It was May Day. Half a dozen birds had collected in an old apple tree,
which stood in a pasture close by the road that passed the schoolhouse;
some of them had not met for many months, consequently a wave of
conversation rippled through the branches.
“You were in a great hurry, the last time I saw you,” said the little
black-and-white Downy Woodpecker to the Brown Thrasher, who was pluming
his long tail, exclaiming now and then because the feathers would not
lie straight.
“Indeed! When? I do not remember. What was I doing?”
“It was the last of October; a cold storm was blowing up, and you were
starting on your southern trip in such a haste that you did not hear me
call ‘good-by’ from this same tree, where I was picking insect eggs that
expected to hide safely in the bark all winter, only to hatch into all
kinds of mischief in the spring. But I was too quick for them; my keen
eyes spied them and my beak chiselled them out. Winter and summer I’m
always at work, yet some house-people do not understand that I work for
my living. They seem to think that a bird who does not sing is good for
nothing but a target for them to shoot at.”
“That is true,” said the dust-coloured Phœbe, dashing out to swallow a
May beetle, which stuck in her throat, causing her to choke and cough.
“I can only call, yet I worked with the best for the farmer where I
lodged last year. I made a nest on his cowshed rafters and laid two sets
of lovely white eggs, but his boys stole them and that was all my thanks
for a season’s toil.”
“Singing birds do not fare much better,” said the Thrasher. “I may say
frankly that I have a fine voice and I can sing as many tunes as any
wild bird, but children rob my nest, when they can find it, and
house-people drive me from their gardens, thinking I’m stealing
berries.”
“They treat me even worse,” said the Robin, bolting a cutworm he had
brought from a piece of ploughed land. “In spring, when I lead the Bird
Chorus night and morning, they rob my nest. In summer they drive me from
the gardens, where I work peacefully, and in autumn, when I linger
through the gloomy days, long after your travelling brothers have
disappeared, they shoot me for pot-pie!”
“It is a shame!” blustered Jennie Wren. “Not that I suffer much myself,
for I’m not good to eat, and I’m a most ticklish mark to shoot at.
Though I lose some eggs, I usually give a piece of my mind to any one
who disturbs me, and immediately go and lay another nest full. Yet I say
it is a shame, the way we poor birds are treated, more like tramps than
citizens, though we are citizens, every one of us who pays rent and
works for the family.”
“Hear, hear!” croaked the Cuckoo, with the yellow bill. He is always
hoarse, probably because he eats so many caterpillars that his throat is
rough with their hairs. “Something ought to be done, but can Jennie Wren
tell us what it shall be?”
“I’ve noticed that most of the boys and girls who rob our nests and
whose parents drive us from their gardens go every day to that square
house down the road yonder,” said Mrs. Wren. “Now if some bird with a
fine voice that would _make_ them listen could only fly in the window
and sing a song, telling them how useful even the songless bird brothers
are, they might treat us better and tell their parents about us when
they go home.”
“Well spoken,” said the Robin; “but who would venture into that house
with all those boys? There is one boy in there who, last year, killed my
mate with a stone in a bean-shooter, and also shot my cousin, a
Bluebird. Then the boy’s sister cut off the wings of these dead brothers
and wore them in her hat. I think it would be dangerous to go in that
schoolhouse.”
“The windows are open,” said the Song Sparrow, who had listened in
silence. “I hear the children singing, so they must be happy. I will go
down and speak to them, for though I have no grand voice, they all know
me and perhaps they will understand my homely wayside song.”
So the Sparrow flew down the road, but as he paused in the lilac hedge
before going in the window, he heard that the voices were singing about
birds, telling of their music, beauty, and good deeds. While he
hesitated in great wonder at the sounds, the children trooped out, the
girls carrying pots of geraniums which they began to plant in some beds
by the walk. Then two boys brought a fine young maple tree to set in the
place of an old tree that had died. A woman with a bright, pleasant face
came to the door to watch the children at their planting, saying to the
boys, “This is Arbour Day, the day of planting trees, but pray remember
that it is Bird Day also. You may dig a deep hole for your tree and
water it well; but if you wish it to grow and flourish, beg the birds to
help you. The old tree died because insects gnawed it, for you were
rough and cruel, driving all the birds away from hereabouts and robbing
their nests.”
“Please, ma’am,” said a little girl, “our orchard was full of spinning
caterpillars last season and we had no apples. Then father read in a
book the government sent him that Cuckoos would eat the caterpillars all
up, so he let the Cuckoos stay, and this year the trees are nice and
clean and all set full of buds!”
* * * * *
The Song Sparrow did not wait to hear any more, but flew back to his
companions with the news.
“I shall put my nest under the lilac hedge to show the children that I
trust them,” said he, after the birds had recovered from their surprise.
“I will lodge in the bushes near the old apple tree,” said the Cuckoo;
“it needs me sadly.”
“I will build over the schoolhouse door,” said the Phoebe; “there is a
peafield near by that will need me to keep the weevils away.”
“I think I will take the nice little nook under the gable,” said Jennie
Wren, “though I need not build for two weeks yet, and I have not even
chosen my mate.”
“I shall go to the sill of that upper window where the blind is half
closed,” said the Robin. “They have planted early cauliflowers in the
great field and I must help the farmer catch the cutworms.”
“I will stay by also,” said the Woodpecker. “I know of a charming hole
in an old telegraph pole and I can see to the bark of all the trees that
shade the schoolhouse.”
Just then a gust of wind blew through the branches, reminding the birds
that they must go to work, and May passed by whispering with Heart of
Nature, her companion, about the work that must be done before June
should come,—June, with her gown all embroidered with roses and a
circle of young birds fluttering about her head for a hat.
“Dear Master,” May said, “why am I always hurried and always working? I
do more than all other months. July basks in the sun and August sits
with her hands folded while the people gather in her crops. Each year
March quarrels with Winter and does no work; then April cries her eyes
out over her task, leaving it dim and colourless. Even the willow wears
only pale yellow wands until I touch them. The leaf buds only half
unfold, and the birds hold aloof from the undraped trees; see, nothing
thrives without me.” And May shook the branches of a cherry tree and it
was powdered with white blossoms.
“Nothing grows by or for itself,” said Heart of Nature, tenderly. “The
tree is for bird and the bird for the tree, while both working together
are for the house-people if they will only understand me and use them
wisely. Never complain of work, sweet daughter May. Be thankful that you
have the quickening touch, for to work in my garden is to be happy.”
Then the Song Sparrow caught up the words and wove them in his song and
carolled it in May’s ear as she swept up the hillside to set the
red-bells chiming for a holiday.
* * * * *
These are the verses that the children recited. Goldilocks asked the
question in the first line of each verse, and the child who represented
the bird answered. Little Clary was the first,—the Chippy,—and as she
said the words she raised her arms and flapped them like wings; the
parents all applauded with delight.