AUTUMN.

The strawberries had entirely disappeared, the raspberries and

gooseberries had followed, the last of the hay had been some time

gathered in, and dry grass had taken the place of flowery meadows. The

corn which had been green and soft was rapidly becoming hard and golden.

It was now that the Blackbird became aware that the sun was once more

beginning to go earlier to bed, and yet to get up later.

"No doubt the sun is getting tired," thought the Blackbird, "and no

wonder; he has been up and shining so many hours lately. I shall be glad

when he has had a good long rest, and begins to rise early again, for

the birds are not singing so sweetly as they used to do, and even the

poor flowers begin to droop."

However, the days were still beautiful, though the blue sky was now

often obscured by clouds, and the evenings were getting rather chilly.

The oaks were still as fresh as ever, but many other trees had changed

their bright green for the deeper and more golden tints of autumn. In

some places brown and crisp leaves already formed a thick carpet, and

the beeches were fast flinging their ripe nuts to the ground. For all

that, it was a little hard to realise that Autumn had already begun, for

many flowers yet lingered, and the white and yellow roses still

enlivened the gray face of the old mansion.

However, as the Blackbird had learnt to know, there were fruits and joys

for every season, and if the strawberries and cherries had gone, were

there not rosy-cheeked apples and delicious pears, which had been

wanting in the summer?

There was one apple-tree in the orchard which he specially remembered;

he had noticed it in the spring with its wealth of pink-white blossoms.

The blossoms had quickly fallen, and he recollected hopping and frisking

about among the soft, rosy petals as they strewed the grass. He had

regretted the fall of these pretty leaflets, and, of course, had gone

to the old Rook for consolation.

"Wait a while," had been the Rook's sage remark; "they have only fallen

off to give place to something better."

The old sage was right, they had been pushed off, in order that the

apples of autumn might come to perfection. This tree was now covered

with rosy-cheeked, tempting fruit, pippins, that were so round and

plump, that their skins appeared to have a great difficulty in

containing them, and the Blackbird determined that no time should be

lost in conducting his young family there.

Accordingly, one fine evening found him on the wing, at the head of his

summer nestlings, who were fast developing into grown-up birds. He

alighted on a bough, and hopped down from thence to the grass, where the

apples lay very temptingly around. Just as he was about to commence

supper, he became aware of a very fierce-looking man who was standing

with outstretched and threatening arms, only a few yards from the tree.

The Blackbird immediately rose in the air and flew away with a shrill

cry, and all his young ones followed him. They did not venture to stop

till they reached a neighbouring field. The appearance of the man at

this time was all the more singular, for the Blackbird never before

remembered to have seen the gardener in the orchard, so late in the

evening. However, the next morning he determined to be there betimes,

and to make his breakfast off the apples, although he had lost his

supper. As he flew along, followed by his young ones, he said, "Now

remember, my children, always to be very careful, and never go near the

orchard if the gardener happens to be about, for the hard-hearted man

would think nothing of shooting every one of us, and all for the sake of

his miserable apples."

This admonition did not make the young Blackbirds feel over comfortable,

and as they hopped to the grass their poor little legs trembled with

alarm.

At this moment a shrill cry from their parent startled them, and again

they quickly scattered, for the dreadful gardener had already arrived,

and was there awaiting them, standing by the tree with his outstretched

arms.

It certainly was very provoking and terrifying, and after one or two

more feeble attempts upon the apples the Blackbird determined to give

up the orchard altogether, for go at what time he might, that horrible,

that ugly old gardener was always there before him.

One day he happened to mention his trouble and disappointment to the

Rook. You should have seen that bird's face; his usually solemn

expression of countenance suddenly gave way to one of intense amusement,

as he replied, "Ah, you hav'n't been quite so many years about the

orchards as I have, or you wouldn't have been quite so frightened. The

gardener has tried that old trick upon me and mine so often that I'm

quite accustomed to it. Why, it's not a gardener at all--it's a rickety

old Scare-crow! However," he added, as he saw the Blackbird look rather

ashamed and crestfallen, "I was quite taken in myself at first; but one

day I happened to be passing the orchard just as a gale of wind was

blowing, and saw the Scare-crow topple over. Since that day I've never

been afraid of scare-crows, although there's an old farmer near here who

puts most frightful-looking ones in his corn fields, worse than any I've

ever seen anywhere else. It's of no use, however, we don't care a bit

for them. They must find out something much more terrible than

scare-crows if they want to frighten the crows or us."

It must be confessed that the Blackbird never had the moral courage to

acknowledge how completely he had been taken in, and it was only

gradually that his young ones found out that after all the scare-crow

was not the dreaded gardener, but only some very shabby old clothes

arranged on a stupid pole or two.

It was about this time that the Blackbird haunted the neighbourhood of a

certain lane, where the bramble blossoms had been succeeded by the

wild-fruits of autumn. The blackberries were abundant, and it was not

the Blackbird only who found this lane, with its high hedgerows, an

attractive spot. Little Willie would sometimes persuade his unwilling

nurse to take that lane on their way home, "just for a treat, you know;"

and while the nurserymaid, followed by Mrs. Barlow, pushed Alice in her

perambulator, Willie would linger far behind, making many overt attacks

upon the blackberries, thereby tearing his clothes and staining his lips

and fingers.

One day the Blackbird was much amused at a scene which took place in the

lane between Mrs. Barlow and her young charges. The nurserymaid had been

left at home, Nanny was alone with them, Willie had lagged far behind,

and had stuffed his mouth, and then with some difficulty all his

pockets, full of ripe blackberries. Of course Nanny knew nothing of

this; she was rather exhausted, and had stopped for a moment,

perambulator in hand, to speak to a friend.

This was an opportunity not to be lost. Willie ran up with one of his

small hands full of the juicy berries, they were so good he _must_ give

some to Alice. The delighted little girl opened wide her rosy mouth to

receive the fruit. The crushed berries were hastily pushed in by Willie,

leaving large purple stains on her lips and chin, and in his haste and

fear of being discovered he let several fall on her pale blue pelisse.

It was just at this moment that Nurse Barlow looked round. "Master

Willie! Master Willie!" she cried, darting forward and seizing him by

both hands, "haven't I often and often told you Miss Alice is not to

have those nasty berries? Didn't I only yesterday read in the newspaper

of three children that were poisoned to death by eating berries out of a

hedge--poor little children that had no nurse to look after them; and

here you've given the darling those nasty, poisonous things. Just look

at her mouth!" and she paused as she turned to examine Willie's

pockets. "I do declare if you haven't gone and put them into the pockets

of your new clothes! Well," said she, appealing to her friend, "did you

ever see the like? That's his new suit, on yesterday for the first

time,--and just look!" she continued, as one after the other she slowly

turned the pockets inside out, "just look!"

The pockets were purple, as were also the lips and hands of the

delinquent, and he really looked as penitent as he felt, though, as

Nurse Barlow said, "where's the use of being sorry when the mischief's

done?" Willie promised that he really would behave better another time,

and that he had not meant to do any harm. In the meanwhile little Alice

had mightily enjoyed the taste of these her first blackberries, but she

and Willie did not forget in a hurry the terrible scolding, and the much

more terrible washing, which succeeded that famous day's blackberrying

in the lane.

The Blackbird congratulated himself that he had no blue suit of clothes

to spoil, and that his coat was of such a colour that the berries could

not harm it.

We have already said that the Blackbird had his interests and pleasures

even at this autumn time, but it must be owned that a good deal of life

and enjoyment had gone with the summer.

The woods were almost songless, and each day added to the increasing

multitude of dead leaves that drove before the wind; each day, too, the

bare boughs, once so well covered, flung a few more of their last leaves

to the ground. About this time, too, the Blackbird did not feel quite

well--he was listless, his wings would droop in spite of himself. His

feathers were not so black and glossy as they had been,--the fact was,

the moulting season had begun, and it was some time before he began to

feel really bright and well again.

It was also about this time that the Blackbird noticed a most unusual

gathering together of the swallows, and a good deal of commotion and

twittering. They assembled in large flocks, and appeared to be eagerly

discussing some weighty affair of State. After such discussions they

would suddenly disperse, but only to re-assemble and twitter more

eagerly than ever.

What could it all mean? Of course the sage and experienced Rook was

referred to.

"These birds," he said, "are about to what is called _migrate_, it is a

very important event to them, and they hold long consultations

beforehand. As you may remember, I told you in the spring they do not

spend above half the year in England, and now that the leaves are

falling, and the winds are getting cold, they know it is high time to be

off. They are wonderfully quick flyers, a few days will find them on the

distant shores of Africa."

"It must be very sunny, very delightful there," said the Blackbird.

"I daresay it is," replied the Rook, hopping slowly from one fir-branch

to another; "but I had far rather remain at home. Dear old place!" he

said, looking at the venerable gray mansion, and then at the beautiful

lake and wood behind which the sun was setting. "I wouldn't miss the

winter and spring here for anything that Africa or any other place in

the wide world could give me."

The gray stones and gables were bright with the glory of the setting

sun, the ruddy stems of the firs had caught the reflection and stood out

in their depth of red from the dark green foliage. Some autumn flowers

and a few late roses still gave colour to the garden, and the sound of

far-off childish voices echoed from the more distant lime-trees.

Willie came dancing across the lawn, and the perambulator, pushed by

Nurse Barlow, followed more slowly. Willie's eyes were sparkling with

excitement. He had been out with his father, and had hunted the

hedgerows for blackberries to his heart's content. In one hand he held a

small basket wherein lay some fresh-gathered mushrooms. In the other he

bore in triumph a large hazel branch, loaded with nuts. Just then his

mother came out on the lawn, and he ran towards her with eager joy and

affection.

"Look, mother! I picked these in the field my very own self. Ain't they

beauties?" he said, turning the mushrooms slowly over; "they're for your

dinner, and _I_ picked them."

They certainly looked very fresh and tempting, with their glossy white

tops and soft pink gills.

"Thank you, my darling," said his mother, stroking the brown hair back

from his bright face, "I shall like them very much."

At this moment Willie caught sight of a little black head and a pair of

bright eyes between the fir-branches.

"Mother," he whispered, pointing to the branch, "that's our Blackbird.

He's fond of blackberries; he was eating some in the hedge the other

day--I saw him. I have a few in the corner of the basket here. I'll

throw them to him."

A few blackberries were scattered on the grass on the other side of the

fir-tree, and Willie moved a little further off, for fear the Blackbird

should be shy.

"These nuts are for your dessert, mother," he continued, holding out the

hazel branch in triumph.

"It is very good of my little boy to think of mamma," said his mother.

"Isn't it, Barlow?" she said, turning to that rather exhausted person,

who now came slowly up.

Nurse Barlow had not had a happy afternoon. She had been toiling through

the lanes after Willie and his papa. The lanes were muddy, they had gone

a long way, and she was very tired. She had made up her mind that the

mushrooms were toadstools. It is true that they had come from a meadow

in the neighbourhood where excellent mushrooms were wont to grow, but

all the same, she was fully persuaded that these particular ones were

toadstools, "just such as my poor sister's little boy nearly died of

eating."

Then again Master Willie had eaten "pounds of blackberries, let alone

those nasty nuts."

It turned out that Nurse Barlow's fears were happily unfounded, for

Willie's papa had forbidden the consumption of nuts and limited the

quantity of blackberries.

Notwithstanding these assurances, "Nanny" refused to be comforted, and

as she tucked Willie in his little bed, she soothingly remarked, "A nice

lot of physic I shall have to give you. Then you'll have to stay

indoors, and you'll both be very cross and very tiresome; I know what it

will be."

That night Willie's dreams were troubled, but they were mingled with a

deep bliss notwithstanding. He seemed to be wandering through endless

lanes where thousands of ripe and gigantic blackberries grew on all

sides,--they actually seemed to bend forward and drop into his basket as

he passed. Hazel-nuts were there also, of a marvellous size, and very

brown and sweet, browner and sweeter than any he ever remembered to have

eaten. He passed from the lanes into a field, where the mushrooms grew

so thickly, that it was difficult to avoid treading on them as he

walked. What greatly added to the delights of the expedition was the

fact that all the time the Blackbird hopped by his side. He, too, seemed

to have grown larger, and he was wonderfully tame, and allowed Willie to

stroke his glossy head and back. Arrived at the end of the meadow,

however, Willie seemed somehow to pass into another lane, and there on

the hedgerows instead of blackberries hung curious-looking bottles, and

they were all labelled "Mr. Phil Viall, Chemist and Druggist."

Alas! poor Willie, he knew those bottles far too well. Some of them were

yellow and others were white, while a few were dreadfully black.

"Nanny," grown very tall indeed, marched before him down the lane,

pointing sternly to each bottle as she passed.

At this moment Willie awoke, and was very glad to find that after all it

was only a dream, that the bright morning sun was streaming through the

white dimity curtains, and that he did not feel one bit the worse for

yesterday's expedition.

A few days passed away, and the Blackbird found that all that the

Rook had told him was strictly true, for before long an evening

arrived when a great many swallows began to congregate; then after a

good deal of twittering and excitement they took wing, and flew steadily

away towards the setting sun. The next morning the Blackbird sadly

missed the twitter of his small friends. No little glossy dark heads

were to be seen peeping out of the clay-built nests under the eaves,

and no white-breasted flyers skimmed the lawn. Yes, the swallows were

indeed gone, and the Blackbird sadly realised the fact that the

summer and its singers were gone too, left far behind in the months of

long ago.

That evening, after watching the flight of the swallows, the Blackbird

flew from the fir to his favourite branch on the lime, where we were

first introduced to him. He felt rather sad, there was so much that was

bright and joyous and sunny to look back upon in the past spring and

summer; there was not a little that was dark and cold and dreary to look

forward to in the approaching winter. As he was meditating on the past,

and thinking of the future, a bright, a familiar note greeted him from a

branch close by,--in another moment the Robin had hopped to his side.

"My dear little friend," cried the Blackbird, "I haven't seen you for a

long time."

"I've often seen you though," said the Robin; "but what with your two

large families, and all the delights and distractions of the summer, you

have been a good deal occupied."

"I haven't heard you singing," said the Blackbird.

"Don't you remember what I told you in the spring?" replied the Robin;

"my poor little song is quite extinguished when so many others are

singing, but now I am beginning to be heard once more."

Again he poured forth a clear, bright carol.

"As I have said before," remarked the Blackbird, "you are a very good

little bird, you come to cheer us just when we want cheering."

"But you're not so down-hearted as you used to be," said the Robin.

"That is due then to your bright little lessons," said the Blackbird

gratefully, "and the teaching of our dear old friend the Rook there."

In another moment the Rook, who was passing, had joined them on the

lime-tree bough, and together the three friends watched the sun setting,

and wondered where the swallows had got to by that time.

The evening was chilly, and a damp mist lay over the meadows, a warning

to the birds that it was time to be going home.

[Illustration: THE THREE FRIENDS--THE ROBIN, THE ROOK, AND THE BLACKBIRD.]

"Yes," said the Blackbird reflectively, taking up the conversation where

he had left off, "I ought to be very grateful to you, Mr. Rook,--and to

you, my dear little friend," he said, turning to the Robin. "You, Mr.

Rook, have taught me a great deal, and given me a real interest in the

creatures and things about me, which I should not have had otherwise.

Above all, you have taught me the great lesson of faith and trust. And

you, dear little red-breasted friend, have taught me the sweet lesson of

content, and not that alone, but you have shown me that each of us in

our small way should try to make the world a little better and brighter

for those around us. You do it, Mr. Rook; you do it, little Robin;

Willie and Alice do it, with their kind thoughtfulness for us, and why

should not I try to do it also,--I will, and this very winter too."

All the birds were grave and silent for a few moments, and then, as they

took an affectionate leave of each other before parting, the Rook said,

"There was a pretty little poem once written about the Robin. I will

repeat it to you before we separate:

"Unheard in Summer's flaring ray,

Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer,

Wooing the stillness of the autumn day:

Bid it a moment linger,

Nor fly

Too soon from Winter's scowling eye.

"The Blackbird's song at eventide,

And hers, who gay ascends,

Filling the heavens far and wide,

Are sweet. But none so blends,

As thine

With calm decay, and peace divine."

Each day now the sun rose later and went to bed earlier. Willie and

Alice still ran about the garden, stamping their little feet among the

dry, crisp leaves, and picking up the beech-nuts which strewed the

ground.

However, as time went on, they came less out of doors, for cold and wet

days followed each other, when all that the Blackbird saw of his little

friends were the two small faces pressed against the dining-room

window-pane, looking wistfully out as the clouds drove past, and the

rain pattered against the glass.

At last a night arrived when it was very cold indeed. Through the bare

boughs, and on to the hedgerows and ivy, stole down the pure, soft snow.

The Blackbird put his head out of the ivy-bush to see what sort of night

it might be, and lo! under the pale light of the moon, all the landscape

lay white and dazzling before him.

One little flake dropt upon his head--one cold, soft flake; but as he

drew back into the shelter of the ivy, to return once more to rest, it

was with very different thoughts and feelings than those gloomy ones

which had troubled him the year before. He now knew what the beautiful

snow meant. It was the beginning of a hard winter, it was the herald of

cold, dark days. But he had also been taught a lesson of faith; he knew

of the winter berries which would be provided for him by One who

remembered even the despised Sparrows; he knew of a certain bay window

where two eager little faces would be watching for him, through all the

cold, dark days; and as he closed his eyes, on this the first night of

winter, he remembered that little Willie and Alice, and he himself, and

all created things, were under the protection of Him Who "casteth forth

His ice like morsels," but Who, in His own good time, would again bring

about the "time of the singing of birds," when, once more, as of old,

"the voice of the turtle" would be "heard in the land."