Uncle Philip was 16 years old, tall and strong, with merry dark eyes,
red cheeks and thick, soft, wavy, brown hair. Every day except Saturday
he was in school. Sometimes on Saturdays he went in the woods botanizing
or he rowed his pretty boat, “The Lorelei,” upon the lake. But, often he
went to his sister’s, Mamma Bryant’s, to spend the day and work upon the
farm. His little nephew, Leicester, was always glad when he came, for
Uncle Philip took him with him to the field or barn, told him funny
stories and taught him to take notice of all the things he saw or heard.
One beautiful day in October, after the corn had been all cut and was
standing in big yellow stooks, making long rows through the stubble,
Uncle Philip arrived early in the morning at Leicester’s home. Leicester
was still in bed when Uncle Philip came, and Mamma Bryant said to
herself, “I must go and see if he is awake.” But just as she was about
to open the door, out came Leicester in his white pajamas, rubbing his
eyes and looking a little bit sleepy.
“Come, Leicester,” said his mamma, “I will help you dress and then you
can have your breakfast. Uncle Philip has been here and he has gone to
the cornfield south of the meadow. He hitched up Blotter and Little Gray
on the new wagon and will drive back to dinner. Come with me and get
ready for breakfast. After breakfast I want you to take little sister
Keren with you and hunt for the eggs. If you are a good, pleasant boy
this morning you may go this afternoon with uncle, and I will make some
cookies for you to take in your lunch basket.”
Leicester, who was generally a very good boy, promised to do as his
mother desired.
Before dinner time Aunt Dorothy came, and it was decided that she, too,
should go to the cornfield and take Keren with her.
By one o’clock dinner was over. Mamma Bryant had decided that
Leicester’s lunch basket was too small, so she had taken a peach basket,
into which she put, among other good things to eat, some large red
apples and ever so many fresh baked cookies.
Uncle Philip had driven up the roadway and was standing in the new wagon
waiting for his passengers. Corn huskers never take a seat on their
wagons, but Uncle Philip had laid a board across the wagon-box and on
that Aunt Dorothy seated herself.
It was a warm, bright day and the wagon ride to the cornfield was
delightful. Blotter and Little Gray were not a very handsome team, but
they were good gentle horses and the children loved them. Blotter was a
white horse with black spots on him, which made him look as if he had
been used for a pen-wiper.
On the way to the cornfield a little rabbit ran out of the bushes by the
roadside, but quickly hid himself again. The chipmunks stood on their
hind feet in the tall, withered grass and watched the new wagon coming
down the road and popped into their holes when they thought it had come
too near. The plumy pappus of the golden rod, with great bunches of
scarlet rose seeds, bursting pods of the satin plant and clusters of
large red and chocolate oak leaves growing on year-old sprouts which had
sprung up from the stumps of trees cut down the fall before made huge
bouquets in the fence corners. While driving through the meadow the
horses, which were pastured there, came up to neigh a good-day to their
friends in the harness and trotted along for some time on both sides of
the wagon and behind it. At last the cornfield was reached and Uncle
Philip drove up to a corn stook.
“Look at that bird sitting on the wire fence,” said Aunt Dorothy. “Isn’t
that a butcher bird?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Philip, “that is a shrike, or butcher bird. I should
not wonder if it were the same bird that followed me around this
morning. I won’t tell you what he did, but if you will watch him maybe
you’ll see something very interesting yourself.”
Uncle Philip put on his husking gloves and began his work, taking the
ears of corn from the stalks in the stook without disturbing it any more
than he could help.
Aunt Dorothy remained sitting on her board in the wagon.
Leicester and Keren went to play in the meadow through which they had
just driven, and they frightened the butcher bird so that he flew away
from the fence and perched near the top of a tall cornstalk in a
neighboring stook. Keren found a dandelion blossom and Leicester a wild
rose, a bit of pale, pink beauty that had blossomed late and alone on a
bush whose leaves were dusty and faded. The children went to a hickory
tree expecting to find some nuts on the ground, but the squirrels had
been there already and nothing was left except some nut-shells. Yes,
there were three or four nuts, but when, by the aid of two stones, the
children had cracked them, they found the meat inside all dried up and
unfit to eat. The squirrels must have known this without cracking the
nuts, otherwise they would not have left them as they did.
Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Philip were talking about the butcher bird.
“The butcher bird is found all over the world,” said Aunt Dorothy, “and
has different names in different countries.”
“And it has been written about by men who lived a long, long time ago,”
said Uncle Philip, and he told Aunt Dorothy some of those men’s names.
But they are so long and hard to say I will not tell them here.
“The shrike is a cousin to the crow. Nearly all the crows have black
feathers, but the butcher bird wears a different dress in France from
the one he wears in England, and in India he has still another garb,”
said Aunt Dorothy.
“Yes,” said Uncle Philip, “but all the shrikes everywhere have toothed
bills.”
By this time two more shrikes or butcher birds had joined the first one
and all three were flying about impatiently from place to place.
“Just as if they were waiting for something to happen,” said Aunt
Dorothy.
“So they are,” said Uncle Philip, who had finished husking the corn in
his stook. “Call the children now; or I will,” he said, and whistled and
beckoned till Leicester and Keren came running to where he was.
“Now,” he said, “look at that stunted old tree over there, children. Do
you see the three butcher birds in it?”
Yes, every one saw the birds.
“Well, then,” he said, “get into the wagon and keep watch of them. I am
going to drive to the next corn stook,” and away they went. After Uncle
Philip had stopped the horses he told Aunt Dorothy and the children to
sit together on the board with their backs to the horses and keep very
still.
“I am going behind the corn stook and will pull it away as best I can
from where it now stands. Watch the birds and the ground near the
stook.”
As soon as he had pulled away the cornstalks he stooped down and walked
away some distance as quickly and quietly as he could. Then Aunt Dorothy
and the children saw the butcher birds alight on the ground on which the
cornstalks had been and catch young mice and moles. One of the birds
took a mole to the wire fence near by and stuck it on a barb. Then he
flew away, leaving it hanging there. He was going to catch some young
mice to eat just then and save the mole for luncheon.
His claws were not strong enough to hold the mole while he could kill
and eat it, but if he hung it on the wire fence he could use all his
strength in tearing it to pieces with his strong toothed bill. Every one
felt sorry for the poor mole, but all were glad to be able to see how
the butcher bird gets his dinner.
Time went by and soon Uncle Philip was ready to move another bunch of
cornstalks. Aunt Dorothy and the children prepared to watch again, for
the butcher birds were still in the neighborhood and waiting anxiously
for a chance to secure some more prey. This time there was a rat under
the cornstalks and a bold butcher bird flew at him and tried to kill
him. The rat, however, got away from his enemy in feathers. One of the
butcher birds caught a mole and stuck it on a long thorn on a hawthorn
tree.
“Let us have something to eat as well as the birds,” said Uncle Philip.
So he left Blotter and Little Gray standing in the field—they were never
known to run away—and all went to a pleasant spot in the meadow and ate
the luncheon which Mama Bryant had sent in the peach basket. Oh, how
good those cookies tasted to Leicester and Keren!
Those were happy passengers who rode home that evening on the yellow
ears of corn. Keren had found one red ear and she took it home and gave
it a place by the side of her pet playthings.
At supper time Leicester told his papa what they had seen the butcher
birds do, and Aunt Dorothy said: “You must tell about it in school,
Leicester; it will make a good Monday morning story.”
That evening after Uncle Philip and Aunt Dorothy had gone home and the
children had said their little evening prayer Leicester kissed his
mother and told her he would try to be a good boy every day for a whole
week. “And I hope I will have as good a time next Saturday as I have had
to-day,” said he.
And all night long the little stars peeping through the windows saw two
happy little faces asleep upon their pillows.
Mary Grant O’Sheridan.