TRINATA
One Sunday in June a small bird a good deal like a sparrow flew into
Trinity Church. He flew down the centre aisle, and, evidently drawn to
it by the light, perched on the brass cross underneath the exquisite
chancel window. When the choir began to sing, he joined in at the top of
his voice, then flew over to the bishop’s chair, peeping and chattering
away, making himself as conspicuous as possible. Of course, like
anything new in church, he took all the attention of the congregation
from the minister. From the bishop’s chair, he quickly flew on a girl’s
shoulder, who caught him in her hand, and put him on the stone steps
outside the door. Here the little traveller was picked up by another
little girl, taken to Sunday school with her, and finally was brought to
me.
The poor bird was almost famished, and I hurried him up to my hospital,
which at that time had but one patient, Theodore Roosevelt, a wild
pigeon who had been badly burned by an electric wire. I gave him
crackers and milk (it is better for little birds than bread and milk,
and easier to swallow), and, when he had had his fill, he tried to tuck
his head under his wing and go to sleep. This he had to give up, as he
had a large head, but few feathers, and small wings, but he nestled up
in my hand and was soon fast asleep.
He was not a handsome little fellow, in fact, he was very homely. Some
thought him an English sparrow, but I doubt whether he was, as they are
all so timid, and he was far from that, always wilful, and did just
about as he pleased.
All day he stayed on my finger or dress, and when it began to grow dark,
he discovered the negligée I had on was open at the throat, and a fine
place to crawl into. I rocked him to sleep that night, and always after
that he would not stay in his basket at night one minute unless I first
rocked him to sleep on my bare neck.
Don’t you think Trinata a pretty name? I gave that to him as he went to
service at Trinity Church. Every one said he did not know his name, but
I thought he did. After he had been in the hospital for a couple of
weeks, he ran, or rather, flew, away. I had been trying to sew, and
could not keep him off me. He would crawl into the palm of my right
hand, and did not seem to care how hard I squeezed him, then into the
left, and did not mind a prick or two from the needle. I saw the sewing
did not make much headway, so finally I gave up and started to take my
work down-stairs. I closed the door, or else he would have flown right
after me, but I forgot the blinds were wide open in my dressing-room. He
evidently went in there, and the temptation to fly out was too much for
him.
On my return to my room, I looked everywhere, and had given up all hopes
of ever seeing him again, when I spied three birds down the street, two
large ones and a small one, which looked suspiciously like Trinata. When
I got near enough, I began to peep, and the large ones flew away, but
the little one went hopping along, and when within a few feet I called
out “Trinata, Trinata.” He turned in an instant and stopped. I put out
my finger and he hopped on. It was noontime, and the street was full of
people, who looked with wondering eyes to see a wee bird in the middle
of the street hop on my fingers. It proved he knew his name, at any
rate, and I was so glad to get him back that, instead of scolding, I was
only too glad to give him something to eat and rock him to sleep. He was
a forlorn-looking mite, all mud and grass stain, and so tired and faint
that he could hardly perch. I think he, too, was glad to get back, for
he never ran away again.
One evening a little boy and girl came rushing to me with two filthy
baby sparrows. Their legs and claws were so encrusted with “smelly” mud
they could not hop. So the first thing was to get as much off as
possible before they could be put to bed, and in the morning I gave them
a bath in violet water, after which Jack and Jill, for so I named them,
looked far better, and Jack turned out to be a perfect beauty.
Trinata became rather jealous of them, and one day, when Jack and Jill
were close together on my chest, he hopped down upon my shoulder, wedged
himself in between them, and pecked at them until they flew way. Teddy
Roosevelt, the pigeon, as was right, lived in the executive mansion, but
Trinata did not stand at all in awe of him. He went in to see him quite
often, and made his presence known by nipping his toes or pulling his
tail feathers. Teddy, however, did not like it, and often he would drive
Trinata out.
Jill was very much in love with Jack, and usually would do anything he
told her, but one day she thought she would coquette a little and not
mind. Jack tried his best to get her to come inside the cage, but she
paid not the slightest attention to him. At last he went to the open
door, took her by the wing, and pulled her inside just as a mother would
take a child. We all thought it very cunning; but the next day, when
Trinata seized Jill by the leg, and dragged her way across the floor, I
thought it a bit too much, and gave Trinata the good scolding he
deserved.
Jack and Jill, however, were really most annoying to Trinata, chasing
after him, screeching, and opening their bills very wide, just as if he
was their mother and would drop some goodies in. One day he was perched
on the window-sill of the executive mansion, when up came Jack and Jill
with gaping mouths. In turning to go away, Trinata saw on Teddy’s floor
a piece of court-plaster that had come off from his wing. Trinata picked
it up and dropped it in Jack’s mouth. He spit it out, and then the
tender morsel was thrust down Jill’s throat by Trinata. After that they
never begged him to feed them.
Most birds get used to certain dresses that a person wears, and usually
are frightened when they see them in anything else, but Trinata was
never afraid. Once I put on a large hat covered with pink roses,
thinking surely that would frighten him, but he only tucked his head
under his wing and went to sleep on my shoulder. Another time I put a
rustly silk skirt over my head when he was on top, but not an inch did
he budge. When dressing, he would often get inside my waist, and I would
fasten it up, leaving just enough room for him to stick out his head. He
did not mind soap and water in the least, and very often would perch on
me while I was taking my morning bath, keeping up an incessant chatter
through it all. He delighted in visitors, and would light on their hands
without the least sign of fear, and one day he tried to perch on a
gentleman’s bald head, but found it too slippery. Children all loved
him, for he was not at all exclusive, and would let them handle him all
they wished.
The rougher I played with him the better he liked it, and I would throw
him here, there, and everywhere, but he would be back on me quicker than
a flash. I do not believe many birds help make the bed in the morning,
but Trinata used to try to, and seemed to think it great fun. He would
fairly run from bottom to top and back again, never minding if sheets
and blankets were thrown over him. When the day spread was put on, he
was told to keep off, but he seldom obeyed, and would play a long time
trying to pick up the embroidered pink flowers.
At that time two or three birds were brought into the hospital nearly
every day. Some died from wounds, and some from starvation when I was
unable to make them eat. One day I had a forlorn baby sparrow, a dainty
yellowbird (not much larger than a bumblebee), and two baby Baltimore
orioles. When night came, I felt like the old woman who lived in her
shoe, for I had so many birds I didn’t know what to do.
I could not supply them all with separate baskets, so I took a large
round one, all gilded, and filled it with cotton, then made little
indentations so it looked like many little cots. First the strangers
were put in, next Jack and Jill, and they all lay quietly, but, when it
came to Trinata, there was a row. He evidently had no intention of
sleeping with that motley crowd, and would not stay in one second. He
knew his own basket, and would never sleep in any other, or have any
bird sleep with him. In the morning one of the orioles was dead, but
another a year old came to take its place. He was a beauty, but had been
shot by some cruel, wicked boy. One wing was broken, so he could never
fly again, and he had a bad sore, so for days I thought he could not
live, but careful attention brought him out all right. I named him the
Prince of Wales, and the other oriole the Princess, who turned out to be
the biggest mischief you can imagine.
About that time a dear little chipmunk (whom I named McKinley) came to
the hospital, and his life was made miserable by the Princess. She would
steal his food, examine his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth with her long
bill, and, when he would not be looking, would give his tail a good
pull.
The morning of the Fourth of July was intensely warm, so I moved all the
birds into the hall, where it was cooler. Trinata was put by himself,
because if he was shut up in a cage with Jack and Jill, he would amuse
himself by pecking them and not letting them get on any of the perches.
If they would try, he would lift them up by the feathers of their heads,
then throw them down on the bottom of the cage. Jack and Jill, then,
were put in a cage with the Prince and Princess, and they all looked
very sleepy when I darkened the hall and went out. Few people who keep
birds, and especially wild ones, know that they like to be in the dark
during the middle of the day, and it simply ruins a canary to be left in
the sun all day long.
You may imagine my surprise when I returned to the hall an hour later to
find the Prince in the cage alone. One of the birds had pried open the
place where a food-dish had been, and Jack, Jill, and the Princess had
gone through the shutter. The Prince probably realized he could not fly,
so stayed at home. I never found any trace of Jack and Jill, but, after
looking an hour, located the Princess. I had only had her about a week,
and did not think she knew her name. As soon as she heard my voice, she
answered, but was afraid to come down, as there were so many boys with
firecrackers in the street. Finally she was frightened to the top of a
very tall tree, where some robins chased her, and she flew blocks away.
A hard thunderstorm came, and the rain fell in such torrents that I was
sure I had seen the last of my pretty Princess. After having her liberty
for hours, I thought I heard her voice in the next street. I went to the
open window and called, “Princess.” She answered, and every time I
called, the answer came nearer. Soon I saw her fly across the street and
light on the roof of a house. I hurried over and held my hand as high as
I could, when down she flew and lighted on my finger. I think it
marvellous, her coming back, especially as she had been gone over four
hours.
Taffy grew more and more jealous of Trinata every day, probably not
liking it that I kept him with me so much of the time. He insisted upon
staying in the hospital all day, and often there would be nine or ten
birds loose in the room. Frequently he would be there hours before I
knew it, and then I would not know if I did not happen to hear the bells
on his collar. Then I would lift up the valance of the bed and find him
stretched out full length, looking as happy and lamblike as though there
was not a bird anywhere near. One day a lady saw him trying to catch a
bird in the street, and she called out: “You silly cat, why don’t you go
up-stairs where there is a room full of them?” He would never pay the
slightest attention to the birds until I would come in the room, and
Trinata would light on me. Then he would come up to me, wave his tail,
and seem consumed with jealousy.
One evening when he saw Trinata on me, it seemed as if he could not
contain himself any longer. He was like a wild tiger fresh from the
jungle. I could not pacify him, so sent him down-stairs. At dusk I stood
in my dressing-room door and saw Taffy sneak under my bed. I was called
down suddenly and forgot him. When I went back a few moments later, I
missed Trinata at once. When I could not find him, I remembered Taffy,
and rushed down to look for him. He came up from the cellarway looking
pleasant and happy. I took him directly up to my room and asked him
about his little brother, Trinata. He rubbed against me, purred, and the
fierce tiger had all left him. I took him down and said: “Taffy has not
taken Trinata, for he never looks or acts like this when he is guilty.”
In a few moments I was called out on the back stoop, and there sat Taffy
with Trinata’s mangled remains before him. When he saw me, he began to
cringe and crouch, and there was not the slightest doubt of his guilt. I
never knew him to eat a bird before, and I feel sure, when he heard me
calling him, he swallowed Trinata almost whole, thinking I would never
find out where he went, and of course it made him deathly sick. Late
that evening he came into my mother’s room. First he stood in the door.
I did not notice him. He kept coming nearer and nearer, and finally
jumped into my lap, putting both paws about my neck, and began loving
me. For days he was in disgrace, and for two months he never entered my
room.
He hated Trinata out of pure jealousy of me, so killed him. He has never
noticed the other birds since, and sleeps quietly for hours, with any
number flying about him.