THE BIRD'S NEST
"I wonder why some birds build their nests so very early, when it is
cold, and there are no leaves on the trees, while others wait until it
is almost summer," said Rap, as they walked down a narrow lane toward
the river. There were bushes lining the path on each side, and from the
singing you would think that every bush had a bird on each twig. In
fact, there were so many birds in sight that Nat did not know which to
ask about first, and so kept looking instead of talking.
"The birds who are Citizens are usually the first to build," answered
the Doctor. "They merely roved about during the winter months, and had
no long journey to make before they reached the home trees again, and
then the hardy seed-eating birds can return from the South much earlier
than their frailer kin."
"Last year," said Rap, "when the men were chopping trees in the great
wood beyond the lake, the miller went up one day to hunt coons and took
me with him. It was the beginning of March and terribly cold; there were
long icicles hanging on the trees, and we were glad enough to go in by
the fire in the lumbermen's camp. But what do you think?--if there
wasn't an Owl's nest, up in a pine tree, with two eggs in it! It was in
a very lonely place, and the miller said the Owl had borrowed an old
Crow's nest and fixed it up a little."
"I should think the eggs would have frozen hard and been spoiled," said
Nat.
"No, the old Owl sat on them ever so tight and would hardly budge to let
the miller see them. We didn't stay long, for the Owl was a savage big
thing, nearly two feet high, with yellow eyes and long feathers sticking
up on its head like horns."
"A Great Horned Owl," said the Doctor. "I only wonder that it let the
miller go near it at all; they are generally very wild and fierce."
"This one was sort of friends with the lumbermen," continued Rap, "for
they used to hang lumps of raw meat on the bushes for it, and they said
it kept the rats and mice away from the camp and was good company for
them. It frightened me when I heard it first; it gave an awful scream,
like a hurt person. After a while another one began to bark like a dog
with a cold, just like this--'who-o-o-o--hoo--hoo--hoo.' And, Doctor,
one of the lumbermen told me that with Owls and Hawks the female is
mostly bigger than the male. Do you think that is so? Because with
singing birds the male is the largest."
"Among cannibal birds the female is usually the largest," answered the
Doctor, who was pleased to see that Rap so often had a "because" for his
questions. "These birds do a great deal of fighting, both in catching
their living prey and holding their own against enemies; and as the
female stays most at home, being the chief protector of the nest, she
needs more strength."
"Some singing birds are real plucky too," said Rap. "That same year I
found a Robin's nest in April, when the water-pail by the well froze
every night, and a Woodcock's nest in the brushwood. It's hard to see a
Woodcock on the nest, they look so like dead leaves. It snowed a little
that afternoon, and the poor bird's back was all white, but there she
sat. It made me feel so sorry, and I was so afraid she might freeze,
that I made a little roof over her of hemlock branches. And she liked
that and didn't move at all; so then I wiped the snow off her back, and
she seemed real comfortable. I used to go back every day after that to
see her; we grew to be quite friends before the four eggs hatched, and
I've seen them do queer little tricks; but I never told anybody where
she lived, though, because lots of people don't seem to understand
anything about birds but shooting or teasing them."
"Some day you shall tell us about what the Woodcock did, my lad. You
must tell us a great many stories, for you know what you have seen
yourself. That is the best knowledge of all, and it will encourage Nat
to hear you," and Dr. Hunter put his arm affectionately around the
shoulders of each boy.
"Hush! Wait a moment and listen to that Thrasher," said the Doctor,
stopping behind some thick bushes; "he is wooing his mate!"
"What is wooing?" whispered Nat.
"Asking her to marry him and come and build a cosy home in one of these
nice bushes. Listen! See! There he is, up on the very top of that young
birch, with his head thrown back, singing as if his throat would split."
As the children looked up they saw a fine bird with a curved beak,
rusty-brown back, and light breast streaked with black, who was
clinging to a slender spray, jerking his long tail while he sang.
"It seems as if I could almost hear the words he says," said Rap.
"Birds sing in many different tones," said the Doctor. "The Thrasher's
song is like some one talking cheerfully; the Meadowlark's is
flute-like; the Oriole's is more like clarion notes; the Bobolink
bubbles over like a babbling brook; while the dear little brown striped
Song Sparrow, who is with us in hedge and garden all the year, sings
pleasant home-like ballads."
"There are some birds that Olive told me can't sing a bit," said Nat,
"but only call and squeak. How do they ask their mates to marry them?"
"All birds have alarm cries, and a call-note that serves the same
purpose as a song, although it may not seem at all musical to us. We are
naturally more interested in that order of birds whose voices are the
most perfectly developed. These not only sing when they are courting,
but all the time their mates are sitting upon the eggs, and until the
young are ready to fly."
"Why do birds always build nests in spring?" asked Nat.
"I think because there is more for them to feed the little ones with,
than when it gets to be hot and dry," said Rap, "and it gives them time
to grow big and strong before winter comes, when they must go away."
"Quite right, Rap, and it also gives the parents a chance to shed the
old feathers that have been worn by rubbing on the nest, grow a new,
thick, warm coat for winter, and rest themselves before they set out on
their autumn journey. Do you remember what I told you that rainy day in
my study about this moulting or changing of feathers?"
"Yes, I do," said Rap and Nat together. "Most birds have two coats a
year, and the male's is the brighter," continued Nat eagerly, proud to
show that he remembered. "The one that comes out in the spring is the
gayest, so that his mate shall admire him and when this coat comes he
sings his very best and--"
"Stop and take breath, my boy," laughed the Doctor; "there is plenty of
time. Why do we think that the male has the gayest feathers--do you
remember that also?"
"No, I've forgotten," said Nat.
"I remember," cried Rap; "it is to please the female and because she
sits so much on the nest that if her feathers were as bright as the
male's her enemies would see her quicker, and when the little birds
hatch out they are mostly in plain colors too, like their mother."
"Oh, I remember that now," said Nat. "And after the young are hatched
and the old birds need new coats, they keep rather still while they shed
their feathers, because they feel weak and can't fly well."
"Then when the new feathers come they are sometimes quite different from
the old ones, and seldom quite so bright--why is this, Nat?" asked the
Doctor. But Nat could not think, and Rap answered: "Because in the
autumn when they make the long journeys the leaves are falling from the
trees, and if they were very bright the cannibal birds would see them
too quickly." "Have I told you about the Bluebird, and how, though he
only sheds his feathers once a year, yet his winter coat is rusty and
not bright clear blue as it is in spring?"
"I think not," answered Nat.
"Well, the outside edges of its feathers are blue, but a little deeper
in the feather is brownish. So when they have worn the same feathers
many months, and rubbed in and out of their little houses and bathed a
great deal and cleaned their feathers off every day in the dust, as
birds always do, the blue ends wear off and the rusty parts show. It is
quite worth while to tell little people things when they have the
patience to listen and the interest to remember."
"Yes, uncle, but it's the way you tell us about birds that makes us
remember. You talk as if they were real people."
"Oh, oh, Nat!" laughed the Doctor, "if you flatter me so I shall have to
hide my head in a bush like an Ostrich. Birds _are_ people, though of
another race from ours, and I am happy if I can make you think so. Ah!
we must be near a Redwing's nest--what a commotion the colony is
making!"
"Colony? I thought a colony was a lot of people who went off into a
strange wild land and made a new home," said Nat.
"That is one meaning of the word, but another one is when a number of
people of the same race or trade live close to each other. A bird colony
is a collection of the homes of many birds of the same family. After the
nesting season almost all birds live in flocks of different sizes, each
particular kind flocking by itself; but during the migrations great
flocks are often made up of smaller flocks of various kinds of birds.
During the nesting season it is quite different; the majority of birds
prefer a quiet home life, each pair being independent of any others.
Certain flocks, however, keep together, and all build their nests in a
particular swamp or wood, and sometimes, it is said, male birds build
nests to sleep in while the females are sitting. The Redwings nest in
colonies; so do the Herons, who eat frogs and nest near water, and the
little brown-cloaked Bank Swallows, who live in holes that they dig for
themselves in high banks."
There were some twenty pairs of birds in this Redwing colony, who seemed
to be much frightened by the approach of visitors.
"Here is a nest in this alder bush," said the Doctor; "step carefully on
the grass hummocks, and look at it for a moment, Nat. See how neatly it
is made of the dried leaves of flags and grasses, woven in and out
between three upright stalks."
"Isn't it pretty?" said Nat; "so even and deep like a cup, and not at
all ragged and mussy like a Robin's nest. There are a great many
different kinds of nests, aren't there, uncle?"
"Yes, the nests of birds are almost as different as their songs and
other habits, and the higher the order the brood belongs to the better
built is the nest. The lower orders often only make a hollow in the
ground or grass, but do not collect material and _build_ in the true
sense. None such can be called architects."
"What is an architect?" asked Nat, who thought it was a pretty big name
for any sort of a bird. "An architect, my boy," said the Doctor, "is
anybody who knows how to build anything as it ought to be built, to look
the best and be the most useful, whether it is a house or a nest."
"I wonder why nests are so different," said Rap, looking down the lane
toward the river where the sun was streaming in and so many little birds
were flying to and fro that they seemed like last year's leaves being
blown about.
"Because, as the habits of the birds cause them to live in different
places, and feed in various ways, so their homes must be suitable to
their surroundings, and be built in the best way to protect the young
birds from harm--to keep them safe from House People, cannibal birds,
and bad weather.
"The trim Thrushes and Sparrows, who are all brownish birds, and find
their insect or seed food on or near the ground, build open nests low
down in trees and bushes, or on the earth itself; but the gorgeous
Baltimore Oriole, with his flaming feathers, makes a long pocket-shaped
nest of string and strong plant fibres, which he swings high up in an
elm tree, where it cannot be reached from below, and the leaves hide
this cradle while the winds rock it. He knows that it would never do to
trust his brilliant feathers down by the ground.
"The frail Hummingbird has no real strength to fight enemies bigger than
its tiny self, but it has been given for protection the power of flying
as quick as a whizzing bullet, and courage enough to attack even a
Kingbird in defence of its nest, which is a tiny circle of down, covered
with lichens, and is so fastened across a branch that it looks like a
knot of the limb itself. The Woodcock you saw that snowy day, Rap, knows
the protection of color and draws together for a nest a few leaves of
the hue of her own feathers. This nest and the bird upon it are so
blended together that few eyes could separate them."
"Some birds do not make any nests, but live in holes like squirrels and
coons," said Rap. "Woodpeckers and all those."
"There again the home is suited to the occupation of the bird," said the
Doctor; "for Woodpeckers are Tree Trappers, who find their food by
creeping about trees and picking insects and grubs from the bark. What
more natural than that they should have a house close at hand in some
tree whose wood is soft enough to be hollowed out? You see they have a
bill like a chisel for gouging out insects, and with this same tool they
make their homes."
"Bluebirds and Wrens and Martins like to live in holes and boxes, though
they can't make holes for themselves," said Rap.
"Yes, the habits of many birds have changed since the country has become
civilized and House People are to be found in all parts of it. Many
birds, who have always been favorites with man, and have been protected
by him, have gradually grown less wild, or almost tame, and now prefer
living near houses and barns to building in wilder places. The Bluebird,
Martin, and Wren are three very popular birds. They appreciate cosy
homes and are grateful for the boxes built for them, though we know that
before they had such things they must have nested in tree holes." "I
wonder where the Chimney Swifts lived before there were any chimneys,"
said Rap, looking across the fields to where an old stone chimney
stood--the only thing left standing of an old farmhouse. Above this
chimney, Swifts were circling in shifting curves, now diving inside it,
now disappearing afar in the air.
"We think they must have lived in hollow trees as the Tree Swallows do
now," said the Doctor; "but when House People began to clear the land
they naturally cut down the dead trees first, and so the birds moved to
the chimneys."
"I used to call those birds Chimney 'Swallows,' but Olive says they are
made more like Hummingbirds and Nighthawks than real Swallows,"
continued Rap.
"Nighthawks?" said Nat. "I thought Olive said Hawks were cannibal birds.
How are they relations of Swallows?"
"That is a mistake a great many people make," said the Doctor; "for the
Nighthawk is not a real Hawk, but a shy bird, who has a rapid hawk-like
flight, though it eats nothing but beetles, moths, and other insects.
Hark! Do you hear that cry high in the air?"
"As if something was saying 'shirk-shirk'?" said Nat.
"Yes; that is a Nighthawk on its way home. Look! he is over us now, and
you can see two large white spots like holes in his wings. By these you
can tell it from any of the real Hawks."
"Does he build high up in a tree?" asked Rap. "I have never found his
nest."
"There is a good reason for that," said the Doctor. "There is no nest.
Two eggs are laid on the bare ground, that is about the same color as
the bird itself; and the eggs look too much like streaky pebbles to be
easily seen. When the young are hatched they keep still until they are
able to fly, and are colored so exactly like the place upon which they
rest that it is almost impossible to see them, even if you know where
they are."
"How much there is to learn!" sighed Nat. "I'm afraid you will have to
make us a big book instead of a little one, Uncle Roy, to teach us all
these things. Olive and Rap have such a start of us. Dodo and I don't
know much of anything, and even what I thought I knew about birds isn't
very true."
"Don't be discouraged, my boy; you do not need a big book--a little one
will do for the present. What you need is patience, a pair of keen eyes,
and a good memory. With these and a little help from Olive, Rap, and
your old uncle, you can learn to know a hundred kinds of every-day
birds--those that can be found easily, and have either the sweetest
songs, the gayest plumage, or the most interesting habits. Some we shall
find here in the lane and swamp meadow, or by the river. Others have
made their home in my orchard for years. And I am going to put in the
book more than a hundred beautiful pictures for you and Dodo, drawn so
naturally that you can tell every one of the birds by them, and that
will make it easier for you to understand what you read.
"For some of the water birds we must go up to the lake or in the summer
make a trip over to the seashore. How do you like that? Yes, you too,
Rap. By and by, when you know these hundred birds by name and by
sight, you will be so far along on the road into Birdland that you can
choose your own way, and branch off right and left on whatever path
seems most attractive to you; but then you will need big books, and have
to learn long hard Latin names."
"What birds will you begin with, please, Doctor Roy," said Rap, "the
singers or the cannibals?"
"The singers, because they will interest Dodo and Nat the most easily,
as they do you. Then we will talk about the birds that only croak and
call; then the cannibal birds; next those that coo, and those that
scratch for a living. Then we must leave dry land and go close to the
water to find the birds that wade; and finally, we must go to the lake
or sea itself for the birds that swim and dive."
"Why, here's Quick!" cried Nat, as the little fox-terrier came leaping
down the lane, tracking them, nose to the ground. "How did you get out
of the barn, sir?"
"I suspect that Dodo has discovered that we are missing and is looking
for us," said the Doctor. "There is the breakfast bell. Do you realize,
my lads, that we have been out two hours?"
"I often come out early in the morning," said Rap, "so it doesn't seem
strange to me."
"I'm starving, Uncle Roy," said Nat, "though I am only beginning to feel
it."
"Think how much worse you would have felt if you had not eaten some
bread and milk before you started."
"Yes, indeed," said Nat. "Do many sicknesses come from not eating
enough?" "Not so many as come from eating too much!" laughed the
Doctor. "Won't you come up to breakfast with us, Rap? There is always
room at my table, you know, for children who love their Bird Brothers."
"I can't," said Rap regretfully; "you see it's Thursday and I have to
mind clothes!"
There was a merry breakfast party that morning at Orchard Farm; Nat had
so much to tell, and the Doctor said he felt twenty years younger after
his walk with the boys. A letter had also arrived which made Nat and
Dodo very happy; it was from their mother, who said: "We are delighted
to hear that the Doctor is going to tell you bird stories this summer.
Be sure to ask Olive to tell you all she knows about the flowers too.
When we come home this autumn, perhaps your uncle will ask us to the
Farm for a visit, and then we shall see your friend Rap."
"Uncle, uncle!" cried both the children, "will you ask mother and father
to come here for a little? It will be lovely, and--and then we shan't
have to go away so soon either."
"I have already asked them for a long visit, you little rogues," said
the Doctor. "You seem to forget that your mother is my sister, whom I
wish very much to see."
"And does Olive know all the flowers," chimed in Dodo, "and will you
tell us about everything?"
"That would be a rash promise," said the Doctor, laughing; "but if you
will stay long enough I will promise to teach you something about all
the little wild beasts and bugs that live here, the flowers that bloom
about us, the earth, moon, and perhaps even a star or two! Who knows? Is
it a bargain?" "Oh, _uncle_!" was all they said. But Dodo gave him a
kiss on the end of his nose and Nat hugged Olive, who sat next to him.
Just then Mammy Bun brought in a plate of steaming hot flannel cakes,
and the Doctor said: "Now let us eat to the health of Birdland and a
happy season at Orchard Farm! Olive, my love, please pass the maple
syrup!"