All stories should have an ending. It's fine, isn't it, when they end
happily?
And this story of the Orioles did end happily--oh, so happily!
It was this way, you see.
The little grey house on the elm was finished.
It hung down from the end of the green branch, under the leaves. It looked
both like a fairy house and a little crocheted bag.
Now for some days Mother Oriole didn't go out very much. She stayed in her
little house.
But Father Oriole kept about his work, hunting for the little brown
crawling things and the green crawling things that made their food.
He would whistle every once in a while to tell Mother Oriole that he was
near. Sometimes it was just a few notes to say:
"I'm still here--my dear,
Still here, still here, still here."
Sometimes:
"All right, my love!"
Sometimes just:
"All's well!"
But if a strange man came too near the tree his song was sharp and angry.
"Look out, look out, look out!
He's a rogue, an awful rogue, look out, I say!"
But somehow he didn't seem to mind the children.
"Why does Mother Oriole sit so quietly on her nest?" Marmaduke asked his
own mother.
"I wish I could lift you up so that you could see. But the nest is too high
up. It's out of harm's way. Dicky Means, who has a cruel heart and robs
birds' nests, can't reach it way up there!"
"What's in it, Muvver?" asked little Hepzebiah. You see her little tongue
didn't work just right. She never could say words with "th" in them.
"Little eggs, dear. They are white, with little dark spots and funny dark
scrawls on them as if somebody had tried to write with a bad pen."
Then Marmaduke asked:
"And is she keeping them warm?"
"Yes, so that they will hatch out. They will, very soon now."
So for a number of days in the warm weather, and in the rainy weather too,
Mother Oriole sat faithfully on her nest. Bird mothers and the mothers of
little children are always very patient. Then came one fine morning when
the sun was particularly jolly and bright, and the blossoms smelt very
sweet and were beginning to fall from the trees. The three happy children
stood under the elm and looked up at the tiny hanging nest.
They heard new noises, strange noises.
It sounded like babies.
Yes, the little Oriole babies had broken their shells and had been born at
last.
They didn't have many clothes on. But some day their feathers will be as
pretty as their father's.
How they did cry for food! Somehow baby Orioles cry more than other bird
babies. They seem to want to eat all the time.
And how Father Oriole did work to keep them fed, whistling every once in a
while to make things pleasant for his family! I wonder if they appreciated
all the things he and Mother Oriole did for them. And the days passed and
the little birds grew fatter on the bugs and the beetles which their father
brought, just as fat as the little boys or girls on their oatmeal and bread
and milk, which their fathers work hard to earn for them.
The little Orioles were certainly noisy little birds, and when they cried
sometimes the children saw funny little heads and beaks poking out of the
nest.
Then more days passed and Father and Mother Oriole taught them to fly, just
as Father and Mother Green had taught little Hepzebiah to walk. Marmaduke
remembered how his Mother had held Hepzebiah and Father stood a little way
off. Then Hepzebiah had started. She was a little frightened at first but
she made the journey. It was only a few steps and her father caught her
before she fell. She tried this often and soon she could take a great many
steps.
And that was something like the way Father and Mother Oriole taught their
children to fly. The parent birds would fly to a branch a little way off.
Then they would call the little birds. And one by one they would fly to the
branch. Their wings were weak at first like Hepzebiah's little feet. But
soon they grew strong and before many weeks had gone they could fly as fast
as the old birds. And before the summer was over they were as big as their
parents. You see birds have shorter lives than real people. They do not
live so many years. So they have to grow up quickly or they wouldn't have
much time for work and play, would they?
So the children decided that the story of the Orioles was a very pretty
fairy story, indeed, and they liked it better because it was true.
And they found others--oh, so many stories like it.
For sometimes Mother and sometimes Father and sometimes the Toyman
showed them other little bird homes.
They climbed a ladder and found the barn-swallow's nest plastered under the
eaves of the barn. They liked the barn swallow who flew through the air,
almost as if he were so happy that he danced as he flew. And his dress was
so pretty, for he was dark blue on top, brown on the throat, and his little
stomach was white. His tail was forked too, cut like the coat of the man in
the circus who cracked the whip and made the horses perform tricks.
The barn swallow's nest was so cunningly made. It was plastered of mud and
grass, and had a soft grass lining. The little eggs in it were white and
had tiny brown spots.
Right near the bay window, in the thick lilac tree, Marmaduke spied Red
Robin's nest. He was a great friend of theirs. They always liked the cheery
way he hopped over the lawn, and his cheery red vest, and his song which
always said:
"Che-eer up--che-eer up!"
His eggs were the prettiest of all, a greenish blue, a robin's-egg blue,
the dressmakers call it. Mother Green's summer dress was coloured just like
it.
And in a bush by the roadside, Hepzebiah spied the brown thrush's nest. His
eggs were blue and spotted with brown.
And in the elderberry tree they found the grey cat-bird's nest. He was a
funny bird, always crying like a lost pussy. And his eggs were green-blue.
So in the fields and the woods Jehosophat, Marmaduke and Hepzebiah saw
all kinds of birds and all kinds of nests and all kinds of eggs. They
saw them because their eyes were bright and sharp as yours must be too
when you go into the beautiful country.
And from the eggs funny little birds were born and grew up and flew and
sang.
And so the three happy children decided that the really true fairy stories
of Mother Nature were the prettiest of all.
And oh--we almost forgot! Perhaps we can tell the rest before that
Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantel tells us to stop.
Over near Neighbour Brown's fence they were peeping through the green
leaves at the song-sparrow's nest. Mother was with them and they saw
someone come out of their neighbour's house.
"Wouldn't you like to see her?" the strange lady whispered to Mother.
"Oh yes," Mother whispered back, "but they mustn't wake her up."
Who could they be talking about? Then they went through the gate.
"Be very quiet," said Mother as they entered the door, "and you'll see the
end of another true fairy story."
So they tiptoed in.
There in a bed lay Mrs. Brown, looking very happy.
And curled up in her arm she had--well, what do you think she had?
A little sleeping baby!
Like the little Orioles Baby had been born just a few days ago.
"That," said Mother, "is the prettiest fairy story of all."
And the children thought so too.
There--we've finished just in time. We hear the Little Clock. There goes
his silver tongue now.
Good-night! Sweet Dreams.