THE SWALLOWS

_Five Swallows and a Changeling_

“I wonder if there is a child living in the real country who does not

know a Swallow by sight the moment its eyes rest upon the bird? I think

not, and a great many people who are only in the country at midsummer

and in early autumn also know the Swallows, even though they cannot tell

the different kinds apart, for during the nesting time, as well as the

flocking period that follows, Swallows are conspicuous birds of the air

and leaders of the birds that might be grouped as “The Fleetwings.” For

not only do Swallows get their food while on the wing, now pursuing it

through the upper air if the day is fair, now sweeping low over meadow,

pond, and river if the clouds hang heavy and insect life keeps near to

the ground, but during the flocking season, when the separate families

join in the community life that they live through the winter, the

Swallows are constantly on the wing.

“The day that we had the orchard party you all noticed the Swallows

flying over the pond between the orchard and river woods, sometimes

alighting so close together on the bushes as to be as thick as the

leaves, and then again stringing along the telegraph wires, above the

highway, some heading one way and some another until, evidently at a

signal, they flew off again and disappeared in the distance, until they

seemed but a cloud of smoke.

“We agreed, I think, some time ago, that it is much better to learn the

real names of people, animals, and flowers than to simply give general

names. It is more definite to say, “I saw a Swallow” flying over the

moor or meadow, than to say, “I saw a bird” flying over the meadow; but

it would be more interesting still if we tell the name of the particular

kind of Swallow that was seen, for among the many kinds that exist at

least five are quite common, according to the part of the United States

in which one lives.

“Can any of you tell me the names of these Swallows, how they differ in

plumage, and where they live? I can see by Dave’s face that he knows

something about them and I think Sarah Barnes does also, while as for

Tommy Todd, both hands are up in spite of jack-knife and the windmill he

is making and he can hardly wait for me to stop.

“Now, Tommy, how many kinds of Swallows do you know?”

“Three!” he replied promptly. “Barn Swallows, and Chimney Swallows, and

Dirt Swallows!”

“I have heard of Barn and Chimney Swallows, but never of a Dirt Swallow.

Please describe it to me,” said Gray Lady, looking interested.

Tommy hesitated for a minute, for it is one thing to know a bird by

sight, but quite another to carry a correct picture of it in your mind’s

eye and then put it into words.

“A Dirt Swallow is pretty small and a kind of a dirty colour on top and

a stripe across his chest, the rest white, and his tail hasn’t sharp

points, and he isn’t blue and shiny like a Barn Swallow. He doesn’t

build a nice nest like the others, but bores a hole right into a dirt

bank, ever so far in, like a Kingfisher does, just like he was a

ground-hog, and puts feathers in at the end for a nest. That’s why we

call ’em Dirt Swallows. There’s a bank above Uncle Hill’s gravel-pit

that’s full of the holes, and another bank full right at Farm’s End

above the sand beach where we camped a week last summer. The way I found

out about the holes was by diggin’ down a piece back of the edge of the

bank, for sometimes they bore as much as four feet. The eggs are real

white, not spotted like Barn Swallows’, ’cause we found a couple of bad

ones, that hadn’t hatched, among the feathers.” Here Tommy paused for

breath, his face all aglow with eagerness.

“That,” said Gray Lady, “is a very good and clear description of the

Bank Swallow, which is the English name that the Wise Men have given the

little bird that you call the Dirt Swallow. As the bird always burrows

its nesting-hole in a bank and never in field earth or the flat ground

as a woodchuck does, Bank Swallow is decidedly the better name.”

Meanwhile Tommy had glanced hastily out of the window to where birds

were constantly leaving and settling on the long-distance telephone

wires that strung together the long poles that walked by the door, and

up the hillside, striding across lots where they chose, regardless of

the road. Slipping from his seat to the window, he took a second look

and then said in a harsh whisper, as if afraid that the birds would hear

him and take fright, “Gray Lady, there’s Bank Swallows mixed in with the

Barn Swallows on the wires, and I’m sure there’s another kind besides,

with a shiny back and all white in the breast. Wouldn’t you please come

out and look? If we go around the schoolhouse, they won’t notice us from

the other side, but we can see them.”

Gray Lady gave a signal and the girls and boys dropped the sewing and

whittling quickly on their desks and, following her lead, stole out on

tiptoe, one after the other, like the little pickaninnies when they

sing, “The bogey man’ll ketch yer if yer doant watch out!”

There, to be sure, were the Swallows, hundreds of them, all twittering

cheerfully and none of them sitting still even though they were

perching, but pluming themselves, and stretching their wings, the

feathers of which they seemed to comb with a peculiar backward movement

of one claw.

As Gray Lady scanned the rows she saw brilliant Barn Swallows in little

groups alternating with the sober-cloaked Bank Swallows, and then half a

dozen each of two other species that were not so familiar.

“Bring me the opera-glasses from the little bag that is with my hat and

gloves,” she said softly to Sarah Barnes. Then, motioning the children

to keep still, she crossed the road to a point where, the sunlight

falling behind her, she could look up at the wires without becoming

dazzled, but as she did so the entire flock left the wires, and wheeling

went down over the corn-field toward the reeds and low woods that

bordered the mill-pond.

“You were quite right, Tommy,” said Gray Lady, as they still stood

looking at the wires in the hope that the birds might return; “there

were not only three but four kinds of Swallows in that flock. The birds

with the slightly forked tails, beautiful shining steel-blue and green

cloaks, and satiny white underparts are Tree Swallows that do not nest

near here, but stop with us on their spring and fall journeys, and the

others that you did not notice, because in the distance they look

somewhat like Barn Swallows, except that they lack the forked tail, are

Cliff or Eaves Swallows, as they are called in this part of the country,

where they are rather uncommon.

“Now we will go in and I will ask Tommy Todd, who writes very clearly,

to put on the board the names of these four Swallows, and the particular

thing about them that will help you to tell them apart.

“No, I am afraid that they are not coming back,” said Gray Lady, after

they had waited a couple of minutes more, “and they may all leave us

suddenly any day now, though the Barn Swallow often stays into October

and the White-Breasted almost to November.”

A wagon loaded with rye straw and drawn by a yoke of oxen came creaking

up the hill and paused on the level place in front of the school. The

teamster was Jared Hill’s grandfather,—the man who did not believe in

play or playthings. As his far-sight was rather poor, he did not notice

that the lady with the children was not Miss Wilde.

“Wal, teacher,” he called, as he leaned against his load, and tried in

vain to discover the object at which the group was gazing, “what’s up

thet there pole, a possum or a runaway hand-orgin monkey, or mebbe it’s

the balloon got loose from Newbury Fair grounds?”

“No, nothing so unusual as that; we have been watching the flocking of

the Swallows,” said Gray Lady, her silvery voice sounding clearly even

in these deaf ears.

“Swallers!—out er school watchin’ Swallers?” exclaimed old Mr. Hill,

taking the long straw that he was chewing from between his teeth in

questioning amazement. “Shucks! what’s Swallers good fer, anyhow?

Gee—haw, Cain! Shish, Abel! We’d best move on; I reckon this isn’t any

place fer folks with something to do!” And thus addressing his oxen, the

load went slowly on.

With the mischievous twinkle still lingering in her eyes, Gray Lady

asked Tommy Todd to go to the blackboard as soon as the children settled

down to their work again, and this is what he wrote at Gray Lady’s

dictation:—

Barn Swallow. You will know it by its glistening steel-blue and

chestnut feathers and _forked tail_. Builds mud nests in barns

and outbuildings. Comes in middle April; leaves in September and

early October. Nests all through North America up to Arctic

regions. Winters in tropics as far south as Brazil.

Tree Swallow. Glistening cloak—_pure white breast_. Nests in

hollow trees or, lacking these, in bird-boxes. Comes in April;

leaves in October. Nests in places up to Alaska and Labrador and

winters in our southern states south to the tropics.

Bank Swallow. _Dull brown cloak with band across chest._ Nests

in deep horizontal holes in banks. Comes in April; leaves in

September and October. Nests like White Breast up to Alaska and

Labrador. Winters in the tropics. The smallest Swallow.

Cliff or Eaves Swallow. _Pure white band on forehead._ Otherwise

brightly coloured with steel-blue, chestnut, gray, rusty, and

white. Where there are no rocky cliffs for its nesting colonies,

they build under the eaves of barns, etc. Nests in North America

to Arctic regions. Winters in the tropics.

“Here you have a short description of four Swallows we have seen this

afternoon,” said Gray Lady, as Tommy came to the end of the board and

only finished by squeezing up the letters. “There is another Swallow,

the big cousin of these, called the Purple Martin, with shiny bluish

black cloak and light underparts. This beautiful Martin has a soft,

musical voice, and is very sociable and affectionate, and even in

spring, when the birds have mated, they still like to live in colonies

and are very good neighbours among themselves. They were once plentiful

and nested in tree holes or houses made purposely for them, but, since

the English Sparrow has come, it has pushed its way into their homes and

turned them out, so now they are rare, and perhaps you children may

never have seen one.

“There was always a high post with a Martin box holding a couple of

dozen families up at ‘the General’s’ as far back as I first remember,

but during our absence no one watched to keep the Sparrows out, the

Martins left, and the house went to decay. Jacob has made a new house,

and we will not set it up until next Saturday, so that you can see how

it is divided—a room for each family and too high from the ground for

cats to reach. We shall keep the house covered with a cloth all winter,

so that the Sparrows cannot move in before the Martins return, and in

this way we may coax them to come back again and live with us. Then, who

knows, perhaps some one of the Kind Hearts’ Club may have patience and

take the trouble to build a house and then Purple Martins may become

plentiful in Fair Meadow township.

“You heard what Farmer Hill asked a few minutes ago,—‘What’s Swallers

good fer, anyhow?’ I want you all to be able to answer this question

whenever you hear it asked.

“In the first place Swallows do no manner of harm; they neither eat

fruits nor useful berries, nor do they disturb the nests and eggs of

other birds. They are beautiful objects in the air, and their laughing

twitter when on the wing is a sound that we should miss as much as many

real bird songs.

“‘These are pleasant qualities,’ some may say, ‘but not exactly useful.’

Listen! As these Swallows are Fleetwings and always birds of the air, so

they are sky sweepers, living upon flying insects that few other birds

may take, and the large amount of these that they consume is almost

beyond belief; so watch when they come back next spring on their return

as they fly over the cattle in the pasture, or over the pond surface

teeming with insect life. If they do nothing else, they earn their

living one and all by _mosquito-killing_, and the Wise Men of to-day

know that the sting of one sort of mosquito is not merely an annoyance,

but that it pushes the germ of malaria and other bad diseases straight

into the blood.

[Illustration: THE PURPLE MARTIN]

“Not only are Swallows harmless and useful in the places where they

nest, but are equally useful in all their journeyings through the south.

Some birds, like the Bobolink, are both useful and harmless where they

nest, but do harm as they travel, for when the Bobolink leaves for the

south he goes into the rice-fields, eating the rice grains in late

summer and plucking up the young rice in the spring. This, of course,

gives him a bad name in the rice-growing regions through which he

passes.

“But the Swallow only destroys the evil insects as it journeys through

the south, and yet in spite of this, cruel, or at best thoughtless,

people kill them for the mere sport of killing, for no white man could

pretend to eat Swallow pie, and the great flocks are tempting marks for

‘sportsmen’ of this class. Then, too, the noise made at the places where

these birds roost, especially the Martins, has served as an excuse for

shooting them in numbers.

“If the people in the southern states would only fully understand that

Swallows destroy the boll-weevil that damages the cotton in the pod,

they surely would not allow a feather of these little workers to be

injured.

“How I wish we could have a Kind Hearts’ Club in every district school

in the south, so that the children there might help us to protect the

birds during the time that they are beyond our reach.”

Gray Lady paused and turned the leaves of her scrap-book, as if she was

searching for something. “Ah! here it is!” she said at last, half to

herself. “The Wise Men at Washington who find out for us all the facts

about the useful birds have been writing about these Swallows, and say

that everything should be done not only to protect them but in every way

to aid their increase by providing homes for them. Let us hear what more

they say about these five that I have just described to you.”

Tree Swallow. The Tree Swallow, as is well known, has been

persecuted by the English Sparrow until it has entirely

abandoned many districts where formerly it abounded. An

energetic war on the English Sparrow, and the careful protection

of the Swallow domiciles, in a few years would result in a

complete change of the situation, so far as this, one of the

most beneficial of the Swallow tribe, is concerned.

Barn Swallow. The Barn Swallow formerly was abundant throughout

the northern states, especially in New England. The tightly

built modern barn, however, no longer invites the presence of

the Barn Swallow by affording it friendly shelter, and the birds

are becoming scarcer and scarcer. To provide openings in modern

barns, and to encourage the presence in them of colonies by

providing convenient nesting sites are easy and effective

methods by which this beautiful species may be greatly increased

in numbers. This bird also requires protection from the English

Sparrow, which in one foray has been known to kill the young and

destroy the eggs of a large colony.

Bank Swallow. The well known Bank Swallow, as its name implies,

nests in sand-banks in holes of its own digging. Some farmers in

the northern states take special pains to protect their colonies

of Bank Swallows from the marauding of the prowling cat. Some

even take pains to excavate suitable banks on their farms and

devote them to the exclusive use of the Swallows. Gravel and

sand-banks are so numerous throughout the north, especially in

New England, that at trifling expense the number of colonies of

Bank Swallows may be vastly increased, to the advantage of every

farmer north and south, and to that of every nature lover as

well.

Cliff Swallow. The curious pouch-shaped mud structures of the

Cliff Swallow, attached under eaves or to the face of cliffs,

are a sight familiar enough in the northern and western states,

but in the cotton states, save Texas alone, they are wanting,

the bird that makes them being exclusively a migrant. The

English Sparrow persecutes also the Cliff Swallow; hence, in the

north, the bird is much less common than formerly. In Germany

the presence of Swallows around houses is so much desired that

artificial nests made of clay or other material are put up in

order to attract birds by saving them the labour of constructing

their own domiciles. No doubt our own Cliff Swallows would be

quick to respond to a similar offer of ready-made dwellings,

rent free, and in this way the range of this extremely useful

species might be materially increased. The Cliff Swallow is one

of the most indefatigable insect destroyers extant, and every

motive of patriotism and humanity should prompt communities

among which they live to protect and foster them in every

possible way.

Purple Martin. This, the largest and in many respects the most

beautiful of all our Swallow tribe, is the most local and the

least numerous. In New England and, perhaps, in most of the

northern states generally, this fine bird is steadily

diminishing in numbers. The English Sparrow often takes

possession of its boxes, ruthlessly kills the young Martins or

throws out the eggs, and usually succeeds in routing the colony

and appropriating the boxes. When measures are not taken to

abate the Sparrow nuisance in the immediate vicinity of Martin

colonies, the usual result is that the Martins are forced to

abandon their houses. The habit of putting up houses for the

accommodation of Martin colonies is not as common in the north

as it formerly was, and to this indifference to the Martins’

presence, to persecution by the Sparrow, and to losses due to

the prevalence of cold storms during the nesting season, no

doubt, is due the present scarcity of the bird.

From the standpoint of the farmer and the fruit grower, perhaps,

no birds more useful than the Swallows exist. They have been

described as the light cavalry of the avian army. Specially

adapted for flight and unexcelled in aërial evolutions, they

have few rivals in the art of capturing insects in mid-air. They

eat nothing of value to man except a few predaceous wasps and

bugs, and, in return for their services in destroying vast

numbers of noxious insects, ask only for harbourage and

protection. It is to the fact that they capture their prey on

the wing that their peculiar value to the cotton grower is due.

Orioles do royal service in catching weevils on the bolls; and

Blackbirds, Wrens, Flycatchers, and others contribute to the

good work; but when Swallows are migrating over the

cotton-fields they find the weevils flying in the open and wage

active war against them.

—H. W. Henshaw, B.B.S., in _Value of Swallows as Insect

Destroyers_.

“That Wise Man didn’t say anything about Chimney Swallows, and, please,

Gray Lady, you left them out, too,” said Sarah Barnes, the moment the

scrap-book closed, “and I know they catch lots of flying bugs.”

“Ah, Sarah!” exclaimed Gray Lady, laughing, “I did not precisely forget,

but I was waiting for some one of you to ask the question. The bird that

is called the Chimney Swallow even exceeds the others in being forever

on the wing and never perching or ‘sitting down,’ as Sarah calls it, and

it is a brave insect destroyer. In fact, it never perches even for one

moment, but when it does rest makes a sort of bracket of its sharply

pointed tail-feathers and rests against a tree or inside the chimney,

somewhat as a Woodpecker does when resting on an upright tree-trunk. The

Woodpeckers, however, have very strong feet, and the feet of the Chimney

Swallow are very weak. But here comes the funny part—this chimney bird

isn’t a Swallow, and the Swallows would call him a changeling. He is a

Swift, first cousin to the tiny Humming-bird and the mysterious Night

Hawk and Whip-poor-Will, so we must leave his story until we come to

that of the family where he belongs, for after we have learned the names

of individual birds, it is well to know their family and kin. You cannot

always tell by the plumage of birds if they are related. Louise Stone,

Fannie White, and Esther Gray here are cousins, and all live in one

house, but as their last names are different, and they do not look

alike, a stranger would have to be told, for he could not guess that

they belong to one household.

“It is three o’clock already, and I see that Tommy and Dave have quite

finished their windmills and Ruth’s apron is waiting for the pocket, so

in spite of Farmer Hill’s remarks about ‘not working,’ every one has

something to show for this Friday afternoon.

“Before we go, let me see if you can tell the ‘_Things to remember_’

about the five swallows.

“Sarah—the Barn Swallow?”

“Shiny, steel-blue back and forked tail.”

“Dave—the Bank Swallow?”

“Dusty cloak fastened across the front.”

“Ruth—the Tree Swallow?”

“White satin breast.”

“Roger—the Eaves Swallow?”

“White on its forehead and all over mixed colours.”

“And the Purple Martin? Who knows it?”

“It’s the biggest of all and doesn’t fly quite so sudden. I’ve seen ’em

up at Grandpa Miles’s in New York State,” said little Clary Hinks, and

then blushing because she had dared to speak.

“Next week in the playroom!” said Gray Lady, smiling over her shoulder

at them as they filed out the door to the time beaten by Tommy’s drum.

IX

TWO BIRDS THAT CAME BACK

(Birdland, September 27th.)

The rain had poured steadily all Thursday and Friday, until Friday

evening, and the wind blew so hard that many a little window-pane in the

older farm-houses fell in with a crash and the owner, jumping up quickly

to snatch the lamp out of the draught, would exclaim, “I do declare, we

haven’t hed sech a genuine old-fashioned line-storm for years!”

The “line” being the short for equinox, the imaginary line crossing the

sun’s path over which, on March 21st, old Sol is supposed to step from

winter into spring. Again, on September 21st, he steps from summer into

autumn, takes off his summer hat, with its crown of burning rays, and

tells his wife to ask North Star for the key to the iceberg, where his

winter flannels are kept in cold storage, so that they may be ready for

any emergency. The fact that these storms seldom come upon the days when

they are due, simply proves that the solar system prefers to measure

time to suit itself.

A little before dawn, on Saturday morning, the rain stopped; the heavy

clouds in the east broke up into bars of blue steel, through which the

sun peered cautiously, as if uncertain whether or not to break them

away. Then, suddenly deciding that it would, it signalled to the clear,

cool, northwest wind to blow and chase away the vapours that made the

clouds too heavy.

By the time Tommy Todd’s father came in, carrying two milk-pails, Tommy

following with a third, there was promise of a fine crisp autumn day,

and Grandpa Todd, who had decided a week before, on his eightieth

birthday, that he would give up milking, at least for the winter, came

into the well-porch, and scanning the sky carefully, with an air of

authority, said: “To-night we’ll have hard frost if the wind drops. We’d

better get in those cheese pumpkins jest as soon’s they’re dried off.

Robins and Blackbirds flockin’ powerful strong, and old Chief Crow has

brung his flock clear down to the ten-acre lot already.”

Old Chief was the name that Grandpa Todd had given to a particularly

wise bird, whom he insisted was twenty-five years old at the least, who

was master of the roost in the cedar woods and, by his wise guidance,

kept his flock the largest in the township, in spite of all the efforts

of the farmers, hired men, and boys in the vicinity to drive them out.

There, also, on the slope south of the house, were fully half a hundred

Robins pluming themselves, shaking their feathers out to dry, and acting

in every way like travellers pausing on a journey, rather than residents

going out for a stroll.

Tommy had paused to look at them, balancing the pail carefully as he did

so, and then the sight of the birds reminded him that it was the day to

go up to “the General’s,” and he hurried in to eat his breakfast and

finish the Saturday morning “chores” that he always did for his mother.

Then he went to the shed to look over the collection of bits of old wood

that he had both begged and gathered far and near for the making of

bird-houses.

A neighbour, who was re-covering his cowshed roof with galvanized iron,

had let Tommy pick up as many mossy shingles as he could carry, and some

of these were really beautiful with tufts of gray lichens, some with

bright red tips, blending with mosses of many soft shades of green.

Tommy selected from the assortment as large a bundle as he could carry,

and, after cording it securely, went to the house to tidy up, for Gray

Lady had asked the children of the Kind Hearts’ Club to come at nine

o’clock this first Saturday, for it would take them some time to look at

the play and work rooms before settling down to doll-dressing and

bird-house making. As he crossed the kitchen, his mother, who was

kneading bread, pointed a floury finger toward a garment that hung over

the back of a chair. Tommy picked it up, and then his usual boyish

indifference, which he kept up at home even when he was pleased, broke

down and he gave an exclamation of delight, for there was a new

carpenter’s apron with a pocket for nails in front, the whole being made

of substantial blue jean, precisely like the one worn by Jacob Hughes

himself.

Gray Lady had asked as many of the boys as owned overalls to bring them.

Tommy’s were very old and had many patches, besides being smeared with

paint, and he hated to have dainty Goldilocks see them, so it seemed to

the boy that his mother must have seen straight into his mind (as

mothers have a way of doing) and read what he most needed.

Slipping his head through the yoke and fastening the waist-band in

place, Tommy suddenly grabbed his mother, flour, bread, and all, in a

rough embrace, and then clattered up the backstairs, laughing at the two

white hand-marks that she had printed on his shoulder in her surprise.

* * * * *

Up at “the General’s” house Gray Lady, Goldilocks, Ann, and Jacob Hughes

were as busy as possible making preparations for the first regular

meeting of the Club. To the children, the whole performance in

anticipation seemed like the most delightful sort of play, but every one

who thinks will realize how much pains Gray Lady was taking to have

everything in order for the children’s first view of the place. After

this, like the wise friend that she was, she had planned that the

children themselves would in turn take out the work, put it away, and

clear up threads or shavings as the case might be.

The playroom was on the southeast corner of the attic, and had three

dormer-windows with wide seats underneath. Being an attic, the windows

were set rather high in the slanting room, but, if one stood on the

wooden seats, there was a beautiful view toward the river valley on the

south, while the east window looked down over the orchard, and it seemed

as if one might almost step out and walk upon the tree-tops.

On the chimney side was a small-sized cooking-stove, and between this

and the chimney-corner ran shelves with a cupboard beneath, whereon and

in a set of blue-and-white dishes and various pots and pans were ranged.

At either end of the room was a stout table surrounded by chairs, one

being a kitchen table with a drawer, and the other a plain dining table

with a polished top, suitable for playing games, or holding books or

work. It was upon this table that the work-boxes and dolls were ranged,

twelve in all, and by each a little pile of clothes, all cut and

ready-basted, the whole being covered by a cloth. Gray Lady and Ann had

agreed between themselves that lessons in sewing had better come first

and garment-cutting follow later on.

All the garments were to be made to put on and take off like real

clothes, and though they were very simple, each doll when dressed would

personate a different character, for there was clothing for a baby doll,

a schoolgirl, a young lady, a trained nurse, little Red Riding-Hood, and

so on.

The workshop faced north and east, and was on the opposite side of the

stairs. This was of the same shape as the playroom, but a small

wood-stove, that could be used for heating glue-pots, and to keep the

room from freezing in winter, took the place of the cooking-stove, and

there was a long workbench, with vise, lathe, and mitre-box attachment

under two of the windows where the best light fell. Across one side of

the room, various tools were hung in racks, while at the end opposite

the windows was tacked a great sheet of paper upon which many styles of

bird homes were pictured. Below this was a space painted black like a

school blackboard, and upon this Jacob had redrawn in rough chalk

several of the pictures to a working-scale.

Gray Lady and Goldilocks were already upstairs when the party arrived,

for though Goldilocks could walk very nicely when on a level, going up

and down stairs was a matter that took time.

[Illustration]

BIRD-HOUSES AND NESTING-BOXES. Fig. 1. hollow-limb

nesting-box; Fig. 2, birch-bark bird-house; Fig. 3, slab

bird-box; Fig. 4, cat-proof box; Fig. 5, old-shingle box; Fig.

6, chestnut-bark nesting-box; Figs. 7 and 9, boxes with slide

fronts; Fig. 8, house for Tree Swallow.

From _Useful Birds and their Protection_ by G. H. Forbush.

Tramp, tramp, came the feet up the stairs to the second hall, with the

rhythm of a marching regiment. Then there was a pause and evidently some

discussion, for, as Gray Lady went forward and opened the door at the

head of the attic stairs, she heard Sarah Barnes’ voice say, “Why, it’s

a big Crow and a little one; but how did they come in here? Don’t touch

him, Tommy, he’ll bite you. Crows bite like everything when they get

mad.”

Then Tommy’s voice said, “The big one’s a Crow, sure enough, but the

little one couldn’t be any more’n mice’s little rats. It’s one of those

queer new birds that had nests down in the Methodist Church steeple last

spring; I went up with Eb Holcomb one day when he was fixing the

bell-rope and I saw them, but nobody ’round here knows what they’re

called—unless Gray Lady may.”

Looking down, Gray Lady saw the odd pair in question and said to

Goldilocks, “Your two pets have managed to get in and are trapped

between the top and bottom of the stairs. Whistle for them, dearie, for

the children are waiting to come up.”

Goldilocks gave two very good imitations of the quavering call of a

Crow, and then, using a little oddly shaped silver whistle that hung

about her neck on a ribbon, gave a series of melodious whistles, when,

to the surprise and delight of the children below, Crow and Starling

(for this was the name of the smaller bird) immediately turned about and

went upstairs, the Crow hopping and flopping, for one of its wings was

deformed, and the Starling, as soon as it had room enough for a start,

flying straight and true. When the children followed, they found the

Crow perched on the back of Goldilocks’ chair and the Starling flitting

about the open rafters until he found a perch that suited him upon a

hook that had once held a hammock, where he seemed quite at home. The

Crow, however, was anxious and uneasy when he saw the children trooping

up, and flopping from the chair-bar with a sidewise motion, he scuttled

across to the stove, under which he disappeared, occasionally peering

out with his head on one side like a very inquisitive human being.

“I don’t wonder that you look astonished,” said Gray Lady, “at seeing

birds in this house that are apparently captive, but the truth is that

they will not go away, and come back through every open window. So, as

we have not the heart to drive them away, we let them live here in the

playroom and about the barns, where they find plenty to eat, and at any

moment they wish to go, freedom is close at hand for the taking.”

“But what made them come to begin with?” asked Dave. “Crows are mostly

the scariest things going.”

“Jacob found the Crow up in the cedar woods in May,” said Goldilocks.

“All the others were able to fly and take care of themselves, but this

one stayed in the low bushes and its parents were feeding it. One

morning, when Jacob was up there cutting cedar posts for the gate he

made to Birdland, he heard a great commotion; the old Crows and the

young ones were cawing and screaming and flying about in distress, while

crouching in the bushes, and just ready to spring upon the Crow, was a

big half-wild cat. It used to belong to the people up at the lumber

camp, but when they went away they left it, and all last winter and

spring it has lived by hunting.”

“I know about that cat,” said Tommy. “The Selectmen have offered five

dollars’ reward for it, and it kills more chickens, even big roosters,

than all the Hawks this side of Bald Hill.”

“After Jacob had driven the cat away,” continued Goldilocks, “he picked

up the young Crow to try to find out why it had not flown away like its

brothers. At first it was afraid and fought and pecked his fingers, but

by and by it let him handle it, and he found that one wing was twisted,

so that it was of no use. The point where the long quill feathers grow

was turned under, Jake said, just the way it is in a roast chicken, and

it must have happened when the bird was little and had no feathers,

because those on that point of the wing were stunted and twisted where

they had tried to grow after it was hurt. Jake straightened the wing as

well as he could, and clipped the feathers on the other one so that he

shouldn’t be so lopsided. The wing is stiff and doesn’t work rightly

yet, but Jake thinks that after next summer’s moult the feathers may

come in better; meanwhile I’ve called him Jim, because that is the usual

name for tame crows.

“Jim likes to live about here and he does such a lot of funny things.

Why, the other day, out in the arbour, he dropped the little

afternoon-tea sugar-tongs into the cream jug and took all the lumps of

sugar in the bowl and hid them in the empty robin’s nest overhead, and

we should never have dreamed that he had done it if Anne hadn’t come in

with fresh cakes and startled him so that he dropped the last lump. He

moves very quickly, for he can fly a little and he uses his wings and

beak to help him climb, something like a parrot. Jacob has put him over

in the woods by the Crow’s roost, time and time again, but he always

comes hopping back.”

Sarah Barnes was going to ask what else the Crow had done, when the

Starling flew across the room and out through one of the windows that

was opened from the top.

“He’s gone!” she cried; “I’m dreadfully sorry, ’cause I wanted to look

at him so’s I’d know Starlings if I see them again. Please, how did you

get him? His wings seem very strong, and he flew as straight as

anything.”

“Larry has only gone out for a little fly,” laughed Goldilocks; “he will

be back before long, and if the window should happen to be closed, he

will rap on the glass with his beak. No, his wings are well and strong,

and he is perfectly able to go away to his friends in the church tower,

for it was from one of those nests, that Tommy saw up between the slats,

that he fell.

“Eben brought him up for mother to see, because a good many people down

at the Centre Village had been watching these strange birds, and wanted

to know their name and where they came from. He was too little to be

turned out all alone, and Eben said that the nest had been upset and the

others that fell out were dead, so, as he ate soaked dog-biscuit

(because you know that there’s meat in it that makes up for bugs to

young birds), I thought I would bring him up and then let him go; but

you see the joke is that he won’t go, and he acts as much afraid of

being out-of-doors after dark as a usual wild bird would if you put him

in a cage.”

“Who brought Starlings here, and do they belong to the same family as

Blackbirds? They look a lot like them, only they’ve got shorter tails,”

said Tommy Todd.

“I think I have a description of the bird, as well as the date of his

coming, in the scrap-book,” said Gray Lady, “for he is an English bird

and the only one of its family in this country, so you can see why they

may be lonely, and like to flock in company with the Blackbirds.

The Common Starling: _Sturnus magnus_.

_Length_: 8.5 inches.

_Male and Female_: Black plumage shot with metallic green and

blue lights. In full plumage upper feathers edged with buff,

giving a speckled appearance, which disappears as the feathers

are worn down, leaving the winter plumage plain and dull. Yellow

bill in summer; in winter, brown.

_Note_: A sharp flock-call and a clear, rather musical,

two-syllable, falling whistle.

_Nest_: Behind blinds in unoccupied buildings, in vine-covered

nooks in church towers; also in bushes.

_Eggs_: 4-7, greenish blue.

This bird is a foreigner, imported to New York City some

fourteen years ago, some people are beginning to fear not too

wisely, for the birds are rather quarrelsome, and, being larger

than the English Sparrow, though not so hardy, are able to wage

war upon birds like Robins, and seize the nesting-places of

natives.

The first birds, less than a hundred in number, were set free in

Central Park, New York City. Now these have increased to

numerous flocks that in Connecticut have gone as far east as New

Haven, and here in Fairfield and several villages near by are

acclimated and quite at home, though the bitter and lasting cold

of the winter of 1903-1904 thinned them out considerably.

Whether they prove a nuisance or not, they are very noticeable

birds, looking to the first sight, as they walk sedately across

a field, like Grackles with rumpled plumage. A second glance

will show that this is but the effect of the buff specks that

tip all the upper feathers, while the distinct yellow bill at

once spells Starling!

In England they may be seen on the great open plains following

the sheep as they feed, very much as the Cowbird follows our

cattle, and in that country are very beneficial as insect

destroyers.

“They are birds that will feed at the lunch-counter in winter, for their

food supply is cut off by snow, and, as strangers, they have not yet the

resources of the Crows and Jays, neither are they as hardy.

“Boys, Jacob is ready for you in the workroom, and he may keep you till

quarter-past ten. I do not think that you will really accomplish much

to-day, except to choose the kind of house you wish to make, and plan

out your work. Then you may all take a fifteen-minutes’ recess in the

orchard before you come up for the bird lesson.”

“What birds are you going to tell about to-day? I hope that they won’t

be hat birds and Martyrs,” said Eliza Clausen, with a sigh.

“No, not ‘hat birds’ this morning, although there are plenty more of

them, and always will be so long as people insist upon wearing the

feathers in their hats. I had not quite decided what birds to take up

next, but the recess in the orchard gives me a new idea. Instead of

taking the birds in any set order, when you come in you shall tell me

what birds you have noticed this morning. By this means we shall be able

to take the birds as they come with the seasons, and they will never

grow tiresome. Then, too, if, between times, you see any birds that you

cannot name, or about which you wish to know, remember to tell me, and

we will try to learn something about the bird while it is fresh in your

memory.

“Now,” as the boys went to the workroom, “the girl members of the Kind

Hearts’ Club will please thread needles and begin. If any one of you has

sticky fingers, Ann will show you where to wash them, because the very

beginning of good sewing lies in clean hands, for they mean nice white

thread and bright, shining needles.”

When the cover was lifted from the table, and the girls saw the dolls,

and the little stack of clothes, they exclaimed in delight,—even those

like Katie Lee, who really did not belong at school, for she had stopped

playing with dolls and was ready for the eighth grade. Only,

unfortunately, there was no eighth grade class at Foxes Corners, and as

it was too far for them to walk to the Centre every day, they stayed on

at school, and Miss Wilde helped them as far as her time allowed so that

they might make up the required lessons at home.