A SAD TIME FOR A CANARY FAMILY
Time went by, and autumn came and then winter. I had been hatched in
the early summer, and by winter time it seemed to me that I was a very
old bird and knew a great deal.
I had become quite a member of the Martin family, and sometimes I did
not go in the bird-room for days together.
My sleeping place was a cage in the family sitting-room upstairs. The
door was never closed, and I flew in and out at will. Oh, how
interested I was in the world of the house! I used to fly from room to
room and sometimes I even went in the kitchen and watched Hester doing
the cooking. She had a little shelf near a window filled with plants,
and I always lighted there, for she did not like me to fly about and
get on her ironing board or pastry table. I became so interested in
the family that I thought I would never get tired of exploring the
house, but when winter came I found myself staring out in the street.
I wanted to get out and see what the great out-of-doors was like.
Early in the winter we had much excitement in the bird-room. A very
happy time called Christmas was coming. Everybody gave presents, and
Mr. Martin’s gift to his daughter was money to build a fine large
flying place on the roof for her birds. We would not be able to use it
until spring, but he said the work had better be done in the winter
because it was easier to get carpenters than it would be later on, and
there were some poor men he wished to employ during the cold weather.
What chirping and chattering and gossip there were among the birds!
There was no nesting going on now, and not much to talk about. Soon
two men came, and from the big window we birds watched them putting up
a good-sized framework out on the roof and nailing netting to it. What
a fine large place we should have right out in the sunshine.
There were no fir trees put out there on account of fire. Mr. Martin
said sparks from chimneys might start a blaze, but the men made things
like trees of metal, with nice spreading branches. A part of this
flying cage was covered over—and up under the roof, where no rain
could wet them, the men put tiny nesting boxes.
“Why, we shall be just like wild birds,” said my mother joyfully,
“with nests outside in the fresh air. What lovely, strong young ones
we shall have! It has been a trifle hot in the bird-room in summer.”
My poor little mother had felt the heat terribly through the latter
part of the summer, but that had not prevented her from doing her duty
by her second family of young ones. They were very interesting little
fledglings—three male birds, and three hen-birds, and strange to say
my naughty brother Green-Top was as kind to them as he had been unkind
to me.
It is no easy matter to feed six hearty young canaries, and it was the
prettiest sight in the world to see him fly to the dish of egg food,
stuff his beak and hurry to the nestlings with it. He was a great help
to my parents. He was the only young canary in the bird-room that
helped his parents feed new babies, and the old birds gave him great
credit for it.
He would not let me go near the nest. I had politely offered to help
him, but he told me in an angry way that I was a rover and despised my
home, and if I did not get out, he would pick at my eyes and blind me
for life.
“Don’t mind him, darling, darling,” sang my dear mother, who never
forgot me. Norfolk, my father, paid no attention to me now. A steely
look came into his eyes whenever I went near him, and one day he sang
coldly at me, “Who are you, who are you?” though he knew quite well I
was his son.
Green-Top was his favorite now. My brother just loved our father and
perched near him at night, and was so attentive to him that the old
birds said, “That young one will never mate. He loves his parents too
well. He will always live with them.”
I never dared sing in the bird-room now, for if I did Green-Top always
pulled my tail or looked down my throat. These are great tricks with
canaries, to take the conceit out of a bird they think vain. Often
when in the gladness, of my heart at getting back into the bird-room I
would burst into song, Green-Top would steal behind me and tweak my
tail severely, and if he was busy about something, he would wink at
one of my cousins to do it for him.
A terrible trouble, a most unspeakable and dreadful trouble, came upon
us as a family and poisoned our happiness that winter. My beautiful
mother Dixie, who had been allowed to have too many nests and raise
too many nestlings in her short life, sickened and died. I shall never
forget seeing her fail from day to day. First she had asthma and sat
gasping for breath, with her beak wide open. Our Mary did everything
for her. She gave her iron tonic and different medicines, but nothing
did any good. Day by day her poor little body looked like a puff-ball,
and her quick, short gasps for breath were most painful to hear. Her
voice failed, and she had to take castor oil and paregoric and
glycerine and had rock-candy in her drinking water.
“It is no use,” said our Mary one day. “My dear Dixie, you will have
to go, but I think there is a little bird heaven somewhere where you
will be happy, and will not suffer any more, and some day all your
little family will go to it, and fly about gaily with you ever after.”
My little mother opened her eyes, her very beautiful eyes, though all
the rest of her body was drooping and disfigured now. They opened so
wide that I thought perhaps she was going to get better. Many times
since I have seen that strange look in the eyes of a dying bird—a
look of great astonishment, as if they had suddenly caught sight of
something they had not seen before. Then the lovely eyes closed, her
tiny head fell over, and our Mary said softly, “Her little bird spirit
has flown away.”
She held her out in the palm of her hand for all the birds to see,
then she took her away, and though it was winter and deep snow was on
the ground, she had the gardener dig a little grave and she buried her
in a tin box, quite deep in the ground, where no roaming cats nor dogs
would get her.
We watched her from the window, all of us except my father Norfolk. He
sang all the rest of the day at the top of his voice, almost a
screaming song. He sang because he thought his heart was breaking, but
in a few weeks he was flying about with Avis, the canary who ate her
eggs. Her mate Spotty had died, and our Mary was pleased to have her
take up with Norfolk, for he was a steady bird and always at home, not
like poor Spotty, who used to be mostly at the opposite end of the
bird-room from his home, gossiping and chattering with canaries when
he should have been attending to his mate.
My mother’s death saddened me terribly, and for a long time I spent a
large part of every day in the bird-room with my young brothers and
sisters, all of whom had nice names. The hen-birds were Pretty Girl,
Beauty, and Cantala, and the males were Pretty Boy, Redgold, and
Cresto. Such little dear things they were, all gentle and good, no
fighters among them.
At first Green-Top let me help him father them. Then when he got over
his grief he began to beat me again, and I lost feathers.
When I speak of beating, I must not be taken too seriously. When
canaries fight, they fly up into the air and down again, fluttering
wings, crying out, and making dashes at each other—a great fuss and
flurry, but not much harm done. The hen-birds fight this way a good
deal in nesting time, then their mates come and help them, and the
whole bird-room is in a commotion.
A more serious way of fighting is chasing. One bird takes a dislike to
another bird and pursues him unmercifully, striking him about the head
till his beak is sore and bleeding. That is the way Green-Top served
me, and soon I made up my mind that I was not needed in the bird-room
and I got into the habit of spending about all my time downstairs,
only coming up once in a while to see how all the birds were, and find
out if they were getting anything to eat that I did not have.
Everybody was so good to me. Hester put little tidbits on my shelf in
the kitchen, Mrs. Martin was always handing dainties to me, and even
Mr. Martin would bring home a fine apple or some grapes or an orange
for me to peck at.
The children were the best of all. Not a bit of candy or cake did they
get but what a bit was saved for me, and many a greasy or sticky
little morsel that I just pretended to eat was laid before me.
It was curious about those children. They were rather naughty with
human beings, but ever since their cousin Mary allowed them to go in
the bird-room, once a day with her, they had become nicer to birds and
animals.