Whither away, Robin,
Whither away?
Is it through envy of the maple leaf,
Whose blushes mock the crimson of thy breast,
Thou wilt not stay?
The summer days were long, yet all too brief
The happy season thou hast been our guest.
Whither away?
Wither away, Bluebird,
Whither away?
The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky
Thou still canst find the colour of thy wing,
The hue of May.
Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? Ah, why,
Thou, too, whose song first told us of the spring,
Whither away?
Whither away, Swallow,
Whither away?
Canst thou no longer tarry in the North,
Here where our roof so well hath screened thy nest?
Not one short day?
Wilt thou—as if thou human wert—go forth
And wander far from them who love thee best?
Whither away?
—Edmund Clarence Stedman.
_The Fall Migration_
“If you watch the birds, you will soon notice that some eat only animal
food, in the shape of various bugs, worms, and lice, while others eat
seeds of various weeds, and grasses, and also berries. There are many
birds that, like ourselves, eat a little of everything, both animal and
vegetable.
“For instance, the Swallows live on insects of the air, except sometimes
in the autumn flocking they feed for a short time on bayberries. The
Phœbe is an insect eater; also the Catbird, though he is fond of
strawberries and cherries for dessert. You saw just now that the
Chickadee, Woodpecker, and Jay preferred the meat from the sandwich and
the Robins the berries from the pie, though the Jay also likes nuts and
seeds.
“You know that when frost comes, the air-flying insects are killed, and
the gnats, mosquitoes, and flies that have worried the horses and cattle
disappear. For this reason the birds that depend upon these bugs must
follow their food supply, and move off farther southward where frost has
not yet come.
“This is the reason why so many birds who feed on winged insects leave
us in early autumn, before it is cold enough to make them uncomfortable;
they must follow their food.
“There are other birds that, when they no longer have nestlings to feed,
can pick up a living from berries and seeds, like the Robin, or live the
greater part of the season upon seeds, like the Sparrows. These birds
are not driven away by the first frost, but many stay about until the
weather is uncomfortably cold, and some few remain all winter, like the
Meadowlarks, Nuthatches, Jays, and Woodpeckers, who, having stout beaks,
can dig out grubs and insects from among the roots of grass and from
tough tree bark; but these too must move on if ice coats the trees or
snow buries their ground feeding-places.
“As a great many birds spend the nesting season north of New England,
they pass by on their way southward, and, if the feeding is good, stay
with us sometimes several weeks, so that the flocks of Robins seen here
in October are likely to be those that nested in the north, while our
own birds are gradually drifting down to the extreme south, where they
winter.
“This great southward journey of the birds, that begins as early as
August and lasts at some seasons, if the winter is open, almost until
Christmas, is called the fall migration, and when it is over, the birds
remaining with us are classed as Winter Residents.
“There is another thing to be seen at this time of year, and if you have
not already noticed it, watch and you will see that many of the birds
that wore bright feathers in May and June have changed their gay coats
for duller feathers.
_The Moulting_
“After the nesting season is over, and a pair of birds have raised one,
two, and, as with the Wrens, sometimes three broods, the feathers of the
parents become worn and broken, and not fit for winter covering, nor are
the wing quills strong enough for the fall flight.
“At this time, when the young birds are able to care for themselves, the
pairs no longer keep alone together, but, leaving their nesting-haunts,
travel about either in a family party or in larger friendly flocks, and,
although some birds, like the Song Sparrow and Meadowlark, sing
throughout the season, the general morning chorus and the nesting season
end together, in early or middle July.
“It is quite difficult to name the birds when young and old travel in
flocks, for when a male is bright-coloured and the female dull, the
first coat of the young is often such a mixture of both that it is
easily mistaken for a wholly different and strange bird.
“In August or September almost all of our birds change their spring
feathers. This is called moulting. And the brightly coloured birds often
drop their wedding finery for dull-coloured travelling cloaks, so that
they may not be seen when they fly southward through the falling leaves.
“After this season Father Tanager, of the scarlet wedding coat with
black sleeves, appears in yellowish-green, like his wife, and the little
Tanagers sometimes have mixed green, yellow, and red garments, for all
the world like patchwork bedquilts pieced without regard to pattern.
[Illustration: SCARLET TANAGER
1. Adult Male., 2. Adult Male, Changing to Winter Plumage., 3. Adult
Female.]
Order—Passeres Family—Tanagridæ
Genus—Firanga Species—Erythromelas
“The jolly Bobolink, also, who in May was the prize singer of the
meadows, and disported in a coat of black, white, and buff, now wears
dull brown stripes, and, having forgotten his song, he mixes with the
young of the year and becomes merely the Reed Bird of the gunners. But
in early spring he will change again, and, before the nesting time,
reappear among us with every black feather polished free from rusty
edges and glistening as of old.
“When Father Tanager comes back, he is brave and red again, though it
takes little Tommy Tanager two moultings to grow an equally red coat.
“Even with the more quietly marked birds their colours are less distinct
after the summer moult, so that what is known as the bird’s perfect or
typical plumage is in many species that of the nesting season alone.”
“I didn’t think that there was so much to know about birds; they seem to
have ways of doing things just like people. I’d love to know all about
them every Friday, but I suppose that’s too nice to happen,” said Sarah
Barnes, as Gray Lady paused and moved her chair back from the bright
light that was now shining through the door directly in her face, for
the clouds had rolled away down behind the hills, leaving one of the
clear, bright, early September afternoons when the sun lends its colour
to the field of early goldenrod, until sunset seems to reach to one’s
very feet.
“No, it isn’t _too_ nice to happen,” said Gray Lady, laughing; “but it
would certainly be very pleasant for me, also, if Miss Wilde could give
you to me for an hour or so every other Friday, then perhaps some other
day you could come to the General’s house and return my call, and see
all the birds and pictures and books that belonged to my Goldilocks’
father. How would you like that?”
“Bully!” cried Tommy Todd, “and there’s more kinds of birds in the
General’s old orchard than anywhere else hereabout. I haven’t ever taken
any eggs from there,” he added hastily, “only jest peeked and watched,
an’ once I got a three-story nest from there, along late in the fall
when the birds were done with it. If I brought it along, ma’am, could
you tell me what sort of a bird it belongs to? I can’t find out!” he
added eagerly.
“Yes, I think I can tell you,” Gray Lady answered, “and I’m very glad if
you know about my orchard and its tenants, because very likely you may
be able to introduce me to some that I do not know.
“Now, children, before next week is over I will see Miss Wilde and tell
her my plans, but one thing I will tell you now—I have a little
daughter Elizabeth, whom Sarah Barnes calls Goldilocks. She is twelve
years old, but because of an accident her back is not strong, and
instead of running about as you do she has had to be wheeled about in a
chair. I have taken her to the best doctors, and they say that she is
getting well slowly, and that now all that she needs is to live
out-of-doors and be with children of her own age, who will be kind and
gentle to her, yet treat her as one of themselves. She cannot bear to
hear of anything being killed or hurt, and she has been loved so well
all her life that she loves everything in return.
“Will you come to the General’s house and help Goldilocks to grow strong
and forget all the pain she has suffered?”
“Yes, _ma’am_,” came the reply as with one voice.
Sarah Barnes had the honour of taking Gray Lady’s hand as she went to
the carriage, and Tommy Todd closed the door without any one giving him
a hint.
Then, before closing the schoolhouse for the night, his special duty, he
began a hunt for the rat-trap, which he soon found in the wood-box, but
instead of taking the rats home as usual for Mike, his father’s terrier,
to “have fun” with, he drowned them as quickly as possible in the brook
that ran below the hill, for he thought to himself as they were things
that must be killed Goldilocks would think this the kindest way.
IV
THE ORCHARD PARTY
Not only did Miss Wilde hear every detail of Gray Lady’s visit from her
scholars, but the middle of the following week she received a letter
from Gray Lady herself as well as one from the president of the school
board.
Gray Lady wrote that if she could succeed in interesting the children of
the school at Foxes Corners in the birds and little animals about, then
she meant to arrange another season so that the other four schools in
the scattered district might have the same opportunity. For this reason
she had asked and obtained leave of the school committee to have two
Friday afternoons of each month given to the purpose. She also promised
to send some bird books and pictures to the school and a large wall map
of North America, so that after the children had learned to know a bird
by sight and name they might trace its journeys the year through, and
thus realize to what perils it is exposed.
Then followed the most interesting part of the letter to Miss Wilde and
her children, and this is what it said:—
“It is all very well to show children pictures and read them
stories about the birds and tell them that it is their duty to
be kind to them, but I wish them also to see and judge for
themselves and learn to love their bird neighbours because they
can’t help themselves. This is best done outdoors and under the
trees, and there is no such charming place to meet the birds and
be introduced to them as in an old apple orchard such as ours.
“Of course at this season birds are growing fewer every day, but
this makes it all the easier to name those that remain, with
less chance of confusion than in spring.
“I propose to have an Orchard Party next Saturday, and I should
be happy to have you bring as many of your pupils as possible to
spend the day here. We will have luncheon in the orchard and the
children will find there many bird-homes that the tenants have
left, that will show them that man is not the only housebuilder
and thoughtful parent.
“If there are any children who do not care to come, pray do not
force them in any way, but if possible let me know by Friday
morning how many I may expect.”
It was Wednesday when Miss Wilde told the children of the invitation,
just before she rang the bell for noon recess. Then she asked all those
who wished to go to the Orchard Party to stand up, and instantly
thirteen of the fifteen present were on their feet, the two exceptions
being Eliza and Dave.
Miss Wilde of course noticed this. However, she said nothing about it,
knowing that with these two discontented ones the reason would be told
before long and that very plainly. But when they returned from dinner
she gave each one a sheet of clean paper and told them to write answers
either of acceptance or regret, as they felt inclined, to Gray Lady,
first writing a short note upon the blackboard herself so that they
might see how to begin and end, and where to put the date, because some
children who can spell separate words do not know how to put them
together so as to express clearly and concisely what they wish to say in
a note.
Soon thirteen pens were scratching away industriously, while Eliza and
Dave fingered theirs, fidgeted with the paper, and wriggled in their
seats as if uncertain what to say or whether they would write at all.
Finally the teacher said, “If any one of you is needed at home on
Saturday or cannot for any other reason go to the party, you may write
that, but each child must send a reply; and be very careful, for I shall
send the notes as they are written without corrections.”
Sarah Barnes was deputed to collect the papers, and after school was
dismissed Miss Wilde glanced over the notes before enclosing them in one
large envelope. Eliza’s read:—
“I would like to go to the party but my ma says to look at birds
is silly and that when folks looks much at birds they get afraid
to trim their hats with them, and my ma and me has birds on our
Sunday hats and they look tastie, and we don’t want to get
afraid so there’s no use in my going to the party ’xcept to eat
the lunch, which wouldn’t be fare.”
Miss Wilde’s first impulse was to leave out this curiously worded and
badly spelled letter; then, as she read it a second time she smiled and
said to herself, “Who knows but what this note will give Gray Lady a
good idea of the other side of the question and of the objections she
will meet?”
Dave’s note was no more agreeable, though expressed rather more
clearly:—
“I’d like to go up to your house, but when I told father bout
the other day and you wanting us not to get birds’ eggs, he says
he knows what some people want, and next thing will be to get me
to sign that I won’t go trappin or shootin nothin, and spoiling
my fun, and birds are only knuisances, except the kinds we can
eat.”
This note also went with the others, but by Friday morning the two
children, who had heard nothing talked of for two days but the party,
began to wish that they were going, Eliza especially, for her mother
said that morning, “You weren’t smart to refuse; you could have had a
peep inside the General’s house, maybe, and I don’t believe she’d dassed
said a word about birds on hats, with one of the company wearing ’em!”
On Friday afternoon, when Miss Wilde asked the children to meet her at
the hedge half a mile above the schoolhouse at ten o’clock the following
morning, so that they might take a short cut across the fields, she
noticed that Eliza and Dave hung behind the others, who as usual raced
off in different directions toward home, and then Eliza, who was walking
beside her, mumbled something about “wishing she hadn’t refused and
supposing that it was too late now,” etc.
“Of course, it is not very polite to change one’s mind about an
invitation,” said the teacher, “but Gray Lady wrote me last night that
if you and Dave should feel differently about wishing to come, I might
bring you, but that after to-morrow it would be too late.”
At ten o’clock this bright September morning Gray Lady came out on the
porch of the big white house, with the row of columns in front, that was
known the country-side over as “the General’s.” There was a wide lawn in
front of the house and on either side, arched by old elms, the leaves of
which were now turning yellow, but there had been no frost and the
flowers in the buds were still bright.
Back of the house was a flower garden, with grape and rose arbours on
either side, under which chairs and little tables were placed
invitingly. Beyond this garden was a maze of fruit bushes and the young
orchard, and beyond this the old orchard, now running half wild,
stretched downhill toward the river woods.
A lovelier place could not have been planned for either children or
birds, or the people who love both, nor a more perfect place for all
three to live together in peace and comfort.
Goldilocks was already out, and her faithful Ann Hughes was pushing her
chair to and fro, for when one is eager and impatient it is very hard to
have to sit still. Goldilocks was growing stronger every day and could
walk a few yards all alone, but it tired her, and her mother thought the
excitement of seeing so many children would be enough for one day.
Presently a head, with a cap on it, bobbed up over the last hump in the
road below the house, and then another with a ribbon-trimmed hat upon
it, the pair belonging to Tommy Todd and Sarah Barnes, who led the
procession; and in a few minutes more the entire group had reached the
porch and Sarah Barnes was repeating their names to Goldilocks. The five
boys rather hung back, but that was to be expected of them.
As a little later Gray Lady led the way down to the garden, she turned
to Ann and gave her some directions for the house and was going to push
the chair herself when Tommy Todd came forward and seized the handle,
saying earnestly, “I can do that first-rate. When dad fell out of the
haymow and broke his leg, I used to tote him all round the farm, and
never bumped him a bit,—only in ploughed land and off roads you’ve got
to go jest so easy.” And to illustrate he raised the front wheels of the
chair and bearing on the handles lowered them again as they left the
garden path for the rough grass-grown track that led to the orchard.
Goldilocks looked up and smiled at him, and then at Sarah and Miss
Wilde, who walked one on each side, neither of the four dreaming at that
moment how much happier their lives would be because they had met.
“Why, the bars are gone and there is a brand new gate!” exclaimed Sarah
Barnes, as they reached the opening in the stone fence that had been
spanned by rough-hewn bars ever since she could remember. There, between
strong cedar posts, hung a rustic gate, and above it was a double arch
of the same material, into which the word BIRDLAND was interwoven in
small sticks of the same wood.
“That is a surprise that Jacob Hughes made for to-day, for this is my
birthday party, you see, and some day mother is going to have a flagpole
for Birdland with an eagle on top. Jacob is Ann’s brother,” she
continued by way of explanation. “He used to be a sailor once, but now
he’s come to live with us always. He is a carpenter, too, and he can
whittle almost anything with his knife, and he makes the most beautiful
bird-houses. I should really like to live in one myself—that is, of
course, if I were a bird!”
“If you were a bird you’d be a bluebird, I guess,” said Sarah Barnes, as
she glanced at the deep blue sailor suit, with the crimson shield in
front, that Goldilocks wore.
“I’d rather be a big owl,” said Tommy Todd, “and sit up in a tree in the
woods and call out ‘Woo-oo-oo’ when people go by in the dark and scare
’em.” And he gave such a good imitation of an owl’s hoot that Bruce, the
Collie dog, who always either walked or sat beside Goldilocks’ chair,
began to bark and circle wildly about, nose in air.
“I’m very sure I shouldn’t care to be an owl, for then I should have to
eat meadow-mice and moles, and swallow them, fur and all, and that would
taste so mussy,” said Goldilocks.
So it came about that all the children were in very good humour when
they entered Birdland on Goldilocks’ birthday, and Gray Lady smiled
happily as she looked at the group with her precious daughter in the
midst and thought that her experiment had begun with a happy omen.
Though many of the apples that grew on the trees of the old orchard
would not have taken prizes at the country fair, they looked very
tempting to the youngsters,—Baldwins, Spitzenburghs, and russets of two
sorts, the green and the golden, were still on the trees, but there were
great heaps of earlier varieties on the ground, and Jacob and another
man were busy sorting them over.
Reading in the children’s eager faces what they would like to do, Gray
Lady said, “You may run off now and have all the apples you want, and an
hour for playing ‘hide-and-seek,’ ‘red lion,’ or ‘Indians,’ in all the
orchard and meadows and woodland yonder, and then when you hear a horn
blow come back and you will find us over in the corner where the table
and seats are placed.” Then, seeing that some of the girls had brought
wraps or jackets with them, and also that the Sunday-best hats that they
wore would be in the way of romping, Gray Lady told them to hang them on
the tree nearest where she and Miss Wilde were seated.
At first Sarah and Tommy were not going with the others, but Goldilocks
insisted that they should leave her in a gap where the rows of trees
formed a long lane through which she could see across the meadows to the
woods.
These two children were quite at home in this neighbourhood, for had
there not been a particular gap in the old fence through which they had
taken a “short cut” down to the village ever since they could remember?
“I wonder if Goldilocks knows that Quail nest in this brush and scratch
around here like chickens,” said Tommy, as they left the orchard for the
meadow.
“Yes, and you got that three-story nest of yours last fall in the
bough-apple tree,” said Sarah.
Eliza and Dave soon forgot all about their reasons for having at first
refused to go to the party, and when they heard the horn tooting it
seemed so soon that they could hardly believe that it was noon and
luncheon time. And such a luncheon as it was! Around the trunk of the
largest tree in the orchard, four tables were so placed that when
covered they looked like one big table, with the tree growing through
the centre.
The white cloth was bordered with russet and gold beech leaves, bleached
ferns, and the deep red leaves of maples and oaks; grapes and oranges
were piled high in baskets made of hollowed-out watermelons. Hard-boiled
eggs were arranged in nests built of narrow, dainty sandwiches, little
iced cakes rested upon plates of braided corn-husks, and Goldilocks’
birthday cake, with its twelve candles, was ornamented with little doves
made of white sugar. When, last and best of all, the ice-cream appeared,
without which no party is complete, it was in the form of a large white
hen with a very red comb, while from beneath her peeped ice-cream eggs
of many colours, chocolate-brown, pistachio-green, lemon-yellow, and
strawberry-red, the nest being woven of spun sugar that so closely
resembled fine straw that it was not until the children had tasted it
that they were convinced that it really was candy.
Country children are usually very silent when on their good behaviour,
but such ice-cream had never been heard of either at Foxes Corners, the
Centre, or the near-by manufacturing town, and muffled “ohs” and “ahs”
of satisfaction would break out until, Miss Wilde having given no
rebuking glance, a perfect babble of enthusiasm arose that lasted until
the meal was ended.
“Why, what _is_ that?” asked Ruth Banks, glancing as she spoke toward a
very old tree that, having partly blown over, was resting on four of its
branches that served as legs and made it appear like some strange goblin
animal. On the upper side of this fallen tree, built around an upright
branch, was a platform made of old wood with the bark on, and on the
different sections of this were peanuts, shelled corn, pounded up dog
crackers and buckwheat, while on a series of blunt spikes driven into
the branch, were some lumps of suet and bits of bacon rind. As Ruth
spoke a little black-and-white bird, with short tail and legs, was
picking vigorously at the suet, using his stout bill with the quick
sharp blows of a hammer.
“That? Oh—” said Goldilocks, “that is another birthday surprise that
mother and Jake made for me. That is, mother planned it, and Jake did
the work. It is a birds’ lunch-counter, and this winter we are going to
keep all the different kinds of food on it that the birds like, so that
they need never leave us because they are hungry.”
“There’s lots of things all around now that they can eat,” said Tommy
Todd.
“Yes, of course, but we want them to become accustomed to the table, to
know where the food is before they need it and think about going away,
and wild birds are always suspicious of new things,” said Gray Lady.
There was one more feature of the luncheon, but, as it was something
that could not be put upon the table, it was hung in the tree overhead.
This thing looked like a great bunch of gayly coloured autumn leaves
tied tight together, and from it hung a number of red strings, as many
in fact as there were people at the party.
Gray Lady explained that each child in turn was to pull a string and, as
they held back as if in doubt as to the result, she herself pulled the
first cord and out dropped from the ball a long motto in yellow-fringed
paper that, on being unrolled, contained beside the snapper a little
paper roll on which was printed, “I am Mazulm, the Night Owl,” and when
Gray Lady carefully unfolded the paper it proved to be a cap with
strings, shaped like an owl’s head, which seemed to the children to wink
its yellow tinsel eyes as Gray Lady placed it upon her fluffy hair.
Then everybody pulled a string, and soon there hopped about a startling
array of birds with human legs and arms, for every one entered fully
into the fun of the thing, even quiet Miss Wilde wearing her Blue Jay
cap and calling the bird’s note with good effect.
“Now run about and see all that you can before playtime is over, and we
go into the study for our first bird lesson,” said Gray Lady.
“I wish we could have a lunch-counter for birds at our school,” said
Sarah, “but we haven’t any near-by tree.”
“Perhaps you may be able to have one—a tree is not always necessary. I
have several ideas for lunch-counters in my scrap-book,” said Gray Lady.
As the children walked along, some swung their hats by the elastics in
rhythm with their steps. The elastic of Eliza Clausen’s hat was new and
strong and all of a sudden it gave a snap, and the hat flew into
Goldilocks’ lap. She had stretched out her hand to return it to its
owner when she glanced at the hat, and her whole face changed and the
smile faded from her lips. “Oh, Eliza!” she exclaimed appealingly, “you
don’t know that those feathers on your hat are wings of dear, lovely
Barn Swallows, or you wouldn’t wear it, would you?”
“’Course I do,” said Eliza, taken off her guard and at heart now
provoked and ashamed at having her hat seen, “and I’ve got lots more
kinds at home. Ma’s got feathers on her hat, too—tasty feathers. Miss
Barker from New York that boarded with us gave ’em to her; they cost a
lot and stick right up in a nice stiff long bunch. They’re called
regrets, and they don’t grow round here, but they’re ever so stylish.”
And Eliza held her nose in the air with a sniff of scorn, a vulgar
travesty that the pounding of her heart belied.
“I don’t think those stiff regret feathers in your mother’s hat are
stylish,” said Sarah Barnes, quickly taking up the cudgels; “I think
they look like fish bones!” Then Eliza began to cry, and both Goldilocks
and Sarah looked distressed.
Gray Lady hesitated a moment and then said, “Eliza, dear, I’m sorry that
this has happened just now. It is not generally a good plan for us to
criticise one another’s clothing or habits, but there are times when it
is necessary. Sooner or later I should have told you the reasons why
people who stop to think and have kind hearts are no longer willing to
wear the feathers of wild birds, and I’m sure that presently, when you
stop and think, you will see that it is so.”
Then they all walked very quietly up to the library that had belonged to
Goldilocks’ father, and when they were seated and had time to look about
they saw that the walls above the book-cases were covered by pictures of
birds in their natural colours.
On the table at one end of the room were piled some books, and by this
Gray Lady seated herself, her scrap-book by her elbow,—a book, by the
way, with which, before another season, they were to become as well
acquainted as with their friend herself.
Tommy Todd could not take his eyes from a picture of a tall white bird,
with long neck and legs and a graceful sweep of slender feathers that
drooped from its back over the tail. Holding up his hand, which at
school always means that you wish to ask a question, Tommy said,
“Please, what is that bird’s name? There’s a big, dark, gray one, shaped
something like it, that I’ve seen by the mill-pond, but it’s not half so
pretty. I’ve never seen one like this, here.”
“That bird,” said Gray Lady, “is the Snowy Heron, Egret, or _Re_gret
Bird, as Eliza called it a few minutes ago, and I think that you will
agree that the name is a very suitable one when I tell you the bird’s
story.”
V
REASONS WHY
When the children had satisfied their curiosity by looking about the
room at the pictures and stuffed birds in cases as much as they wished
and were comfortably seated, Gray Lady drew a chair into the midst of
the group and began to talk, not a bit like a teacher in school, but as
if she had dropped in among them to have a little chat.
“When one has looked at something from one side all one’s life it is
hard to realize that there is another,” she said, smiling brightly at
Eliza and Dave, who chanced to be sitting together and who looked not
only unhappy but very sullen.
“I have always happened to be with people who love everything that lives
and grows. They have always been kind to birds because it never occurred
to them to be otherwise. In watching them and learning their ways, they
also learned that these winged beings had another value beside that of
beauty of colour and song, that by fulfilling their destiny and eating
many destructive bugs and animals they not only earn their own
livelihood but help keep us all alive by protecting the farmers’ crops.
“Thus, when I went down to the school at Foxes Corners, I took it too
much for granted that you all cared for birds and would naturally wish
to protect them. I thought that all I had to do was to try to tell you
interesting stories that would help you to remember the names and habits
of the various birds. But Eliza’s hat, and a little note that I received
from one of the boys which showed that he and his family considered all
birds that are not good to eat as worse than useless, show me that some
of you look at birds from another side. Those that do certainly have a
right to, as a lawyer would say, have the case argued before them so
that they may see for themselves why they are on the wrong side of the
tree.
“The birds were on the earth before man came, and in those far-back
times they were able to look after and protect themselves, because the
warfare they waged was only with animals often less intelligent than
themselves. Do you remember the beautiful allegory of the creation of
this earth written in Genesis which is also written and proven in the
records the geologists find buried in the earth, and quarry from the
rocks themselves?
“When man came, in order that he might live comfortably and safely, many
of his improvements brought death to his feathered friends. Take, for
example, two objects that you all know,—the lighthouse at the end of
the bar by the harbour head, and the telegraph and telephone wires that
follow the highway near your schoolhouse. Men have need of both these
things, and yet, in their travels on dark nights, thousands of birds, by
flying toward the bright tower light that seems to promise them safety,
or coming against the innumerable wires, are dashed to death.
“Of all the mounted birds that you see in the cases there, not one was
deliberately killed by my husband, but they were picked up and sent to
him by various lighthouse keepers along the coast who knew his interest
and that he would gladly pay them for their trouble. By and by, when we
come to the stories of the flight of some of those birds, you will be
amazed to see what frail little things have ventured miles away in their
travels; even tiny Humming-birds came to my husband in this way. This
danger grows greater every day because of the many tall buildings in the
cities that are almost always located by rivers, for to follow these
waterways seems to be the birds’ favourite way of travelling.