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