"Oh, it's just a common Sparrow," I hear Bobbie say to his mamma, "why, I
see lots of them on the street every day."
Of course you do, but for all that you know very little about me I
guess. Some people call me "Hoodlum," and "Pest," and even "Rat of the
Air." I hope you don't. It is only the folks who don't like me that call
me ugly names.
Why don't they like me?
Well, in the first place the city people, who like fine feathers, you
know, say I am not pretty; then the farmers, who are not grateful for
the insects I eat, say I devour the young buds and vines as well as the
ripened grain. Then the folks who like birds with fine feathers, and
that can sing like angels, such as the Martin and the Bluebird and a
host of others, say I drive them away, back to the forests where they
came from.
Do I do all these things?
I'm afraid I do. I like to have my own way. Maybe you know something
about that yourself, Bobbie. When I choose a particular tree or place
for myself and family to live in, I am going to have it if I have to
fight for it. I do chase the other birds away then, to be sure.
Oh, no, I don't always succeed. Once I remember a Robin got the better
of me, so did a Catbird, and another time a Baltimore Oriole. When I
can't whip a bird myself I generally give a call and a whole troop of
Sparrows will come to my aid. My, how we do enjoy a fuss like that!
A bully? Well, yes, if by that you mean I rule around my own house, then
I _am_ a bully. My mate has to do just as I say, and the little Sparrows
have to mind their papa, too.
"Don't hurt the little darlings, papa," says their mother, when it comes
time for them to fly, and I hop about the nest, scolding them at the top
of my voice. Then I scold her for daring to talk to me, and sometimes
make her fly away while I teach the young ones a thing or two. Once in a
while a little fellow among them will "talk back." I don't mind that
though, if he is a Cock Sparrow and looks like his papa.
No, we do not sing. We leave that for the Song Sparrows. We talk a great
deal, though. In the morning when we get up, and at night when we go to
bed we chatter a great deal. Indeed there are people shabby enough to
say that we are great nuisances about that time.
[Illustration: From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences.
ENGLISH SPARROW.
Copyrighted by
Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.]