THE SPARROWS' NEST.
Mr. and Mrs. Robin were deeply pained by Dick's bad conduct. They
concluded, however, it was best to refrain from further reproof, as it
only seemed to make him worse. After the disrespectful remark at the
close of the last chapter, he flew away, and did not return until night.
Katy then begged her father and mother to accompany her to the village
where Canary lived; and, after a ready consent, they all stretched their
wings and flew away over the tops of houses and trees, not once
alighting until they reached the dwelling where the pretty bird
belonged.
Canary received them very cordially. She assured Mr. and Mrs. Robin of
her interest in their promising children. "In their society," she
added, "I sometimes forget my own trials. Young as you may think me, I
have reared four young broods. Now--but I will not make you sad by
relating my troubles. I see my kind mistress has provided water for me
to take a bath. Perhaps it will amuse you if I do so now."
Mrs. Robin assured her that the sight would delight them all.
Canary then sprang off the highest perch into the saucer of fresh
water, splashed herself thoroughly with her wings, then jumped into the
ring, and shook herself from head to foot. "I feel greatly refreshed,"
said she, after new oiling her feathers.
At the request of Katy, she then exhibited her accomplishments to the
wondering parents, and having ended by a thrilling song, they gave her
their best wishes, and took their leave.
In the mean time, Mr. Symmes, his wife, grandpa, and Annie sat down to
their breakfast, though wondering that Fred, who had been sent of an
errand, did not return. They had nearly finished their meal, when Annie
saw him running toward the house, his face all in a blaze of excitement.
He held in his hand a bird's nest; and, as he entered, took a wounded
sparrow from his bosom.
"Father," he exclaimed, "isn't it real wicked to steal little birds from
their nest?"
"Certainly, my son."
"Well, Joseph Marland and Edward Long have been doing it all the
morning, and they say it isn't wicked at all. As I was coming 'cross
lots through Deacon Myers's pasture, I heard some boys laughing very
loud; and I ran to see what the fun was. They had taken all the young
birds from the nest, and the poor parents were flying around chirping
and crying in dreadful distress.
"'Don't tease the birds so,' said I; 'put the little things back and
come away.'
"'No, indeed!' shouted Joseph; 'after all the trouble we've had, we
don't give up so easy.' And only think, grandpa, they didn't want the
young sparrows for any thing,--only they liked the sport of seeing the
old birds hop round and round.
"I got real angry at last, and said I wouldn't have any thing to do with
such wicked, cruel boys. I started to run away, when they saw Deacon
Myers driving his cow to the pasture, and they sneaked off about the
quickest. After they had gone, I picked up the nest and this poor bird
from the ground."
"Let me see it," said Mr. Symmes, holding out his hand; "and you sit
down and eat your breakfast."
He left the room immediately, carrying the sparrow with him. Presently
Annie came back with tears in her eyes, saying her father had killed it,
to put it out of pain.
"I was afraid it couldn't live," rejoined Fred. "Ugly boys! I am glad
they don't know of our robins' nest."
"Such cruelty always meets with its punishment," remarked grandpa. "I
myself knew a man who, when a boy, delighted to rob birds' nests.
Sometimes he stole the eggs, and sometimes he waited until they were
hatched, that he might have the greater fun. Then he took the poor,
helpless, unoffending things, and dug out their eyes, to see how
awkwardly they would hop around."
"Shocking!" exclaimed Mrs. Symmes.
"He ought to have been hung!" shouted Fred.
Annie pressed both hands over her eyes, and turned very pale.
"Well," resumed grandpa, "he grew to be a man, was married and settled
in life; and now came God's time to punish him. He had one child after
another until they numbered five. Three of them, two daughters and one
son, were born stone blind.
"He was a man coarse and rough in his feelings, as a cruel man will
always be; but this affliction cut him to the heart, and when it was
announced to him that the third child would never open its eyes to the
light of the sun, he threw up his arms and cried aloud, 'O God, have
mercy on me, though I had none on the poor birds!'
"Never before had he made the slightest allusion to his former cruelty,
except to his wife, though it seemed by this expression, that he had
always regarded it as a judgment."
"If ever I see,
On bush or tree,
Young birds in their pretty nest,
I must not, in play,
Steal the birds away,
To grieve their mother's breast.
"My mother, I know,
Would sorrow so
Should I be stolen away;
So I'll speak to the birds
In my softest words,
Nor hurt them in my play.
"And when they can fly
In the bright blue sky,
They'll warble a song to me;
And then, if I'm sad,
It will make me glad
To think they are happy and free."