THE YOUNG CHICKADEE.
One Saturday afternoon, the children found in the woods, a grape vine,
larger than any that they had before discovered. One end clasped a
decayed tree, and as they bore their weight upon the vine, to try its
strength, they were startled by a hoarse cry above them. Looking up,
they saw two brown birds, beating the air with their wings, and
screaming, "tshe daigh, daigh, daigh; tshe daigh, daigh, daigh!" At
the same time, from amidst the green foliage which twined about the
dead tree, they heard a feeble, plaintive cry from several little
throats, "te-derry, te-derry." Frank and Fanny were much amused. They
had never seen a bird's nest so low before, and they had been
forbidden to climb the trees; but now Frank saw, that by placing one
large stone upon another, he could reach up, so as to look into the
nest. He did so, and found there were six little birds in it. But
Fanny begged him to get down, the poor parent birds were so
distressed. So he went and stood by her, upon the turf, where she was
kneeling, and they both watched the frighted mother bird, as she
fluttered back to her nest. The other still flapped the air with his
wings, and by his angry notes, brought another bird to the scene. This
one looked so plump and dignified, perched upon the bough of an
adjoining tree, that Fanny guessed he was the grandpapa.
[Illustration: THE CHICKADEE.]
They became so interested in the birds, that they forgot how rapidly
the time was passing, and it was nearly sundown when they started to
go home. They skipped lightly over the soft, green grass of the
meadows, stopping now and then, to look at some curious insect, and
then walking on slowly with their arms around each other.
[Illustration: FRANK AND FANNY IN THE WOODS.]
Frank was very fond of his sister, seldom leaving her for any other
playmate. He remembered his dying mother's charge. She had called
both children to her bed side, before her death, and placing Fanny's
hand in Frank's, had said, "My son, in a few hours you and Fanny will
be motherless; promise me that you will try to fill my place; that you
will cherish and love your sister, with all the care and tenderness of
which you are capable; and Fanny, my little darling, you must remember
mamma, and try never to be peevish and fretful, so that Frank will
love to be with you, and take care of you; and both of you must always
be the same good and obedient children to your grand-parents, that you
have ever been;" and Frank promised, through his sobs, that he would
never neglect his gentle little sister. He had kept his promise
faithfully. More than a year had now passed away, and very seldom had
Fanny known what it was to have her brother cross, or unkind to her.
Frank was now ten years old, and Fanny seven. In all the village,
there were not two happier, or better behaved children.
We will now go back to the pleasant green meadows, where we left them
on their way home. Fanny was looking very serious, when Frank said:
"Are you tired, sister? If you are, I will carry you pick-a-back
back."
"Oh, no, I am not one single bit tired."
"Then what makes you look so sober?"
"I was wishing that I could have one of those little birds to love,
and to take care of always. I do think that it would make me very
happy to have a dear little bird, that would know me, and turn his
bright, black eyes up to me, like Mary Day's little canary. When she
calls, "Billy, Billy," he turns his yellow head, first one side, then
the other; and when he sees her, he sings _so_ sweetly! Oh, couldn't
you get just one of those little birdies for me, Frank?"
Frank looked very thoughtful for a moment, and Fanny spoke again.
"Just one; you know there are six little ones."
"I know there are six, Fanny; but you heard how the poor birds cried
and scolded, when I only peeped into the nest; and if I took one away,
what would they do?"
Fanny thought an instant, and then said:
"I did not have six mammas, I only had one; and God took my mamma away
from me, and I am sure the birds could spare me one little one, when
they have six, better than I could spare my mamma, when I only had
one."
Fanny's reasoning seemed very correct to Frank; he was not old enough
to explain the difference to her; so, promising to bring her one of
the birds, he left her, and ran back, over the meadows, while Fanny
kept on her way home, because she knew her grandmother always expected
them earlier on Saturday afternoons. But though she made haste, it
was quite sundown when she reached home. The snow white cloth was
spread upon the table for tea, and Sally was cutting the fresh rye
bread, as Fanny entered the room. Her grandmother sat by the little
table, between the windows, and looked up to welcome Fanny, but
missing Frank, she asked where he was.
"He has gone back to the woods, grandmother, to get"----then Fanny
hesitated, for she remembered how often she had been told, that it was
wicked to rob the bird's nest, and she had not thought it would be
stealing the bird, until now. She felt ashamed to tell her
grandmother, and so she hurried through the room, and went to the
closet to hang up her sun bonnet.
Pretty soon she heard the garden gate swing to, and she ran out into
the back yard, to meet Frank, who was hurrying along with a sober
face, very different from his usual joyous expression. He held his cap
together with both hands, and Fanny's heart beat hard, when she heard
the feeble plaint of the poor imprisoned bird.
"Oh, Frank, I am so sorry," were the first words that she said, "I did
not think that it would be stealing, until I got home, and then I was
ashamed to tell grandmother what you had gone back for. Oh, I am so
sorry."
"And so am I," said Frank; "it almost made me cry to hear the poor
birds fret so. When I took it away, one of them flow close around my
head, and when I ran on to get away from it, I hit my foot against a
stone, and stumbled down, and I am afraid I hurt the bird. All the way
across the meadow, I could hear the old birds crying so sorrowfully,
"chick-a-dee-dee-dee," and it made my heart ache so, that I should
have carried it back, if it had not been for you."
"Oh, dear, I wish you had. It is too late to carry it back to-night,
and what will grandmother say to us."
"Supposing we don't tell her to-night, and to-morrow morning we will
get up early, and carry it back, and then we can tell her all about
it."
"No, we can't do that, Frank, for to-morrow is Sunday, and grandmother
does not let us go into the woods on Sunday; oh, what shall we do?"
Frank now uncovered the bird, and Fanny took it gently in her hand,
smoothed the glossy black head, and the brown wings, but it gave her
no pleasure, for the poor little thing wailed pitifully, and looked so
frightened out of its dark hazel eyes.
All the time that they had been talking, their grandmother had been
standing at the open window, close by them, but the vines hid her from
sight, and they did not know that she was there. When they went into
the house, they did not see her, and so they carried the bird up
stairs, into Fanny's room, and made a nest out of soft wool, and
placed the little bird in it; but it fluttered out, and Frank saw that
one of its wings was broken. Then he knew that he must have broken it
when he fell, and the tears came to his eyes, as he laid it in the
nest again, and covered it over with the wool.
"Let us go and tell grandmother all about it," said he, "for, perhaps,
she may know how to mend the broken wing."
Just then they heard Sally calling them to supper, and they went down
stairs, and sat down at the table. But the bowls of new milk remained
untouched. They felt too sad to eat, for Fanny could hear the low
plaint of the bird, in the room above; and still louder sounded in
Frank's memory, the sad, "chick-a-dee-dee-dee," of the mourning
mother.
"Why do you not eat your supper, children?" inquired their
grandmother, kindly.
Fanny burst into tears, but Frank answered:
"I have done something very naughty, grandmother, and we both feel too
bad to eat. We did not want to tell you to-night, for we knew it would
make you unhappy to hear that we had done wrong, but we cannot keep it
to ourselves any longer."
"Frank would not have done it, if it had not been for me,
grandmother," sobbed Fanny; "but I wanted a little bird so badly, and
I forgot that it was wicked, and I teazed Frank to go back to the
woods, and get me one, and now I am so sorry."
Their grandmamma looked very grave, but she answered,
"You have done right, my children, to tell me about it. I should have
been still more grieved if you had concealed it from me. As it is, I
feel sorry for you, for I know how much you are both suffering for
your thoughtlessness: now, try to eat your supper, and we will take
good care of the bird to-night, and to-morrow morning, before church,
I will send Sally with Frank, to carry it back again, for it will be
an errand of mercy to the poor little bird."
The children were very much relieved by their grandmother's
sympathy. After supper, they brought the bird down, and showed her the
broken wing, and Frank told how he feared he had broken it. Sally
tried to feed it, but it would not eat; and the children felt very sad
again, when they found that the wing could not be mended. After
carefully laying the bird, with the wool, in the basket, Sally
prepared the children for bed. Then their grandmother read to them a
chapter from the Bible, after which they sung, in sweet tones, this
little evening hymn, which I will copy here, as it is such a good one,
for all little children to repeat:
EVENING HYMN.
"LORD, I have passed another day,
And come to thank thee for thy care;
Forgive my faults in work and play,
And listen to my evening prayer.
Thy favor gives me daily bread,
And friends, who all my wants supply;
And safely now I rest my head,
Preserved and guarded by thine eye.
Look down in pity, and forgive
Whatever I've said or done amiss;
And help me, every day I live,
To serve thee better than in this.
Now, while I speak, be pleased to take
A helpless child beneath thy care,
And condescend, for Jesus' sake,
To listen to my evening prayer."
Then Frank and Fanny kissed each other 'good night,' and Frank went to
his little room, which was close to the one where Sally slept with
Fanny.