Did you ever notice how different are the nests which the birds build in
springtime, in tree or bush or sandy bank or hidden in the grass? Some
are wonderfully wrought, pretty little homes for birdikins. But others
are clumsy, and carelessly fastened to the bough, most unsafe cradles
for the feathered baby on the treetop. Sometimes after a heavy wind you
find on the ground under the nest poor little broken eggs which rolled
out and lost their chance of turning into birds with safe, safe wings of
their own. Now such sad things as this happen because in their youth the
lazy father and mother birds did not learn their lesson when Mother
Magpie had her class in nest-making. The clumsiest nest of all is that
which the Wood-Pigeon tries to build. Indeed, it is not a nest at all,
only the beginning of one. And there is an old story about this, which I
shall tell you.
In the early springtime of the world, when birds were first made, none
of them--except Mother Magpie--knew how to build a nest. In that lovely
garden where they lived the birds went fluttering about trying their new
wings, so interested in this wonderful game of flying that they forgot
all about preparing a home for the baby birds who were to come. When the
time came to lay their eggs the parents knew not what to do. There was
no place safe from the four-legged creatures who cannot fly, and they
began to twitter helplessly: "Oh, how I wish I had a nice warm nest for
my eggs!" "Oh, what shall we do for a home?" "Dear me! I don't know
anything about housekeeping." And the poor silly things ruffled up their
feathers and looked miserable as only a little bird can look when it is
unhappy.
All except Mother Magpie! She was not the best--oh, no!--but she was the
cleverest and wisest of all the birds; it seemed as if she knew
everything that a bird could know. Already she had found out a way, and
was busily building a famous nest for herself. She was indeed a clever
bird! She gathered turf and sticks, and with clay bound them firmly
together in a stout elm tree. About her house she built a fence of
thorns to keep away the burglar birds who had already begun mischief
among their peaceful neighbors. Thus she had a snug and cosy dwelling
finished before the others even suspected what she was doing. She popped
into her new house and sat there comfortably, peering out through the
window-slits with her sharp little eyes. And she saw the other birds
hopping about and twittering helplessly.
"What silly birds they are!" she croaked. "Ha, ha! What would they not
give for a nest like mine!"
But presently a sharp-eyed Sparrow spied Mother Magpie sitting in her
nest.
"Oho! Look there!" he cried. "Mother Magpie has found a way. Let us ask
her to teach us."
Then all the other birds chirped eagerly, "Yes, yes! Let us ask her to
teach us!"
So, in a great company, they came fluttering, hopping, twittering up to
the elm tree where Mother Magpie nestled comfortably in her new house.
"O wise Mother Magpie, dear Mother Magpie," they cried, "teach us how to
build our nests like yours, for it is growing night, and we are tired
and sleepy."
The Magpie said she would teach them if they would be a patient,
diligent, obedient class of little birds. And they all promised that
they would.
She made them perch about her in a great circle, some on the lower
branches of the trees, some on the bushes, and some on the ground among
the grass and flowers. And where each bird perched, there it was to
build its nest. Then Mother Magpie found clay and bits of twigs and moss
and grass--everything a bird could need to build a nest; and there is
scarcely anything you can think of which some bird would not find very
useful. When these things were all piled up before her she told every
bird to do just as she did. It was like a great big kindergarten of
birds playing at a new building game, with Mother Magpie for the
teacher.
She began to show them how to weave the bits of things together into
nests, as they should be made. And some of the birds, who were attentive
and careful, soon saw how it was done, and started nice homes for
themselves. You have seen what wonderful swinging baskets the Oriole
makes for his baby-cradle? Well, it was the Magpie who taught him how,
and he was the prize pupil, to be sure. But some of the birds were not
like him, nor like the patient little Wren. Some of them were lazy and
stupid and envious of Mother Magpie's cosy nest, which was already
finished, while theirs was yet to do.
As Mother Magpie worked, showing them how, it seemed so very simple that
they were ashamed not to have discovered it for themselves. So, as she
went on bit by bit, the silly things pretended that they had known all
about it from the first--which was very unpleasant for their teacher.
Mother Magpie took two sticks in her beak and began like this: "First of
all, my friends, you must lay two sticks crosswise for a foundation,
thus," and she placed them carefully on the branch before her.
"Oh yes, oh yes!" croaked old Daddy Crow, interrupting her rudely. "I
thought that was the way to begin."
Mother Magpie snapped her eyes at him and went on, "Next you must lay a
feather on a bit of moss, to start the walls."
"Certainly, of course," screamed the Jackdaw. "I knew that came next.
That is what I told the Parrot but a moment since."
Mother Magpie looked at him impatiently, but she did not say anything.
"Then, my friends, you must place on your foundation moss, hair,
feathers, sticks, and grass--whatever you choose for your house. You
must place them like _this_."
"Yes, yes," cried the Starling, "sticks and grass, every one knows how
to do that! Of course, of course! Tell us something new."
[Illustration: _"Next you must lay a feather"_]
Now Mother Magpie was very angry, but she kept on with her lesson in
spite of these rude and silly interruptions. She turned toward the
Wood-Pigeon, who was a rattle-pated young thing, and who was not having
any success with the sticks which she was trying to place.
"Here, Wood-Pigeon," said Mother Magpie, "you must place those sticks
through and across, criss-cross, criss-cross, _so_."
"Criss-cross, criss-cross, so," interrupted the Wood-Pigeon. "I know.
That will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!"
Mother Magpie hopped up and down on one leg, so angry she could hardly
croak.
"You silly Pigeon," she sputtered, "not _so_. You are spoiling your
nest. Place the sticks _so_!"
"I know, I know! That will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!" cooed the
Wood-Pigeon obstinately in her soft, foolish little voice, without
paying the least attention to Mother Magpie's directions.
"We all know that--anything more?" chirped the chorus of birds, trying
to conceal how anxious they were to know what came next, for the nests
were only half finished.
But Mother Magpie was thoroughly disgusted, and refused to go on with
the lesson which had been so rudely interrupted by her pupils.
"You are all so wise, friends," she said, "that surely you do not need
any help from me. You say you know all about it,--then go on and finish
your nests by yourselves. Much luck may you have!" And away she flew to
her own cosy nest in the elm tree, where she was soon fast asleep,
forgetting all about the matter.
But oh! What a pickle the other birds were in! The lesson was but half
finished, and most of them had not the slightest idea what to do next.
That is why to this day many of the birds have never learned to build a
perfect nest. Some do better than others, but none build like Mother
Magpie.
But the Wood-Pigeon was in the worst case of them all. For she had only
the foundation laid criss-cross as the Magpie had shown her. And so, if
you find in the woods the most shiftless, silly kind of nest that you
can imagine--just a platform of sticks laid flat across a branch, with
no railing to keep the eggs from rolling out, no roof to keep the rain
from soaking in--when you see that foolishness, you will know that it is
the nest of little Mistress Wood-Pigeon, who was too stupid to learn the
lesson which Mother Magpie was ready to teach.
And the queerest part of all is that the birds blamed the Magpie for the
whole matter, and have never liked her since. But, as you may have
found out for yourselves, that is often the fate of wise folk who make
discoveries or who do things better than others.