Once upon a time a little girl, who loved all animals and plants, lived
in a house in town with a small garden in front of it. Her older
brother was a wild, mischievous lad, like most boys. He liked to catch
flies and pull off their wings and legs, put pins through beetles, or
tie yarn, wrapped with bits of paper, to their legs, and let them fly
away with the burden. When his sister was there, she would not allow
such naughty tricks. Although she was the smaller of the two, he was
obliged to do what she wanted or she would not speak to him, and the
boy could not stand that. She would not let any animal be hurt. Her
brother was not even permitted to tread upon the ugly, hairy
caterpillars, though they ate the leaves off her bushes and flowers. He
had to put them in a piece of paper and carry them into the street.
“But they will die out there just the same,” the brother said.
“We need not take care of them,” his sister answered; “their parents
must do that, or they themselves. But we ought not to kill them.”
In the front garden stood four trees, in whose branches many sparrows
had built their nests. They could not be called pleasant neighbors.
They soiled the fence along the street, and the door, and the ground
under the trees, so that the maid-servant had hard work to keep the
entrance clean, and she scolded about the dirty sparrows, and often
threatened to beat down their nests with her broom stick. In the warm
season of the year, they woke very early, long before sunrise, and made
a deafening noise for an hour or more. There was such a hopping and
fluttering, and flying to and fro, such greeting and quarrelling,
chattering and scolding, that it seemed like a school of children at
recess. The father of the little girl and boy, who was a light sleeper,
was regularly roused by the noise made by the birds, and grew so angry
over it that he talked of buying a rifle and killing all the sparrows
without mercy. In the spring, when the grass and the flower-beds were
sowed, they ate the seeds out of the earth, so that there was the
greatest trouble in protecting the seed by scarecrows and threads woven
around short wooden pegs stuck into the ground. Everybody had some
grievance against the sparrows, and the poor birds had not a single
friend in the house except the little girl, who pleaded for them
whenever her father and the maid-servant wanted to vent their anger
upon them.
She did not rest satisfied with defending the sparrows against the just
indignation of the members of the household. She showed them other
favors. In the summer they fared well. Then they could find food
everywhere. They only needed to fly out into the street, or a
market-place, to fill their little stomachs with the nicest things. But
the winter was a hard time for them. Then they sometimes suffered such
bitter want that they came to the windows and pecked on the panes with
their beaks, begging piteously for a few crumbs. Ever since the little
girl had been large enough to understand what the birds wanted, when
they crowded around the windows in this way, she always fed them.
During the cold season, she swept the snow off the window-sill and
scattered bread crumbs and seeds, on holidays even bits of apple,
raisins, and sugar, then she closed the windows and pressed her little
nose against the panes, to see how her feathered guests liked the meal.
In time they grew used to thinking that the sill outside the little
girl’s room was their ever ready table, and did not hesitate to remind
their friend by pecking impatiently on the panes, if she delayed giving
them their breakfast.
Her brother thought this was very saucy. “The impudent sparrows,” he
said, “to act as if we owed them something.”
“We do owe them something,” answered the little sister, “for we are
rich and they are poor; we are strong and they are weak; we are big and
they are little.”
Her brother was not to be convinced. “They are good for nothing,” he
muttered.
“It’s fun to watch their merry play,” said his sister. “Besides, who
can tell whether they may not be good for something?”
She continued her kindness to her little protégés. She put bread
crumbs, soaked in milk, into the beak of a young sparrow which had left
the nest rather too early and stayed crouching in a corner of the
window-sill, because he could not fly away, and made a soft bed for him
with cotton-wool in a box, so that he would be comfortable until his
mother came and took the half-fledged runaway home. Another time the
house cat was watching on the wall under the window-sill, and, when the
sparrows came to be fed, she made a great leap and caught one of the
birds by the wing. The others scattered with cries of fright, the
captured sparrow peeped piteously in the cat’s mouth, and thought its
last hour had come. But the little girl had seen the whole from the
window, hastily seized a ruler which lay near, and gave the cat such a
blow on the paw, that she had to open her mouth to mew with pain. The
sparrow took advantage of it to fly away, and the cat, punished and
ashamed, could do nothing except steal off limping on one forefoot.
A third time a naughty boy in the street was throwing stones at the
birds’ nests in the trees behind the fence. The little girl ran down at
once, and reproached him for his bad behavior. But when he would not
listen to her, only mocked at her and went on throwing them, she
screamed so loudly for help that the maid-servant came out of the
kitchen, and even a policeman from the street, and drove the naughty
boy away.
As the little girl attended to the sparrows every day, watched them on
the window-sill, and listened while they chattered, jested, and
quarrelled with one another, she gradually learned to understand their
language. This is not so difficult as people suppose, because the
sparrows have only a few words, and they talk about very simple things,
which most grown-up persons have forgotten, but which a child knows
very well. The little girl could listen for hours while one mother
sparrow told tales about another, praised all her own children, made
fun of the wise old sparrows, and talked of the dainties they had
stolen from the fruit women in the market-place. She even tried to talk
the sparrow language herself, that she might share their conversation,
and ask all sorts of things; but she could not make the high tones of
their twittering and peeping, so she was obliged to be satisfied with
listening.
One day the whole family went to a fair, which was held in a meadow
outside of the city. There were a great many booths and side-shows, and
an enormous crowd of people, who pressed around the jugglers, clowns,
and merry-go-rounds. A dealer in a strange, perhaps Oriental costume
was loudly offering lozenges for sale. They were beautifully colored
and looked tempting enough, so the little girl begged for some, for she
was fond of sweets. Her mother did not want to buy them; she did not
like the dealer’s crafty brown face. “Who knows what the stuff is?” she
said. But the father answered, “You are over-anxious,” and bought a
lozenge for his little daughter, and one for his son, too, that he
might not be jealous.
The little girl was just putting the lozenge into her mouth, when a
sparrow suddenly darted down upon her, straight at her hand, so that
she was startled and dropped the candy. The bird caught it skilfully in
the air, and flew away with it. The little girl looked after it with
her mouth wide open, hardly knowing how it had been done. But her
brother laughed, saying: “Now you see! That’s the way with your dear
sparrows. Shameless thieves and nothing else.” But the little girl
would hear nothing against her protégés, and declared it was her own
fault—she had awkwardly dropped the lozenge out of her hand. She asked
for another, but it was impossible to reach the dealer, the crowd was
so great that they could not get through it. She looked ready to cry,
and her brother good-naturedly offered her his own lozenge. She took
it, but just as she was lifting it to her lips, a sparrow again darted
at her hand and pecked her forefinger so hard with its beak that she
uttered a cry of pain and opened her hand. The bird seized the lozenge
and vanished with it before the little girl and her relatives had
recovered from their astonishment.
The father was expressing his surprise at the extraordinary boldness of
city sparrows, when suddenly there was a great shouting and running to
and fro in the crowd. They asked what had happened, and, after some
time, learned that many children who had eaten the brown-skinned
dealer’s lozenges had been taken ill. The candy was colored with
poisonous things, and those who had eaten it were writhing in pain and
in danger of their lives. The crowd wanted to kill the rascally dealer,
but he took to flight. People pursued him with loud shouts, there was a
great tumult, and the little girl’s parents had the utmost trouble in
escaping with their children from the confusion. They hurried on along
the road, to find a free space where there were no more booths and the
throng was less dense; but the little girl could not keep step with her
father; she had to run, and, stumbling over a stone, fell on the
ground. Her mother sprang forward to lift her up, when, behind the
child lying in the road and her parents, cries of terror were heard,
and they saw a frightened horse come dashing toward them at full
gallop. The next instant the foaming animal must have trampled upon the
group. It seemed as if nothing could save them. At the last moment,
when the hot breath of the frantic creature was already fanning the
face of the terrified father, a sparrow flew suddenly straight at the
horse’s right eye with so much force that the animal neighed loudly
with pain, reared high in the air, and made such a spring aside, that
it lost its balance, rolled in the ditch, and was caught by the people
who came running up.
The little girl, in spite of her fright, had seen very well what the
sparrow had done, and said, “So the sparrows are good for something.”
But the others were so benumbed in every limb by fear that they did not
answer. All the pleasure of the fair had been destroyed by the
excitement, and they decided to go home. Unless they went a very long
way round, they were obliged to return past the booths, and enter the
crowd. The little girl stopped an instant to look at a big picture of
wild beasts, giraffes, and elephants, which hung in front of a show
where animals were exhibited, and when she looked around, she
discovered that she had been separated from her family by the throng.
She was very much frightened, and tried to run forward to overtake
them. But the crowd stood like a wall before her on every side, and she
could not pass. She pushed against the people among whom she was
wedged, the rough men pushed back, and the little girl began to cry
bitterly, partly because she was hurt, partly because it frightened her
to be all alone, among so many strangers. Then a hand clasped hers and
drew her quickly and skilfully out of the throng in front of the animal
show, where she was penned. She looked up and saw through her tears an
old dame with a brown face and rough gray hair, who resembled the
rascally lozenge seller, and said in a harsh voice and foreign accent:
“Come, little one, come with me quick. Don’t be afraid!”
“Where?” asked the little girl, timidly, trying to stop.
“Come, come,” repeated the old woman, who looked like a witch. “Away
from here. Out of the crowd. Then I will take you home. To your
parents.”
When the little girl heard of her parents, she followed willingly. Yet
it seemed to her that the old woman was not leading her toward the
city, but in the opposite direction.
“We don’t live there,” she said, “but on the other side!”
“I know, I know,” replied the old woman. “We are going to my cart. It’s
too far for you to walk home.”
In a few minutes they reached a cart, which stood by the side of the
road. It was a queer old vehicle, with a faded cover made of darned
linen, drawn by two little nags, which were so thin that their bones
seemed to be coming through their skins. The little girl would not get
in, so the brown witch seized her quickly round the waist, lifted her
like a light bundle, flung her into the cart, and jumped in after her.
The little girl called for help, but the cart was filled with men and
women, and little half-naked brown children, who all began to scream
louder still, so that her voice was not heard at all. At the same time
the old witch urged up the half-starved horses, and the rattling cart
rolled off in the midst of a cloud of dust with astonishing speed.
The little girl had fallen into the power of a band of gypsies, who
wanted to carry her away. When she began to cry bitterly, the old witch
said to her: “Keep still. No harm will befall you. You will fare well
with us. You shall have nice things to eat, and a gown with gold
spangles. You shall learn to dance and tell fortunes, and always have
plenty of fun. So be quiet.”
The little girl did not know what to do. Drawing back into the farthest
corner of the cart, she wept silently, thinking of her parents and her
brother, who were now searching for her so anxiously.
The gypsy band must have done a good business at the fair. Men and
women were drinking from big bottles of wine, singing, laughing, and
talking in a strange language. They soon stopped in a wood, where they
lighted a fire and prepared a camp for the night. They cooked in large
kettles an ample meal, and wanted to give the little girl some of it,
too; but, though she was very hungry, she refused with disgust.
After the wild, brown vagabonds had finished their supper, they all lay
down to sleep, some around the fire, others under the cart, the women
and children in it. The little girl was obliged to get in, too, and lie
beside the other children; but she kept awake, and when she saw that
all were in a sound slumber, she rose softly, climbed down from the
cart, slipped out of the circle of snoring gypsies, and began to run as
fast as her little legs would carry her, until she was so far from the
gypsy camp that she could no longer see the light of their camp-fire.
Then she stopped for breath and found herself in the midst of a dark
wood, where she did not know which way to turn. She dared not call out,
so she sat down in the thick moss at the foot of a tall tree and began
to cry piteously.
Suddenly she heard a small voice at her side, twittering in the
well-known sparrow language: “Don’t cry, friend. Come. Follow me.”
“Who are you?” asked the little girl, also in the sparrow language,
which she tried to speak as plainly as possible.
“Oh, how stupid you human beings are!” was the merry answer. “Don’t you
know me? I am your neighbor, and you feed me every day.”
“Indeed!” cried the little girl, joyously, putting out her hand to her
feathered friend.
But the sparrow fluttered quickly away. “Don’t touch me,” it chirped;
“we don’t like that. But now let us go home. I’ll fly very slowly. Keep
your eyes on me.”
The bird fluttered in front, just at the height of her head, and the
little girl followed trustfully. There were a few stumbles and falls in
the darkness, a few bumps and bruises, but, after half an hour’s walk,
she came out of the woods into the high-road, and then it was easy to
move forward. Near the city she met a policeman, who was very much
astonished to find a little girl alone on the road so late at night,
and questioned her. She told him the whole story, her name, and where
she lived, and the worthy man took her by the hand and led her home.
Her parents, who had been searching for her in vain for hours, and
notified the police without finding any trace of their missing child,
had not gone to bed, and were sitting in despair around the table,
vainly trying to comfort each other. When, long after midnight, the
policeman rang and brought back their little daughter, there was such
rejoicing that the whole neighborhood was roused. The sparrow which had
guided the girl back was perched on the window-sill, gazing through the
panes into the room, flapping its wings and twittering at the joy of
the parents, who could not stop kissing their recovered child, although
she was very tired and only wanted to go to bed.
The father was very grateful to the sparrows for having saved his
little daughter’s life three times in one day. The next morning he made
a regular feast for them. On every window-sill in the whole house he
spread cakes and raisins, fruit and honey, and the sparrows came and
banqueted, and invited their friends and relatives from far and near.
There was a great fluttering and chirping, twittering and screaming,
but nobody complained of it. And, from that time, food was always
scattered for the house sparrows and strangers, too, and human beings
and sparrows remained the best of friends to the end of their lives.