Wouldn't the little readers of BIRDS AND ALL NATURE enjoy a talk with a
mother-bird? The father-bird, it seems to me, has done all the talking
hitherto. Because he is handsome and can sing is no reason why Jim, my
mate, should write up the history of his family. It would have been a
sorry attempt had he tried, I promise you, for though he is a Hartz
Mountain Canary--pure yellow and white like the lower bird in the
picture--he is not at all clever. My mistress says I have more sense in
one of my little toes than Jim has in his whole body.
"You cute little thing," she exclaims when I kiss her, or take a hemp
seed from off her finger, "you are the dearest and wisest little bird
in the world."
Jim sometimes taunts me because I wear such sober colors--black
and brown with green and yellow mixed--like the upper bird in the
picture--but I retort that I am a Hartz Mountain bird, also, and have
just as good German blood in my veins as he has. Neither of us ever saw
the Hartz Mountains, of course, for we were born in Chicago, but our
great grandmothers did, I am sure.
A good husband? No, I can't say that Jim is. He is too quarrelsome. My
mistress says he is a bully, whatever that may mean. He has a fashion
of standing by the seed cup and daring me to come and pick up a seed;
the same with the drinking-water and the bathing-dish. Then again he
is very gracious, and calls me pet names, and sings at the top of his
voice every love song he knows. Sometimes I try to imitate him, when
he flies into a rage and sharply bids me "shut up." I am too meek to
return the compliment, even when I have grown weary of his music, but
my mistress shakes her finger at him and calls him a "naughty, naughty
bird."
She can't tame Jim, all she may do. Few canary birds will resist a
hemp seed when offered on a finger. My mistress used to crack them
between her teeth and coax and coax him to take one, but he never
would. That's the reason she calls him stupid, for we love hemp seed
just as you little folks love peanuts, you know. That's the way she
tamed me, and that's the way you can tame your canary if you have one.
I have had a rather eventful history for a bird. In the first
place--but let me begin at the beginning and tell you the circumstance
just as it happened.
It was about four years ago, so far as I can recollect, that I caught
my first glimpse of the world and tasted the sweets of freedom. One
balmy morning in June, I escaped from my cage, and the window being
open, out I joyously flew into the bright sunshine. I was a little
dazzled at first and frightened. How immense the world seemed! How far
away the tender blue sky over which the fleecy clouds sailed, that
sky which I had thought a mere patch when seen from my cage in the
window! How many houses there were, and how inviting the green trees
and grass-plots! I fairly danced with joy, and chirped, "I'm free, I'm
free," as I flew from place to place, my wings, never tiring, bearing
me from tree to housetop and from housetop to tree.
Ah, that was a day never to be forgotten. How I escaped the dangers
which lurk about the steps of the unwary and innocent has always been
a marvel to me. The hostile sparrows, for instance, the green-eyed,
sharp-clawed cat, the sling-shot of the cruel boy, the--but why linger
over horrors which might, but did not happen?
In this way the morning passed joyfully, the pangs of hunger, as noon
approached, however, advising me sharply it was near dinner time. From
housetop to housetop I flew, from tree to tree, but nowhere could I
find a little china cup filled with rape, hemp, and canary seed, or a
tiny glass vessel filled with water that I might slake my thirst.
What should I do? A bird brought up as I had been, I reflected, could
never descend to work for a living, as the sparrows did, and other wild
birds which I had met among the trees. Some of them ate insects--fact,
I assure you--and one red-headed bird, wearing a coat of many gay
colors, simply tapped and tapped on a tree with his hard bill whenever
he wanted his dinner.
"Come in," said the bug, innocently, who was making his home between
the bark and the tree, "come in."
Nobody appearing, the bug ventured out to see who his caller might be.
"Good morning," grinned the woodpecker, and then politely gobbled the
poor bug up.
But I was not brought up that way. I could not eat bugs, neither could
I rummage in the garbage boxes as the sparrows did. Oh, how unwise of
me, and how ungrateful to run away from a home where my every need was
faithfully served by a kind mistress. Like the prodigal I would return.
Surely I would know the house, the very window from which I had fled.
Yes, I would start at once, and off I flew in the direction which I
thought I had come.
But, alas! how alike all the houses in that neighborhood seemed. Vainly
did I fly down on many a window-sill and peer in. No mistress' face
greeted me, no empty cage swung idly between the curtains. At length,
faint from hunger and fatigue, I flew down and perched upon the railing
of a porch where two ladies were sitting.
"You dear little thing," said one of the ladies--I want to say here
that I am much smaller than the dark Hartz Mountain bird who sat for
her picture--"I never saw a sparrow so tiny, or marked like you before."
"It's a canary, not a sparrow," said the other lady, "doubtless,
somebody's lost pet," and she held out her hand, and chirped and talked
to me very much like my lost mistress had done.
"Poor little wanderer," she at length said, as I looked at her, but
made no effort to fly away, "I have an idea you came to us for food,"
and then she went into the house and shortly returned with a cage in
the bottom of which she scattered seed, placing it upon the ground very
close to me.
"Rape, hemp and canary," I chirped, "the seed I am used to," and down
I at once flew, hopped into the cage, and, the next moment, was made
prisoner.
Sorry?
Well, really I don't know. My period of freedom had been so brief, and
attended with such anxiety and fear, that I hardly knew whether to
laugh or cry. The next day, however, I knew that my lines had indeed
fallen in pleasant places. My first mistress had been kind, but oh, how
much more tender and thoughtful the new one proved to be!
"I was a helpless little creature," she said, "and upon her depended my
entire comfort and happiness." Never for one day did she neglect me.
Though my regular bill-of-fare was bird-seed, yet she varied it as she
did her own. Cracker, lettuce, apples, grapes, cherries, sugar, and
always in the summer, pepper-grass. If you little folks have a canary
never fail, I beseech you, to give them of the latter all they want to
eat. It costs nothing and may be gathered in any vacant lot fresh every
day.
What pleasure so kind a mistress could find in keeping me in a little
gilt cage, I could not see, for there were screens in the window, and
even if there had not been I don't believe I should have cared to fly
away. Something in my appearance one day suggested the thought to her,
I am sure, for looking at me earnestly, she said:
"You are not happy, my birdie, I fear. Neither would I be, cooped up
in a cage like that," and so she opened wide the door and out I flew,
never to be a prisoner again--till, well, I will not speak of that just
here, but keep it for the close.
What famous times we did have after that, to be sure. Whenever I felt
lonesome down I'd fly upon the desk where my mistress sat writing. She
would pretend not to see me till I had hopped upon the very sheet over
which her pen was gliding.
"Why birdie!" she would then cry, as though very much astonished, and
off I'd fly, as she made a dash for me, to the window where I would
hide behind the ruffle of the sash curtain.
"_Cheep, cheep_," I'd cry, just as you little folks cry "whoop," when
all is ready, "_cheep, cheep_."
"Where can my birdie be?" she would say after awhile, dropping her
pen. "Where can she be?" and then she would look here and there, till
presently approaching my hiding-place, out I'd fly, with a gurgle, into
an adjoining room, where I'd again crouch behind the curtain. Between
you and me I believe she knew all the time where I was hiding and only
pretended to search for me here and there. Anyway it was capital fun,
and I never tired of it, though mistress did.
"I can't play with you any more," she would say, "you quite tire me
out," and then she would go to writing again and so our game of "hide
and seek" would end for that day.
"Everything needs companionship," she said one morning to my master,
"birds, children and men," and so that day he brought home a large
wooden cage in which was as handsome a canary bird as you would want
to see. That was Jim, and oh, how happy I was, when, a few days after,
he asked me to be his mate. I said "yes," almost before he had got the
song out of his mouth--I didn't know what a tyrant and bully he was
till afterward, you know--and so we went pretty soon to housekeeping in
the wooden cage.
My mistress understood what I wanted when she saw me picking up threads
and pulling her chenille table cover to pieces, and so in one corner of
the cage she put a nest made of wire and covered with a bit of muslin.
Near by were little heaps of cotton-batting, wrapping-cord, and hair.
Dear, dear, how busy I was for days! Jim, as I have said before, did
nothing much but sing--and criticise. More than once I dragged all
the furniture out of our wire home, because he thought I should have
put the hair in first, and the cotton and strings in afterward. For
a newly wedded couple, on their honeymoon so to speak, we did a vast
amount of quarreling. The nest, however, was at last made cozy enough
to suit us, and so one day I climbed in it and sat for quite a while.
Then I called to Jim and I must say he seemed to be just as proud as
I was of the little blue speckled egg which lay there so snug in the
cotton. The next day but one I laid another, and then one every day
till I had laid five. My, how I felt when I gathered them up close
under me and sat down to brood. If all went well, after thirteen or
fourteen days, we would have five dear birdlings. For fear the eggs
might get chilled I left them only a few minutes at a time, hurriedly
eating a few seeds, then back on the nest again. Jim could have helped
me very much by brooding the eggs while I took exercise and my meals,
but he was too selfish for that. All he did was to fly about and sing,
bidding me to keep my spirits up. If it hadn't been for my mistress I
should have fared badly, you may believe. She fed me crackers soaked in
milk, cracked hemp seeds and placed them around the edge of the nest,
besides other delicacies in the vegetable line too numerous to mention.
When the birdlings were born Jim appeared to be very proud indeed. He
couldn't sing long or loud enough, leaving me to feed the five gaping,
pleading red mouths every day. Ah, no one knows better than a mother
how much trouble and worry there is in bringing up a family. I'm sure
I have had experience enough, for since that time I have had so many
birdlings I can't count them. One season I had eighteen, three nests,
and six in the nest each time. They were considered such fine birds
that my mistress had no difficulty in selling them as soon as they
learned to sing.
Now I am coming to a period the thought of which fills my heart with
sorrow. For some reason that I am not able to tell you, my mistress
concluded to part with me and Jim. She shed tears over it, I know, but
nevertheless we felt ourselves being borne away one night, and in the
morning, lo! we found ourselves in a large, bare room, on the floor of
which was painted an immense ring or circle. I was sitting on six blue,
speckled eggs at the time, and didn't mind it so much, but Jim was
very cross and restless, for the cage door was fastened and he bitterly
resented imprisonment. Alas! from that time forth we never were to know
freedom again; from that time forth we had to accustom ourselves to
many, many changes.
About nine o'clock the door of the room opened and in came a little
girl, followed by a little boy. Then more little girls and boys, till
I counted, as well as I could, seventeen. All one family? Oh, no, I'm
not talking about bird families now. As many as could crowded about the
cage and stared at me with wide-open eyes. The cage was on a low table
so they could peep into the nest. Oh, how frightened I was. One little
chap thrust his finger through the bars, and down I flew, leaving my
precious eggs exposed. That was what they wanted, and oh how they did
exclaim! I went back pretty soon, however, for I began to understand
that they did not mean to harm me or the eggs either. However, it was
many days ere I got over the feeling of fright when stared at by so
many eyes, but by the time the birdlings were hatched out I had grown
quite used to it. Indeed I felt somewhat proud of the interest those
wee tots took in my babies, my manner of feeding them never failing to
call forth cries of wonder and praise.
"She just chews up the seeds and swallows 'em," said a little chap one
day, "then when the baby birds cry for something to eat she brings it
up and stuffs it down their long throats with her bill. My! it's ever
so much better than a spoon."
The teacher laughed and patted the little fellow on the head.
"That is your first lesson in nature-study, Victor," said she, and then
a lady at the piano struck up a march and off they all trooped two by
two.
"Where do you suppose we are?" crossly said Jim, hopping excitedly from
one perch to another, "it looks like a lunatic asylum to me."
Jim, as I have stated before, is a very stupid bird. The words "lesson"
and "nature-study" held no meaning for him.
"It seems to me," I said, watching the little tots marching with an
observing eye, "that we are in a kindergarten."
"A kindergarten," echoed Jim, "what's that?"
"Why," I explained, "a school where young children are taught to love
everything and everybody. Surely we have nothing to fear."
And so it turned out to be, a kindergarten, in which, I am proud to
say, for purposes of nature-study, I have raised many and many a brood.