Down in the far corner of the orchard stood an old apple tree. Some of
its limbs were dead and the rest of it was so covered with orchard moss
that it seemed gray with age. As little Luke was passing one day, he
noticed a round hole in one of its branches. "Now," thought he to
himself, "I'll climb up and take a peep into that hole." And so he did.
As he looked into the dark cavity, there was a sudden explosion, which
sounded like the noise made by an angry cat. The little boy jumped back
so quickly that he almost fell to the ground. Just then he heard someone
in the branches of the tree above him. "Whee-ree, whee-ree," sounded a
mocking; voice, that made little Luke think that somebody was making fun
of him. He looked up and saw Kit-chee the Great Crested Flycatcher.
"Ah-ha!" said Kit-chee; "so she scared you, did she?"
The little boy moved his hand toward the hole.
"Better not; better not," said Kit-chee; "that's Mother Kit-chee in
there. She doesn't like to be disturbed, and she has a temper of her
own, and a sharp bill to go with it."
"Excuse me, Father Kit-chee," said the little boy; "I didn't know. I
only wanted to see what was in that hole."
"All right," said Kit-chee. "We don't mind you. Perhaps, if you ask her
politely, she'll come out and let you take a peep."
"Pray, Mother Kit-chee," said the little boy, "aren't you hungry? There
are some nice flies and bugs out here, and besides, if you will be kind
enough to allow me, I should like a peep at your nest and eggs."
"Oh, very well," answered Mother Kit-chee, "I'll do anything to oblige
you, when you speak in that way." And out she came.
Both Father Kit-chee and Mother Kit-chee were rather handsome, dignified
birds. They each wore a coat of butternut brown, mixed with olive green,
and a vest pearl gray toward the throat and yellow lower down.
"Thank you," said the little boy to Mother Kit-chee as she came out,
"I'll not disturb anything. I'll be very careful." And so he was. He
looked down into the hole, where he saw five creamy-white eggs, streaked
lengthwise with brown. But the queerest thing he saw was a snake-skin
which formed part of the nest.
"There's the skin of a snake," exclaimed the little boy. "How did that
come there? Did the snake try to steal your eggs, and did you kill him?"
"Oh, no," replied Father Kit-chee, "I found that skin over yonder in the
pasture. You know that A-tos-sa the Snake sheds his skin when it grows
old and stiff, and grows a new one that fits him better. We just pick up
the cast-off skins and build them into our nests."
"What on earth do you do it for?" asked the little boy. "I wouldn't want
such a thing around my bed. I don't like snakes, or even their skins."
"I don't like snakes either," said Kit-chee, "but it's a custom in our
family to use their skins in nest-building. Wherever you find a home
of one of our tribe, there you will find a snake-skin. I've heard my
grandfather say that our kinfolk, who dwell far to the south beyond the
big seawater, have the same custom. There's a tradition about it, too."
"Oh, please tell me about it," said the little boy. "I'm sure it will be
an interesting story."
"Very well; anything to please you," said Kit-chee.