“Birds in their little nests agree,
And ’tis a shameful sight
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight”;—
and they thought anything really written and printed in a hymn must be
true; therefore they were very much astonished to see, from day to day,
that _their_ little birds in their nests did _not_ agree.
Tip-Top was the biggest and strongest bird, and he was always shuffling
and crowding the others, and clamoring for the most food; and when Mrs.
Robin came in with a nice bit of anything, Tip-Top’s red mouth opened so
wide, and he was so noisy, that one would think the nest was all his. His
mother used to correct him for these gluttonous ways, and sometimes made
him wait till all the rest were helped before she gave him a mouthful;
but he generally revenged himself in her absence by crowding the others
and making the nest generally uncomfortable. Speckle, however, was a
bird of spirit, and he used to peck at Tip-Top; so they would sometimes
have a regular sparring-match across poor Brown-Eyes, who was a meek,
tender little fellow, and would sit winking and blinking in fear while
his big brothers quarrelled. As to Toddy and Singer, they turned out to
be sister birds, and showed quite a feminine talent for chattering; they
used to scold their badly behaving brothers in a way that made the nest
quite lively.
On the whole, Mr. and Mrs. Robin did not find their family circle the
peaceable place the poet represents.
“I say,” said Tip-Top one day to them, “this old nest is a dull, mean,
crowded hole, and it’s quite time some of us were out of it; just give us
lessons in flying, won’t you, and let us go.”
“My dear boy,” said Mother Robin, “we shall teach you to fly as soon as
your wings are strong enough.”
“You are a very little bird,” said his father, “and ought to be good and
obedient, and wait patiently till your wing-feathers grow; and then you
can soar away to some purpose.”
“Wait for my wing-feathers? Humbug!” Tip-Top would say, as he sat
balancing with his little short tail on the edge of the nest, and looking
down through the grass and clover-heads below, and up into the blue
clouds above. “Father and mother are slow old birds; keep a fellow back
with their confounded notions. If they don’t hurry up, I’ll take matters
into my own claws, and be off some day before they know it. Look at those
swallows, skimming and diving through the blue air! That’s the way I want
to do.”
“But, dear brother, the way to learn to do that is to be good and
obedient while we are little, and wait till our parents think it best for
us to begin.”
“Shut up your preaching,” said Tip-Top; “what do you girls know of
flying?”
“About as much as _you_,” said Speckle. “However, I’m sure I don’t care
how soon you take yourself off, for you take up more room than all the
rest put together.”
“You mind yourself, Master Speckle, or you’ll get something you don’t
like,” said Tip-Top, still strutting in a very cavalier way on the edge
of the nest, and sticking up his little short tail quite valiantly.
“O my darlings,” said the mamma, now fluttering home, “cannot I ever
teach you to live in love?”
“It’s all Tip-Top’s fault,” screamed the other birds in a flutter.
“My fault? Of course, everything in this nest that goes wrong is laid
to me,” said Tip-Top; “and I’ll leave it to anybody, now, if I crowd
anybody. I’ve been sitting outside, on the very edge of the nest, and
there’s Speckle has got my place.”
“Who wants your place?” said Speckle. “I’m sure you can come in, if you
please.”
“My dear boy,” said the mother, “do go into the nest and be a good little
bird, and then you will be happy.”
“That’s always the talk,” said Tip-Top. “I’m too big for the nest, and I
want to see the world. It’s full of beautiful things, I know. Now there’s
the most lovely creature, with bright eyes, that comes under the tree
every day, and wants me to come down in the grass and play with her.”
“My son, my son, beware!” said the frightened mother; “that lovely
seeming creature is our dreadful enemy, the cat,—a horrid monster, with
teeth and claws.”
At this, all the little birds shuddered and cuddled deeper in the nest;
only Tip-Top, in his heart, disbelieved it. “I’m too old a bird,” said
he to himself, “to believe _that_ story; mother is chaffing me. But I’ll
show her that I can take care of myself.”
So the next morning, after the father and mother were gone, Tip-Top got
on the edge of the nest again, and looked over and saw lovely Miss Pussy
washing her face among the daisies under the tree, and her hair was
sleek and white as the daisies, and her eyes were yellow and beautiful
to behold, and she looked up to the tree bewitchingly, and said, “Little
birds, little birds, come down; Pussy wants to play with you.”
“Only look at her!” said Tip-Top; “her eyes are like gold.”
“No, don’t look,” said Singer and Speckle. “She will bewitch you and then
eat you up.”
“I’d like to see her try to eat me up,” said Tip-Top, again balancing his
short tail over the nest. “Just as if she would. She’s just the nicest,
most innocent creature going, and only wants us to have fun. We never do
have any fun in this old nest!”
Then the yellow eyes below shot a bewildering light into Tip-Top’s eyes,
and a voice sounded sweet as silver: “Little birds, little birds, come
down; Pussy wants to play with you.”
“Her paws are as white as velvet,” said Tip-Top; “and so soft! I don’t
believe she has any claws.”
“Don’t go, brother, don’t!” screamed both sisters.
All we know about it is, that a moment after a direful scream was heard
from the nursery window. “O mamma, mamma, do come here! Tip-Top’s fallen
out of the nest, and the cat has got him!”
Away ran Pussy with foolish little Tip-Top in her mouth, and he squeaked
dolefully when he felt her sharp teeth. Wicked Miss Pussy had no mind to
eat him at once; she meant just as she said, to “play with him.” So she
ran off to a private place among the currant-bushes, while all the little
curly heads were scattered up and down looking for her.
Did you ever see a cat play with a bird or a mouse? She sets it down, and
seems to go off and leave it; but the moment it makes the first movement
to get away,—pounce! she springs on it, and shakes it in her mouth; and
so she teases and tantalizes it, till she gets ready to kill and eat it.
I can’t say why she does it, except that it is a cat’s nature; and it is
a very bad nature for foolish young robins to get acquainted with.
“O, where is he? where is he? Do find my poor Tip-Top,” said Jamie,
crying as loud as he could scream. “I’ll kill that horrid cat,—I’ll kill
her!”
Mr. and Mrs. Robin, who had come home meantime, joined their plaintive
chirping to the general confusion; and Mrs. Robin’s bright eyes soon
discovered her poor little son, where Pussy was patting and rolling him
from one paw to the other under the currant-bushes; and settling on the
bush above, she called the little folks to the spot by her cries.
Jamie plunged under the bush, and caught the cat with luckless Tip-Top in
her mouth; and, with one or two good thumps, he obliged her to let him
go. Tip-Top was not dead, but in a sadly draggled and torn state. Some
of his feathers were torn out, and one of his wings was broken, and hung
down in a melancholy way.
“O, what _shall_ we do for him? He will die. Poor Tip-Top!” said the
children.
“Let’s put him back into the nest, children,” said mamma. “His mother
will know best what to do with him.”
So a ladder was got, and papa climbed up and put poor Tip-Top safely into
the nest. The cat had shaken all the nonsense well out of him; he was a
dreadfully humbled young robin.
The time came at last when all the other birds in the nest learned to
fly, and fluttered and flew about everywhere; but poor melancholy Tip-Top
was still confined to the nest with a broken wing. Finally, as it became
evident that it would be long before he could fly, Jamie took him out of
the nest, and made a nice little cage for him, and used to feed him every
day, and he would hop about and seem tolerably contented; but it was
evident that he would be a lame-winged robin all his days.
Jamie’s mother told him that Tip-Top’s history was an allegory.
“I don’t know what you mean, mamma,” said Jamie.
“When something in a bird’s life is like something in a boy’s life,
or when a story is similar in its meaning to reality, we call it an
allegory. Little boys, when they are about half grown up, sometimes do
just as Tip-Top did. They are in a great hurry to get away from home into
the great world; and then Temptation comes, with bright eyes and smooth
velvet paws, and promises them fun; and they go to bad places; they get
to smoking, and then to drinking; and, finally, the bad habit gets them
in its teeth and claws, and plays with them as a cat does with a mouse.
They try to reform, just as your robin tried to get away from the cat;
but their bad habits pounce on them and drag them back. And so, when the
time comes that they want to begin life, they are miserable, broken-down
creatures, like your broken-winged robin.
“So, Jamie, remember, and don’t try to be a man before your time, and let
your parents judge for you while you are young; and never believe in any
soft white Pussy, with golden eyes, that comes and wants to tempt you to
come down and play with her. If a big boy offers to teach you to smoke a
cigar, that is Pussy. If a boy wants you to go into a billiard-saloon,
that is Pussy. If a boy wants you to learn to drink anything with spirit
in it, however sweetened and disguised, remember, Pussy is there; and
Pussy’s claws are long, and Pussy’s teeth are strong; and if she gives
you one shake in your youth, you will be like a broken-winged robin all
your days.”