A common bird with us is the pheasant and one of the most interesting
incidents of my life was in connection with a family of pheasants.
Crossing a woodland one summer evening, making the dead leaves rustle
beneath my feet, I looked down, I hardly know why, but it must have been
in order to save the little innocents. For the brown leaves seemed to me
to be alive, very much alive, indeed.
I stopped, dropped to a sitting posture, and reached forth my hand, and
to my surprise they never tried to get away, but cuddled up in a little
frightened flock right to my feet. I gathered them all into my dress,
twelve of them, cunning little midgets, not larger than the end of a
man’s thumb, and awaited developments.
The parent birds were near and soon the mother began crying with a
pitiful call. I couldn’t imitate it in any way, but it expressed
tenderness, concern and fear. Soon an angry frightened bird whirred over
my head, again and again, each time nearer until she almost knocked off
my hat; she passed and getting just in front of me, made feint of a
broken wing, and lay apparently helpless a little ahead. I never saw
anything more expressive of anxiety than the actions of this bird. I
could not bear to tease her, so setting the birdlings on the ground I
withdrew to a position where I could see the united family and watched
the mother love as it went out to the helpless brood. The words of the
Master, “Oh, Jerusalem! Jerusalem! how often would I have gathered thy
children together even as a hen gathereth her chickens and ye would
not,” never before came to me with such force. Truly the maternal
instinct, next to love of the Divine, is the most sacred thing in the
world.
Mary Noland.