favorite was Cocky Twitters, a bold, saucy, droll fellow, who was
always whisking about as if he had every thing in the bird-world to
attend to. He fought like a little game-cock if any other sparrow
troubled him, but he was good to the weak and timid ones, and never
failed to carry a nice crumb or two to his old papa, who had something
the matter with his wing, and seldom went far from the little brown
house stuck like a wasp's nest on one of the trees.
Cocky had often thought about coming in to call, but never had found
the courage to really do it, so Bertie was enchanted when, after a good
deal of tweeting, much perking up of his smooth head, and many a
sidelong twinkle of his little black eye, Cocky actually hopped down
upon the table.
Mamma sat motionless, smiling at her little guest, and Bertie hardly
dared to wink as he watched his pet's pranks.
Cocky had evidently made up his mind to have a right good time, and
see, taste, examine, and enjoy all he found in this new world. So he
paraded about the table, ate a bit of cake, pecked at an apple, and
drank prettily out of Bertie's silver mug; then he wiped his bill quite
properly, took a look at the books, peeped into the inkstand, draggled
his tail in the gum-pot, examined mamma's work-basket, and took a sniff
at the flowers. After that he strolled over the carpet with such a
funny swagger of his thin legs, such an important roll of his fat,
little body, and such an impudent cock of his head, that Bertie burst
out laughing, which made Cocky flit away to the top of the clock, where
he sat and twittered as if he was laughing too.
"I wish I could keep him a few days, he is so jolly! Couldn't I put
him in Dickey's cage, and feed and be good to him, mamma?"
"He would never trust you again if you did."
"But I should 'splain it to him, and tell him it was only a visit."
"He wouldn't like it, and I think you will enjoy him more when he makes
visits of his own accord. He would be the maddest little bird that
ever flew if you shut him up; but leave him free, and every day it will
be a pleasure to open the pane and see him come in confidingly. He is
tired of this warm room already, and trying to get out. Show him the
way, and let him go."
"I'll have one good feel of him anyhow, but I won't hurt him," said
Bertie, yielding the point, but bound to get a little fun out of his
fat friend before he went.
So he danced about after Cocky, who was so bewildered he could not find
his own little door, and bounced against all the wrong panes till he
was dizzy, and fell down in a corner. Then Bertie softly grabbed him
and though he pecked fiercely, Bertie got a "good feel" of the soft,
warm mite. Then he let him go, and Cocky sat on the balustrade and
chirped till all his friends came to see what the fuss was about.
"Oh, I do wish I could understand what they say. He's telling them all
about his visit, and they look so cunning, sitting round listening and
asking questions. You know French and German; don't you know bird-talk
too, mamma?" asked Bertie, turning round, after he had stood with his
nose against the glass till it was as cold as a little icicle.
"No, dear, I am sorry to say I don't."
"I thought mammas knew every thing," said Bertie, in a disappointed
tone.
"They ought to if they expect to answer all the questions their
children ask them," answered mamma, with a sigh, for Bertie had an
inquiring mind and often puzzled his parents sorely.
"I suppose you haven't got time to learn it?" was the next remark.
"Decidedly not. But you have, so you'd better begin at once, and let
me go on with my work."
"I don't know how to begin."
"You must ask some wiser person than I am about that," answered mamma,
scratching away at a great rate.
"I know what I'll do!" said Bertie, after meditating deeply for a few
minutes; and, putting on his cap and coat, he went out upon the balcony.
Mamma thought he had gone to consult Cocky, and forgot all about him
for a time. But Bertie had another plan in his head, and went
resolutely up to one of the windows of the next house. It opened on
the same balcony, and only a low bar separated the houses, so Bertie
often promenaded up and down the whole length, and more than once had
peeped under the half-drawn curtain at the gray-headed gentleman who
always seemed to be too busy with his books to see his little neighbor.
Bertie had heard Professor Parpatharges Patterson called a very learned
man, who could read seven languages, so he thought he would call and
inquire if bird language was among the seven. He peeped first, and
there was Mr. P. reading away with his big spectacles on, and some
dreadfully wise old book held close to his nose. As he did not look
up, Bertie tapped softly, but Mr. P. did not hear. Then this resolute
young person pushed up the window, walked coolly in, and stood close to
the student's side. But Mr. P. did not see him till the remarkable
appearance of a small blue mitten right in the middle of Plato's
Republic, caused the Professor to start and stare at it with such a
funny expression of bewilderment that Bertie could not help laughing.
The blithe sound seemed to wake the man out of a dream, for, falling
back in his chair, he sat blinking at the child like a surprised owl.
"Please, sir, I knocked, but you didn't hear, so I came in," said
Bertie, with an engaging smile, as he respectfully pulled off his cap
and looked up at the big spectacles with bright, confiding eyes.
"What did you wish, boy?" asked the Professor, in a solemn, yet not
ungentle, tone.
"I wanted to know if you would tell me how I could learn bird-talk."
"What?" and the man stared at the child harder than ever.
"Perhaps I'd better sit down and 'splain all about it," remarked
Bertie, feeling that the subject was too important to be hastily
discussed.
"Take a seat, boy;" and the Professor waved his hand vaguely, as if he
did not know much about any chair but his own old one, with the
stuffing bursting out, and ink spots everywhere.
As all the chairs had books and papers piled up in them, Bertie, with
great presence of mind, sat down upon an immense dictionary that lay
near by, and with a hand on either knee, thus briefly explained himself:
"My mamma said that you were very wise, and could read seven
langwitches, so I thought you would please tell me what Cocky Twitters
says."
"Is Twitters a bird or a boy?" asked the Professor, as if bewildered by
what seemed a very simple affair to innocent Bertie.
At this question, the boy burst forth into an eager recital of his
acquaintance with the sparrows, giving a little bounce on the fat
dictionary now and then when he got excited, while his rosy face shone
with an eagerness that was irresistible.
The Professor listened as if to a language which he had almost
forgotten, while the ghost of a smile began to flicker over his lips,
and peer out from behind his glasses, as if somewhere about him there
was a heart that tried to welcome the little guest, who came tapping at
the long-closed door.
When Bertie ended, out of breath, Mr. P. said, slowly, while he looked
about as if to find something he had lost,--"I understand now, but I'm
afraid I've forgotten all I ever knew about birds,--and boys too," he
added, with an odd twinkle of the glasses.
"Couldn't you _reccomember_ if you tried hard, sir?"
"I don't think I could."
Bertie gave a great sigh, and cast a reproachful glance upon the
Professor, which said as plainly as words, "You must have been a _very_
idle man to live among books till you are gray, and not know a simple
thing like this."
I think Mr. P. understood that look, and felt ashamed of his sad
ignorance; for he rose up and went walking about the room, poking into
corners and peering up at the books that lined the walls, till he found
a large volume, and brought it to Bertie, who still sat despondently
upon the dictionary.
"Perhaps this will help us. It tells much about birds, and the tales
are all true."
Bertie caught the book in his arms, laid it open on his knees, and with
one delighted "Oh!" at the first peep, became entirely absorbed in the
gay pictures. With an air of relief, the Professor retired to his
chair, and sat watching him very much as he had watched Cocky Twitters.
A pretty little picture he made; for a ray of sunshine crept in to
shine on his bright head like a playmate come to find him; his downy
brows were knit, and his rosy mouth pursed up at times with the mingled
exertions of mind and body, for the book was both beautiful and heavy.
His eyes feasted on the pages; and now and then he laughed out with
delight, as he found a bird he knew, or gave a satisfied nod, and
trotted his foot to express his satisfaction at some unusually splendid
one. Once he tried to cross his tired legs, but they were too short,
and the book went down with a bang that made him glance at his host in
alarm.
But while he studied Audubon's birds, the Professor had studied mamma's
boy, and found he _could_ "reccomember" some of the traits belonging to
_that_ species of wild-fowl. As he looked, the smile had been playing
hide-and-go-seek among his wrinkles, getting less ghostly every minute,
and when the book fell, it came boldly out and sat upon his face so
pleasantly, that Bertie ceased to be afraid.
"Put it on the table, boy," said Mr. P., beckoning with an inky finger.
Bertie lugged his treasure thither, and leaning both elbows on it,
began to brood again. It really did seem as if the Professor wanted to
have a good "feel" of the boy as the boy did of Cocky, for presently
the inky finger softly stroked the yellow head, then touched the round,
red cheek, and put a little curl back behind the ear. Then the
spectacles took a long look all over the little figure, from the
striped stockings to the fur collar on the small coat, and something
about it, a certain chubbiness of outline and softness of exterior
perhaps, seemed to be so attractive, that, all of a sudden, two large
hands hovered over Bertie, gently clutched him, and set him on the
Professor's knee.
If Mr. P. felt any doubts as to how his guest would take this liberty,
they were speedily set at rest, for Bertie only gave one wiggle to
settle himself, and, turning a page, said affably,--
"Now, tell me all about 'em."
And Professor Parpatharges Patterson actually did tell him story after
story out of that charming book, till the sound of a bell made the
truant jump down in a great hurry, saying,--
"Mamma wants me, and I must go, but I'll come again soon, and may be,
if we study hard, we shall learn bird-talk after all."
Mr. P. shook his head; but Bertie would not give up yet, and added
encouragingly,--
"Mamma says people are never too old to learn, and papa says Latin
makes all the other langwitches easy; I see lots of Latin books, and
you read 'em, so I'm sure, if you listen to my sparrows, when I feed
'em, you _can_ understand some of their talk."
"I'll try, and let you know how I get on," said Mr. P., laughing as if
he didn't know how very well, but couldn't help making the attempt.
"I'm very much obliged to you, sir, and I shall be glad to pay you for
your trouble. I've got two dollars in my tin bank, and I'll smash it,
and get 'em out, if that will be enough," said Bertie, suddenly
remembering to have heard that Mr. P. was not rich.
"No, boy, I don't want your pennies, you shall pay in some other way,
if I succeed," answered the Professor, with a touched sort of look
about the spectacles.
"I've had a very nice time. Good day, sir," and Bertie held out his
hand, as he made his best bow.
"Good day, boy. Come again."
I think there must have been some magic about that blue mitten, or the
warm little hand inside, for, as he held it quite buried up in his own
big one, Mr. P. suddenly stooped down, and said, in a queer, bashful
sort of tone,--
"Suppose you pay with kisses, if you have any to spare."
"I've got hundreds; I always keep 'em ready, because mamma needs so
many," and Bertie held up his rosy mouth, as if this sort of coin best
suited the treasury of a loving heart.
Considering that the Professor had not kissed any one for twenty years
at least, he did it very well, and, when Bertie was gone, stood looking
down at the corpulent old dictionary, as if he still saw a bright-eyed
little figure sitting on it, and considered that a great improvement
upon the dust that usually lay there.
TWITTER THE SECOND.
Mamma was right; for Cocky, finding himself well treated at his first
visit, called again, and being feasted on sugar, fruit, and cake, and
allowed to go when he liked, was entirely won. From that time he was
the friend of the family, and called as regularly as the postman. He
knew his own little door, and if it was shut he tapped with his bill
till some one opened it, when he came bustling in, chirping a gay "How
are you?" and waggling his ragged tail in the most friendly manner.
Weather made no difference to him; in fact rainy days were his favorite
times for calling. His little coat was waterproof, he needed no
umbrella, and often came hopping in, with snow-flakes on his back, as
jolly as you please.
I don't know what Bertie would have done without this sociable little
neighbor, for it was a stormy winter and he could not go out much;
other children were at school; even mamma's inventive powers gave out
sometimes, and toys grew tiresome. But Cocky never did, and such games
as the two had together it would have done your heart good to see, for
the boy was so gentle that the bird soon grew very tame and learned to
love and trust with the sweetest confidence. A jollier sparrow never
hopped; and after a good lunch with Bertie, both drinking out of one
mug, both pecking at the same apple, and sharing the same cake, Cocky
was ready for play. He would hide somewhere and Bertie would hunt for
him, guided now and then by a faint "Tweet" till the little gray bunch
was found in some sly nook and came bouncing out with a whisk and a
chirp.
When Bertie sat at lessons, Cocky would roost on his shoulder, hop over
the open page with his head on one side as if reading it, peer into the
inkstand inquisitively, or settle himself among the flowers that stood
in the middle of the table, like a little teacher ready to hear the
lessons when they were learned.
And sometimes when Bertie lay asleep, tired with books or play, Cocky
would circle round him with soft flight, and perch on his pillow,
waiting silently till his playmate woke, "like an angel guarding the
dear in his sleep," as old nurse said, watching the pretty sight.
Professor Parpatharges Patterson was right also; for he apparently did
try to understand "bird-talk," and did succeed; for a few days after
Bertie's call a letter came flying in at the open pane just at
twilight, very much as if Cocky had brought it himself. It was written
on robin's-egg-colored paper, and bore the title, "Life and Adventures
of Cocky Twitters, Esq."
Mamma began to laugh as she glanced over it, and Bertie screamed with
delight when a funny sketch appeared of an egg with a very small but
brisk little bird hopping out of it without a feather on him. It was
very funny, and when mamma read Cocky's thoughts and feelings on first
beholding the world, it was so droll, and Bertie was so tickled, that
he rolled on the floor and kicked up his heels.
Mr. P. must have tried very hard to "reccomember" the accomplishments
and gayety of his youth, for the sketch was so good and the first
chapter of this bird-book so merry that mamma put it in a little
portfolio and showed it to all her friends, for no one ever dreamed
that the studious old Professor had it in him to do such a clever thing.
Bertie wanted to rush right in and thank him that very night, but mamma
said he had better wait till morning and then play a little joke in
return for the Professor's. So next day, when Mr. P. pulled up the
curtain of his study window, there hung a lovely posy of flowers and a
little card with "Bertie Norton's compliments and thanks" on it.
That pleased the old man; and all that day the roses filled his room
with their sweet breath, mutely talking to him of a happy time when his
little daughter used to put nosegays on his table, and dance about him
like a blooming rose escaped from its stem. For years no one had
thought to scatter flowers among the wise books out of which the poor
man tried to gather forgetfulness, if not happiness. No one guessed
that he had a lonely heart as well as a learned head, and no childish
hand had clung to his till the blue mitten rested there, unconsciously
leading him from his sad solitude to the sweet society of a little
neighbor.
Bertie soon called again, and this time Mr. P. heard, saw, and welcomed
him at once. A cushion lay on the fat dictionary, the bird-book was
all ready, the eyes behind the big spectacles beamed with satisfaction
as the boy climbed on his knee, and the inky hands held the chubby
guest more eagerly and carefully than the most precious old book ever
printed.
After that second call the new friendship flourished wonderfully, and
the boy became to the Professor what Cocky was to Bertie, a merry,
innocent visitor, whose pretty plays and pranks cheered the dull days,
whose love and confidence warmed his heart, whose presence grew more
and more precious since its unconscious power made sunshine for the
lonely man.
Such good times as they had! Such nice chats and stories, such laughs
at very small jokes, such plans for summer, such fun feeding the
sparrows, who soon learned to come to both windows fearlessly, and such
splendid chapters as were added to "C. Twitter's Life and Adventures,"
with designs that half killed mamma with laughing.
The people in the house were much amused with the change in the
Professor, and for a time could not understand what was going on up in
that once quiet room. For the sound of little feet trotting about was
heard, also a cheery child's voice, and now and then a loud bang as if
a pile of books had tumbled down, followed by shouts of merriment, for
Mr. P. could laugh capitally, after a little practice.
Stout Mrs. Bouncer, the landlady, went up one day to see what was going
on, and was so surprised at the spectacle that met her eyes she could
hardly believe her senses.
In the middle of the room was a house built of the precious books which
the maid had been forbidden to touch, and in the middle of this
barricade sat Bertie, reading "Æsop's Fables" aloud. The table which
used to be filled with Greek and Hebrew volumes, learned treatises, and
intricate problems was now bestrewn with gay pictures, and Mr. P., with
his spectacles pushed back, his cuffs turned up, and a towel tied round
him, was busily pasting these brilliant designs into a scrap-book bound
in parchment and ornamented with brass clasps.
The Professor evidently had made up his mind that the faded pages were
much improved by the gay pictures, and sat smiling over his work as he
saw a dead language blossom into flowers, and heard it sing from the
throats of golden orioles and soaring larks.
"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Bouncer to herself, and then added aloud,
after a long stare, "Do you want any thing, sir?"
"Nothing, thank you, ma'am, unless you happen to have a couple of
apples in the house. Good, big, red ones, if you please," answered Mr.
P., so briskly that she couldn't help laughing, as she said,--
"I'll send 'em right up, sir, and a fresh jumble or so for the little
boy."
"Thank you, ma'am, thank you. We fellows have been hard at it for an
hour, and we are as hungry as bears; hey, Bertie?"
"I'm fond of jumbles," was the young student's suggestive reply, as he
peeped over the walls with a nod and a smile.
"Bless my heart, what has come to the Professor!" thought Mrs. Bouncer,
as she hastened away, while Mr. P. waved his paste brush and Bertie
kissed his hand to her.
The neighbors said the same when they saw the two playmates walking out
together, as they often did in fine weather. Five old ladies, who sat
all day at their different windows watching their neighbors, were so
astonished at the sudden appearance of the Professor, hand-in-hand with
a yellow-haired little laddie, that they could hardly believe their
spectacles. When they saw him drawing Bertie round the square on his
sled Racer, they lifted their ten old hands in utter amazement, and
when they beheld him actually snowballing, and being snowballed by,
that mite of a boy, they really thought the sky must be going to fall.
Mamma heartily enjoyed all this; for through her doctor she had learned
much about Mr. P., and both admired and pitied him, and was very glad
that Bertie had so wise and kind a playmate. She saw that they did
each other good, and in many delicate ways helped the boy to serve,
amuse and repay the man who made him so happy.
Cocky also approved of the new friend, and called occasionally to
express his views on education. He was very affable, but never allowed
Mr. P. to take the same liberties that Bertie did, and after a general
survey, would light upon the bald pate of a plaster Homer, whence he
watched the boys at play, with deep interest. Mr. P. was immensely
flattered by Cocky's visits, and made his "Life" so interesting and
droll, that Bertie really believed that the man and bird did it between
them.
"I owe a great deal to Mr. Twitters, and I hope I shall discover a way
to show my gratitude," said the Professor more than once, and he did,
as you will see. It was a very happy winter, in spite of rain and
snow, and as spring came on, the three friends had fine times in the
park. Bertie fed his birds there now; and they, remembering how he had
kept them alive through the bitter weather, seemed to love him more
than ever. They flocked round him as soon as he appeared, chirping,
fluttering, pecking, and hopping so fearlessly and gayly, that people
often came to see the pretty sight, and "Bertie's birds" were one of
the lions of the neighborhood.
Cocky was very busy and important about this time. His tail-feathers
had grown again, he seemed to have put on a new drab waistcoat, and his
head was so sleek that Bertie was sure he used pomade. When he called
at the balcony, he often brought another sparrow with him,--a plump,
downy bird, with a bright eye, a Quakerish dress, and very gentle
manners.
"Mamma says Cocky is going to be married, and that pretty one is his
little sweetheart. Won't it be nice? I wonder if he will ask us to
the wedding, and where he will live!" said Bertie, standing still in
the park, staring up at the nests stuck on the elm boughs, now green
with tender leaves and noisy with happy birds.
"I don't think he will ask us, and I very much fear that there won't be
room in that brown nest for the old papa and the young folks also,"
answered Mr. P., staring as hard as Bertie did.
"Then we must ask the mayor to have a new house put up for Cocky.
Don't you think he would if I wrote him a nice letter and showed him
your book? He'd see what a brave good bird my Twitters is, and give
him a nice house, I'm sure," said Bertie earnestly, for he would
believe that Cocky had really done all the fine and funny things
recounted in that remarkable book.
"Leave it to me, boy. I will see what can be done about a mansion for
Cocky to begin housekeeping in;" and Mr. P. gave a knowing nod, as if
he had a new idea.
So Bertie said no more, and, soon after this conversation, went to
Plymouth, on a visit with mamma. May-day was coming, and Bertie wanted
to hang baskets on the doors of young and old neighbors; chief among
the latter his dear Mr. P.
Nowhere in New England do May-flowers grow so large and rosy, or bloom
so early and so sweet as in Plymouth, and Bertie gathered a great
hamper full of the best, made up in nosegays, garlands, and baskets.
Then they came home, and all along the way people sniffed and peeped
and smiled at the odorous load which the boy guarded so carefully and
rejoiced over so much.
Very early next morning, Bertie and mamma set out to hang the
May-baskets on a dozen doors. The five old ladies each had one, and
were immensely pleased at being remembered; for Bertie had discovered
that hearts can be young in spite of gray hair, and proposed doing this
all himself. Then there was a sick lady who used to look out at the
child as he played, with a sad, white face and wistful eyes; two pretty
little girls came next, and had raptures in their night-gowns, when the
baskets were brought up to them in bed.