HOW THE HERMIT TAMED BIRDS
William Blackstone, as we have said, was a keen lover of nature. It
made him happy to have a wild animal begin to follow him; to have the
birds come to him for protection and shelter, and for food in the
winter. This feeling grew. The ospreys used to build their great nests
near his house and to repair them by sticks of wood and new sea-weed
every year. If an animal climbed one of the trees where these nests
were, when the birds were rearing their young, the parent birds would
wheel over his house on Study Hill and scream for help. This touched
the heart of the hermit. He told the incident to Roger, and asked him
to bring any strange animals or birds that he could find to him.
One summer day, bright Little Metacomet came again to timid Susan
with a new surprise. It was a nest with the most beautiful bird
sitting upon it that the boy had ever seen. The bird was rare and was
called the swamp robin. It was of a fiery crimson color, and had the
reputation of being a very shy bird.
Timid Susan held up her hands, and rolled up her eyes.
"Do my eyes dazzle me?" said she. "That is a mighty strange bird, all
fiery red; it might have come down from the sun. Why doesn't it fly?"
"It can't," said Little Metacomet.
"Why?"
"It has eggs under her. She is going to hatch," meaning that the eggs
were about to hatch.
"And she would rather die than leave her eggs, is that it? You darling
bird; you are bound by the cords of a mother's love."
A bird of the same kind, the mate, had been following Little Metacomet
in the top of the trees. It flashed like a red flame of fire above the
nest, and rose into the air. The mother bird rose up from the nest a
little and uttered a cry. There were four eggs under her.
"I wonder what kind of a bird that can be," said timid Susan.
"Let's take it over to the hermit," said Roger, "and ask him all about
it. He knows almost everything."
So again the three took the forest trail to the Falls of the Pawtucket
carrying the bird and nest. The other bird followed them in the trees.
"Look!" said the Indian boy to the hermit, pointing to his treasure.
"A redbird," said the hermit. "See how faithful her little heart is to
her nest. I love things that are faithful to their own."
"I did not know but that you might find a cage for her," said Roger.
"There is no need of cages," said the hermit. "Does it need any string
to tie that bird to her nest?"
"But she would fly away when her eggs hatch, and we would lose her.
That would be a pity. She is the handsomest thing that flies."
"I will not lose her," said the hermit. "Let me have her, and I will
keep her for you."
"What makes her so red?" asked Little Metacomet.
"You must ask the sun, the sky, the woods, and the hidden wisdom
there," said the hermit.
He took the nest and went to a ladder that led up to a loft where was
a window with a shutter. He placed the nest before the open window
and left it there, and they all went out into the orchard, and talked
together merrily on the goodness of everything. To them everything
appeared good. Only the good see what is good.
Mr. Barley was away in the wood at the charcoal pits, and would not
return that day, so the hermit persuaded them to stay over night, as
the princess was coming to see him the next morning.
During the day the parent redbird came to the eaves of the house and
fed his little wife on her nest.
The hermit and Metacomet and Roger slept in the loft that night where
the nest was.
When the hermit blew out the candle, he said--
"We will be very still and not disturb the bird. Still, still."
The night was hushed. There were fireflies in the air. The
whip-poor-wills sang in far trees. The moon rose high, and everything
seemed to swim in her rays as in a sea. The air was a sea of moonlight.
There was heard a queer sound--it was a living sound--tick, tick.
"What is that?" asked Roger.
"Still, still," said the hermit. "That is the clock of life.
Listen--still, still."
Pick--peck--peck.
"That is the little bird in the egg," said the hermit. "Listen, still,
still."
Pick, peck, peck.
"What makes him do it?" said Roger. "How does he know that there is a
world outside the shell?"
"Ask God that," said the hermit. "Still, still."
They listened. Timid Susan came part way up the ladder and listened.
"The little birds are pecking against the shells of their eggs," said
the hermit. "They are about to hatch."
In the morning they found four egg shells outside of the nest. They did
not disturb the bird.
When the princess came they showed her the four egg shells, and told
her the story.
Little animals came out of the woods to the door. Some blue jays
flew into the house. A white goose with many goslings came up from
the pond, and even the wild crows cawed as if laughing in the near
tree-tops.
"I have no need of any cages," said the hermit to the princess. "The
birds and animals all love me, and therein I am content."