the Doctor, "from which
some of them are supposed to have taken the name of Thrasher, but that
is doubtful. The Mockingbird thrashes about in his cage; the Brown
Thrasher on the ground under the bushes; the House Wren does the same,
and the tiny Winter Wren gives his tail a jerk instead, for it is not
long enough to really thrash."

"There is a bright-brown bird beating with his tail, down under the
quince bushes now," said Dodo. "Is that some kind of a cousin?"

"It's a Song Thrush," said Rap.

"Or rather what the Wise Men call a Brown Thrasher," said the Doctor;
"the very bird of which I was speaking."

[Illustration: Catbird.]

"Who are the Wise Men?" asked Rap.

"A society of House People who study American birds and decide by what
name it is best to call each species, so that each may be known
everywhere by the same name. This Brown Thrasher is sometimes called
Song Thrush, Brown Thrush, Brown Mockingbird, and Mavis--though the
first and the last of these four names belong only to a kind of European
Thrush that is never found in this country. You see how confusing this
is, and how much better it is for the Wise Men, who know him intimately,
to give him one name you can be sure is right."

The Catbird.

Length between eight and nine inches.

Upper parts slate color.

Crown, bill, feet, and tail black.

Under parts lighter grayish-slate color, except a chestnut-red patch
under the tail.

A Summer Citizen of the United States.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.



THE BROWN THRASHER


"As I told you a moment ago, this handsome clean-built bird with keen
eyes, curved bill, and long graceful tail that opens and shuts like a
fan, has several names besides that of Brown Thrasher, which seems the
most suitable for him."

"He looks redder than brown, for we called the Wood Thrush 'brown,'"
said Nat.

"Yes, his back is a much brighter brown than that of any Thrush, and
this will show you the need in studying birds of being able to
distinguish between several shades of the same color. There are words to
represent these different grades of color, such as 'rufous' for
reddish-brown and 'fuscous' for dusky-brown; these you must learn later
on, for some of them are pretty hard ones. Now it is better for you to
use words whose meaning is perfectly familiar to you.

"The brown of this Thrasher, you see, is brighter than that of the Wood
Thrush; it is a ruddy brown, with a faint brassy glint, something like a
polished doorknob, particularly when the sun strikes his back."

"How he scratches round upon the ground," said Dodo; "just like a hen.
Why doesn't he belong to the Birds that Scratch?"

"Because, for one reason, his feet have the three toes in front and the
one behind, all on the same level; this makes him a perching bird."

"Don't all birds sit on a perch when they go to sleep?" asked Dodo.

"By no means. The perching birds grasp a twig firmly with their very
limber toes and sharp claws, and put their head under their wing; but
many others, like tame Geese and Ducks, sleep standing on the ground on
one foot or sometimes floating on the water.

"The Thrasher is a Ground Gleaner, who spends most of his time in the
underbrush, having a great appetite for the wicked May beetle; but he
does not live near the ground only, mounting high in a tree when he
wishes to sing, as if he needed the pure high air in order to breathe
well, and he never sings from the heart of a thick bush, as the Catbird
does so frequently.

"But I am wrong in saying that he _only_ goes up into trees to sing, for
there is no denying that he visits cherry trees to pick cherries, in
spite of the fact that he is neither invited nor welcome. Yet we must
remember that if he does like fruit for dessert he has also first eaten
caterpillar-soup and beetle-stew, and so has certainly earned some
cherries."

"Hush!" whispered Olive; "our Thrasher is singing now in the birch tree,
where you can both see and hear him."

"That's a sure sign his nest is not very near," said Rap; "for they
never sing close by their nests." This Thrasher was clinging to the end
of a slender branch, one claw above the other, so that his head, which
was thrown back, looked straight up to the sky. He seemed to be half
talking and half singing, as if giving directions to some unseen
performer, then following these by two or three clear notes.

"What is he saying?" said Dodo.

"He is telling you who he is, and what he sees from the tree-top," said
the Doctor. "Olive, dear, I am going to repeat to the children the
jingle you made about the Thrasher." Though Olive then blushed and said
it was only nonsense, the children were delighted with it.

  "My creamy breast is speckled
  (Perhaps you'd call it freckled)
  Black and brown.

  "My pliant russet tail
  Beats like a frantic flail,
  Up and down.

  "In the top branch of a tree
  You may chance to glance at me,
  When I sing.

  "But I'm very, _very_ shy,
  When I silently float by,
  On the wing.

  "_Whew_ there! _Hi_ there! Such a clatter!
  What's the matter--what's the matter?
  Really, really?

  "Digging, delving, raking, sowing,
  Corn is sprouting, corn is growing!
        Plant it, plant it!
        Gather it,

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