A NEW HOME
Should it happen that the last egret is shot and the last bird of
paradise is snared to adorn a lady's dress, then--then I would not like
to be a woman for all that earth could hold.--_Herbert O. Ward._
When at last my covering was removed I found myself in a large, long
room, which I afterward learned was a millinery store. In fact the
store was the front part of the family residence, the living rooms
being behind and upstairs over it. My cage was hung near the wide
doorway at the end of the apartment and my new mistress at once ran to
fill my cup with fresh water and bring me a supply of clean millet.
After I had refreshed myself I began to look about me and study my
strange surroundings.
My new home was so unlike the little log house in the South from which
I had come that it was many days before I could accustom myself to the
clatter of voices which buzzed monotonously all day through the store.
From ten o'clock in the morning, if the day were fine, till three in
the afternoon, the din at times was almost deafening; for it was the
busy season and customers were constantly coming and going, not all of
them to buy, merely to look over the ribbons and tumble up the goods,
as I heard the tired clerks say complainingly more than once.
Numerous glass cases were placed near the walls, and running cross-wise
were a counter and shelves much frequented by ladies who stood eagerly
examining the array of bright gauzes, the glittering buckles, the
flowers and plumes displayed there. And what a chattering they kept
up! What a stir and a hubbub they made! So many "Oh-h's" and
"Ah-h's," so many "How lovely's," and other ecstatic exclamations, were
mingled with their conversation as was quite bewildering. In time,
however, I became accustomed to this and discovered it was simply a way
ladies have of expressing their approval of things in general. Around
the glass cases which held the trimmed hats the women buzzed like a
swarm of flies, their volubility assuming a more emphatic character as
they gazed within at the fashionable headgear placed on long steel
wires. Almost every hat held one, or a part of one, of my slaughtered
race. Frequently there were parts of two or three varieties on one
hat--a tail of one kind, a wing of another, or a head of a different
species. The ends of the world had been searched to make this
patchwork of blood. The women raved over the cruel display; they
gloated over our beauty; but they cared nothing for the pathetic story
the hats told of rifled nests and motherless young.
My new owner was a soft-voiced, gentle child, from whom I soon found I
had nothing to fear. She was most careful to keep my cage in order and
never neglected to feed me. Unlike her little friend Betty, she never
allowed her sports or pleasures to interfere with this duty. Often her
playmates came for a romp in the garden behind the store, but she did
not join them till she had first attended to my wants. I was fond of
having her talk to me, for her voice was sweet and kind, and the little
terms of endearment she often used were very pleasing and made me feel
she was my true friend. She once tried to pet me by stroking my
feathers, but I did not like it. Although I knew she did not mean to
hurt me, the motion of her hand made me nervous. Instead of
persisting, she only said reproachfully, as she put me back on my perch:
"Dear Dickey Downy, why are you afraid of me? Your own little Polly
wouldn't hurt you for the world. I wanted to softly stroke your pretty
plumage just out of pure love and, you dear little coward, you won't
let me."
In her affection for me, Polly did not forget the wild birds outside,
which flew about in the big evergreen trees near the garden gate. She
showed her thoughtfulness for the little creatures by strewing bread
crumbs for them on the window sills on snowy days. She often gathered
up the tablecloth after the housemaid had removed the breakfast dishes
and, running out under the trees, would shake it vigorously that her
wild pets might get all the little pieces of food that fell. Not a
bird came down as long as she remained in the yard, but as soon as she
had tripped back to the house and the door closed upon her brown curls,
I could see a drove of hungry snowbirds swoop from the trees, and in a
minute every crumb would be picked up. I am sure they must have loved
dear little Polly, for many a choice bit did they get through her
kindness.
While the majority of the customers at the store were well-dressed
women, there were many who came to buy hats who looked poor and
pinched. A few looked slatternly.
A sudden swing of their dress skirts would disclose a badly frayed
petticoat or a tattered stocking showing above the shabby shoe. Their
gloveless hands were red and cold and coarse, and the milliner told the
clerk that she dreaded to have them handle her filmy laces or
glistening satins, because their rough fingers stuck to the delicate
fabrics and injured them.
These poor women worked hard, early and late. Beyond the barest
necessities they had little to spare, and yet not a woman among them
would have bought an unfashionable or out-of-date hat could she have
had it at one quarter the price. Feathers were fashionable, and
feathers she must have. Might not one "as well be out of the world as
out of the fashion"?
All this dreadful traffic in my murdered comrades, and their display in
the glass cases as well as on the heads of the customers, naturally
made me very sad, and I now looked with aversion at every woman who
entered the store. But that all were not heartless fiends who were
robed in feminine garb I found out another day when a daintily dressed
lady came in to purchase a winter hat. The contents of the glass cases
were looked over critically for some time before she selected one which
she tried on before the long mirror. The milliner, who deftly adjusted
it for her, tipping it first forward a little, then setting it back a
trifle, stood off now to view the effect, at the same time assuring her
how beautiful it was, and how vastly becoming to her.
"I like this hat very much," said the lady; "or at least I shall like
it when the bird is taken off."
"You think the oriole too gay? Orange is quite the vogue," answered
the milliner, who seemed reluctant to make any change, and yet was
anxious to please her customer. "Perhaps you'd prefer some wings; or
stay, here is a sweet little gull that will go all right with the rest
of the trimming. We will take off the oriole if you wish."
"Thank you, but I have decided not to wear birds any more," said the
customer.
"But the effect would be quite spoiled without a wing, or an aigrette,
or something there," exclaimed the milliner. "You wouldn't like it. I
wouldn't think of taking off the bird, if I were you."
"Yes, I shall like it much better with the bird off," returned the lady
quietly. "I have sufficient sins to answer for without any longer
adding the crime of bird slaughter to the list."
The milliner bestowed on her a pitying smile, but evidently was too
politic to get into a discussion of an unpleasant subject. Having
given her final order for the hat, the lady crossed over to the other
side of the room and shook hands with a friend whom she addressed as
Mrs. Brown, who had just come in and was making a purchase at the lace
counter.
"I have been putting my new resolution into effect," she remarked after
the first greetings; "I have just ordered my new hat, and it is not to
have a bird or a wing or a tail on it."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear of one convert to the gospel of mercy," said Mrs.
Brown heartily. "The apathy of our women on this subject is
heart-sickening. Men are denouncing us; the newspapers are full of our
cruelty; the pulpit makes our heartlessness its theme; and yet we keep
on with our barbarous work with an indifference that must make the
angels weep."
Her face glowed with righteous indignation. It was easy to see that
any cause to which she might commit herself was sure of an ardent and
untiring champion.
"But they tell me that chicken feathers, and those of other domestic
fowls are being largely used now instead of birds," said the other lady.
"Oh, yes; they tell us so because they want to prevent us from getting
alarmed, since so much has been said against the destruction of the
birds. It is true that chicken feathers always have been used to some
extent, the straight quills for instance. I know it is frequently
broadly asserted that the most of the birds used are made birds, but
the manufactured creatures are poor deceptions; they are mixed with
bird feathers, and are sold only to the less fastidious customers. The
demand for genuine birds is as great as ever."
"But do you think as many are used now as formerly?" questioned her
companion.
"Yes, indeed! Just think of the feather capes and muffs and
collarettes made of birds. The market for them is increasing all the
time. It takes from eighteen to twenty-five skins for each collar, and
I don't know how many for the muffs. Oh, I tell you, women are heaping
up judgment on themselves."
The other lady looked grave. "I understand," said she, "that in many
places down on the New Jersey coast the boatmen have given up fishing,
as they can make so much more money killing terns and gulls for women's
use. They earn fifty dollars a week at it, at ten cents apiece for the
birds. Isn't that a horrible record for women?"
"I don't doubt they earn that much, and perhaps more," answered Mrs.
Brown; "for one season there were thirty thousand terns killed in one
locality alone. And at Cape Cod, and up along the shore near where I
lived, they are slain by thousands every season and shipped to New
York. Oh, I can't tell you how distressing it used to be to hear the
report of the guns day after day and know that every piercing sound was
the sign that more innocent lives were being taken. I used to cover up
my ears and try not to hear them. It made me shiver to know that those
poor gulls were being shot down for nothing. Their only crime
consisted in being beautiful."
Both women turned at that moment attracted by the sight of a young lady
who was standing on the pavement outside in an animated talk with
another girl.
"There's Miss Van Dyke, with her new feather collar on," observed Mrs.
Brown, in a low voice.
The young lady in question was a dashing, radiant creature, bright with
smiles and a face like a picture. On her shapely shoulders was a
magnificent cape, lustrous as satin, of silvery white, into which pale
dark lines softly blended at regular intervals. Twenty-two innocent
lives had been taken to make that little garment. Twenty-two beautiful
grebes slain that their glossy breasts might lend splendor to a lady's
wardrobe.
The two friends looked at Miss Van Dyke in silence for a moment, then
sighed as she passed along out of their view.
"When I see such perversion of woman's nature I wonder that the very
stones do not cry out against us," exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "And mark my
words, the slaughter will go on; the unholy traffic will not long be
confined to grebe's breasts for muffs and cape trimmings. Other birds
will be used. The gentle creatures are not all put on hats."
"Oh! I must not forget to tell you that the new preacher over at the
Second Church has begun a course of lectures on the work of mercy that
women might do. He says that as mothers in the homes, and as teachers
in the public schools and the Sabbath-schools, we have a grand
opportunity."
"So we have; but what avails our opportunity if our eyes are blinded so
that we do not see it?" assented Mrs. Brown.
"Last night," resumed the lady, "he spoke particularly of the crime of
wearing birds; and he accuses us of being more cruel than men."
"He does?" questioned Mrs. Brown, in great surprise. "Why, we all know
that woman's part in this wickedness comes from her desire to look
pretty; at least she thinks that wearing birds adds to her beauty. Her
wickedness does not come from actual love of butchery. But men and
boys have shot innocent creatures since the world began for the mere
brutal pleasure of killing something. It seems as though they were
born with a blood-thirsty instinct, a wanting to destroy life, to hunt
it and shoot it down. They beg to go gunning almost before they are
out of dresses and into trousers. Every mother knows there is a savage
streak in her boy's nature. No," continued Mrs. Brown, with a decisive
nod of her head, "I say let the man who is without sin among them be
the first to cast stones now. Perhaps this very preacher spent all his
Saturdays robbing birds' nests and clubbing birds when he was a little
boy, and kept it up until he was big enough to kill them with a gun.
Of course there are some who do not; not all boys are cruel. But this
cruelty does not excuse ours. Man's wickedness does not make us the
less guilty. We will be held responsible all the same."
The other woman looked thoughtful. "Well," she said at last, "I
haven't quite lost all faith in womanly mercy. Women don't mean to be
cruel; the trouble is they don't think."
"Don't think!" echoed Mrs. Brown scornfully. "Don't think! That is an
excuse entirely too babyish for women to offer in this age of the
world. Do they want to be regarded as irresponsible children forever?
Don't you know that childish thoughtlessness on a subject as important
as the needless taking of life argues tremendously against us? Here we
are at the twentieth century, and with all our boasted advancement we
are as cruel and savage as Fiji Islanders. Oh, don't talk to me about
women!" and she made an outward motion of her hand as if pushing away
an imaginary drove of them that was coming too near. "I haven't a
particle of patience with them. If they're not in the habit of
thinking, let them begin it right off. Let them begin it before the
birds are all destroyed. If they have the least spark of tenderness
left in their hearts------"
The rest of the sentence was lost in the louder tones of a pert little
miss, who in company with her mother was rummaging over a box of
trimmings on the counter nearest my cage.