There is, hidden away in a corner of Northern India, a tiny orchard which
may be likened to an oasis in the desert, because the trees which compose
it are always fresh and green, even when the surrounding country is dry
and parched. Last April two or three of the paradise flycatchers who were
on their annual journey northward were tempted to tarry awhile in this
orchard to enjoy the cool shade afforded by the trees. They found the
place very pleasant, and insect life was so abundant that they determined
to remain there during the summer. Thus it chanced that one morning,
early in May, a cock flycatcher was perched on one of the trees, preening
his feathers. A magnificent object was he amid the green foliage. The
glossy black of his crested head formed a striking contrast to the
whiteness of the remainder of his plumage. His two long median tail
feathers, that hung down like satin streamers, formed an ornament more
beautiful than the train of a peacock. He was so handsome that a hen
flycatcher, who was sitting in a tree near by, resolved to make him wed
her; but there was another hen living in the same orchard who was equally
determined to secure the handsome cock as her mate. Even while the first
hen was admiring him, her rival came up and made as if to show off her
dainty chestnut plumage. This so angered the first hen that she attacked
her rival. A duel then took place between the two little birds. It was
not of long duration, for the second hen soon discovered that she was no
match for the first, and deeming discretion to be the better part of
valour, she flew away and left the orchard before she sustained any
injury. Then the triumphant hen, flushed with victory, went up to the
cock and said, “See what I have done for love of thee. I have driven away
my rival. Wed me, I pray, for I am worthy of thee. Behold how beautiful I
am.” The cock looked at her as she stood there spreading her chestnut
wings and saw that she was fair to gaze upon. He then fluttered his snowy
pinions and sang a sweet little warble, which is the way a cock bird
tells the lady of his choice that he loves her.
For the next few days these little birds led an idyllic existence. Free
from care and anxiety, they disported themselves in that shady grove, now
playing hide-and-seek among the foliage, now making graceful sweeps after
their insect quarry, now pouring out the fulness of their love—the cock
in sweet song and mellow warble, the hen in her peculiar twittering note.
Their happiness was complete; never did the shadow of a cloud mar the
sunshine of their springtime.
One day they were simultaneously seized by the impulse to build a nest.
First a suitable site had to be chosen. After much searching and anxious
consultation, mingled with love-making, they agreed upon the branch of a
pear tree, some eight feet above the ground. During the whole of the
following week they were busy seeking for grass stems, which they
fastened to the branch of the tree by means of strands of cobweb. They
did not hunt for material in company, as some birds do. The cock would go
in one direction and the hen in another. Each, as it found a suitable
piece of dried grass, or moss, or cobweb, or whatever it happened to be
seeking, would dash back joyfully to the nest with it and weave it into
the structure. Sometimes one bird would return while the other was at
work on the nursery; the former would then sit near by and wait until the
latter had finished.
At the end of the first day the nest appeared to the uninitiated eye
merely a tangle of grass stems stuck on to the tree, but owing to the
united efforts of the energetic little builders, it soon took definite
shape. By the third day it was obvious that the nest was to have the form
of an inverted cone firmly bound to the branch of the tree. The birds
took the utmost care to make the nest circular. In order to ensure a
smooth, round cavity they would sit in it and, with wings spread over the
edge, turn their bodies round and round. At the end of about five days’
steady work the nursery had assumed its final shape. But even then much
remained to be done. The whole of the exterior had to be thickly covered
with cobweb and little silky cocoons. This was two full days’ work.
Great was the delight of the little birds when the last delicate filament
had been added. Their joy knew no bounds. They would sit in the nest and
cry out in pure delight. The whole orchard rang with their notes of
jubilation. Then a little pinkish egg, spotted with red, appeared in the
nest. This was followed, next day, by another. On the fifth day after its
completion the nursery contained the full clutch of four eggs.
Most carefully did the birds watch over their priceless treasures. Never
for a moment did they leave them unguarded; one of the pair invariably
remained sitting on the nest, while the other went to look for food and
dissipate its exuberant energy in song or motion. During the day the cock
and hen shared equally the duties of incubation, but the hen sat
throughout the night while the cock roosted in a tree hard by. So healthy
were the little birds and so comfortably weary with the labours of the
day that they slept uninterruptedly all the night through; nor did they
wake up when a human being came with a lantern and inspected the nest.
Thus some ten days passed. But these were not days of weariness, because
the hearts of the little flycatchers were full of joy.
Then a young bird emerged from one of the eggs. It was an unlovely, naked
creature—all mouth and stomach. But its parents did not think it ugly.
Its advent only served to increase their happiness. They were now able to
spend their large surplus of energy in seeking food for it.
Ere long its brethren came out of their shells, and there were then four
mouths to feed; so that the father and mother had plenty to do, but they
still found time in which to sing.
Thus far everything had gone as merrily as a marriage bell. The happiness
of those lovely little airy fairy creatures was without alloy. It is true
that they sometimes had their worries and anxieties, as when a human
being chanced to approach the nest; but these were as fleeting as the
tints in a sunset sky, and were half forgotten ere they had passed away.
This idyllic existence was, alas, not destined to endure.
One day, when the man who kept guard over the orchard slumbered, a native
boy entered it with the intention of stealing fruit. But the pears were
yet green, and this angered the urchin. As he was about to leave the
grove he espied the beautiful cock flycatcher sitting on the nest. The
boy had no soul for beauty; he was not spell-bound by the beautiful sight
that met his eyes. He went to the tree, drove away the sitting bird, tore
down the branch on which the nest was placed and bore it off with its
occupants in triumph, amid the distressed cries of the cock bird. These
soon brought back the hen, and great was her lamentation when she found
that that which she valued most in the world had gone. Her sorrow and
rage knew no bounds. Poignant, too, was the grief of the cock bird, for
he had been an eye-witness of the dastardly act. For a few hours all the
joy seemed to have left the lives of those little birds. But they were
too active, too healthy, too full of life to be miserable long. Soon the
pleasantness of their surroundings began to manifest itself to them and
soothe their sorrow, for the sun was still shining, the air was sweet and
cool, the insects hummed their soft chorus, and their fellow-birds poured
forth their joy. So the cock began to sing and said to his mate, “Be not
cast down, the year is yet young, many suns shall come and go before the
cold will drive us from this northern clime; there is time for us to
build another nest. Let us leave this treacherous grove and seek some
other place.” The hen found that these words were good. Thus did these
little birds forget their sorrow and grow as blithe and gay as they had
been before. But that orchard knew them no more.