"GO, BOTH OF YOU, AND JOIN THE BIRD THAT WARNED YOU"
THE MAN STOLE THE EGGS FROM THE NEST
THE TRIAL OF THE SHRIKE
"PEEP! PEEP! PEEP!" CRIED THE BABY GOLDFINCHES
SAILING ON THE DRY WATER
IN THE HONEY PALACE
THE BATTLE
"IT'S ALMOST DARK. LET'S GO HOME"
[CHAPTER I] _Little Ones in Trouble_
"SEEMS to me, Chub," said Twinkle, "that we're lost."
"Seems to me, Twink," said Chubbins, "that it isn't _we_ that's lost.
It's the path."
"It was here a minute ago," declared Twinkle.
"But it isn't here now," replied the boy.
"That's true," said the girl.
It really _was_ queer. They had followed the straight path into the
great forest, and had only stopped for a moment to sit down and rest,
with the basket between them and their backs to a big tree. Twinkle
winked just twice, because she usually took a nap in the afternoon, and
Chubbins merely closed his eyes a second to find out if he could see
that long streak of sunshine through his pink eyelids. Yet during this
second, which happened while Twinkle was winking, the path had run away
and left them without any guide or any notion which way they ought to
go.
Another strange thing was that when they jumped up to look around them
the nearest trees began sliding away, in a circle, leaving the little
girl and boy in a clear space. And the trees continued moving back and
back, farther and farther, until all their trunks were jammed tight
together, and not even a mouse could have crept between them. They made
a solid ring around Twinkle and Chubbins, who stood looking at this
transformation with wondering eyes.
"It's a trap," said Chubbins; "and we're in it."
"It looks that way," replied Twinkle, thoughtfully. "Isn't it lucky,
Chub, we have the basket with us? If it wasn't for that, we might
starve to death in our prison."
"Oh, well," replied the little fellow, "the basket won't last long.
There's plenty of starve in the bottom of it, Twinkle, any way you can
fix it."
"That's so; unless we can get out. Whatever do you suppose made the
trees behave that way, Chubbins?
"Don't know," said the boy.
Just then a queer creature dropped from a tree into the ring and began
moving slowly toward them. It was flat in shape, like a big turtle;
only it hadn't a turtle's hard shell. Instead, its body was covered
with sharp prickers, like rose thorns, and it had two small red eyes
that looked cruel and wicked. The children could not see how many legs
it had, but they must have been very short, because the creature moved
so slowly over the ground.
When it had drawn near to them it said, in a pleading tone that sounded
soft and rather musical:
"Little girl, pick me up in your arms, and pet me!"
Twinkle shrank back.
"My! I couldn't _think_ of doing such a thing," she answered.
Then the creature said:
"Little boy, please pick me up in your arms, and pet me!"
"Go 'way!" shouted Chubbins. "I wouldn't touch you for anything."
The creature turned its red eyes first upon one and then upon the
other.
"Listen, my dears," it continued; "I was once a beautiful maiden, but a
cruel tuxix transformed me into this awful shape, and so must I remain
until some child willingly takes me in its arms and pets me. Then, and
not till then, will I be restored to my proper form."
"Don't believe it! Don't believe it!" cried a high, clear voice, and
both the boy and the girl looked quickly around to see who had spoken.
But no one besides themselves was in sight, and they only noticed a
thick branch of one of the trees slightly swaying its leaves.
"What is a tuxix?" asked Twinkle, who was beginning to feel sorry for
the poor creature.
"It is a magician, a sorcerer, a wizard, and a witch all rolled into
one," was the answer; "and you can imagine what a dreadful thing that
would be."
"Be careful!" cried the clear voice, again. "It is the tuxix herself
who is talking to you. Don't believe a word you hear!"
At this the red eyes of the creature flashed fire with anger, and it
tried to turn its clumsy body around to find the speaker. Twinkle and
Chubbins looked too, but only heard a flutter and a mocking laugh
coming from the trees.
"If I get my eye on that bird, it will never speak again," exclaimed
the creature, in a voice of fury very different from the sweet tones it
had at first used; and perhaps it was this fact that induced the
children to believe the warning was from a friend, and they would do
well to heed it.
"Whether you are the tuxix or not," said Twinkle, "I never will touch
you. You may be sure of that."
"Nor I," declared Chubbins, stoutly, as he came closer to the girl and
grasped her hand in his own.
At this the horrid thing bristled all its sharp prickers in anger, and
said:
"Then, if I cannot conquer you in one way, I will in another. Go, both
of you, and join the bird that warned you, and live in the air and the
trees until you repent your stubbornness and promise to become my
slaves. The tuxix has spoken, and her magical powers are at work. Go!"
In an instant Twinkle saw Chubbins shoot through the air and disappear
among the leaves of one of the tall trees. As he went he seemed to grow
very small, and to change in shape.
"Wait!" she cried. "I'm coming, too!"
She was afraid of losing Chubbins, so she flew after him, feeling
rather queer herself, and a moment after was safe in the tall tree,
clinging with her toes to a branch and looking in amazement at the boy
who sat beside her.
Chubbins had been transformed into a pretty little bird--all, that is,
except his head, which was Chubbins' own head reduced in size to fit
the bird body. It still had upon it the straw hat, which had also grown
small in size, and the sight that met Twinkle's eyes was so funny that
she laughed merrily, and her laugh was like the sweet warbling of a
skylark.
Chubbins looked at her and saw almost what she saw; for Twinkle was a
bird too, except for her head, with its checked sunbonnet, which had
grown small enough to fit the pretty, glossy-feathered body of a lark.
Both of them had to cling fast to the branch with their toes, for their
arms and hands were now wings. The toes were long and sharp pointed, so
that they could be used in the place of fingers.
"My!" exclaimed Twinkle; "you're a queer sight, Chubbins!"
"So are you," answered the boy. "That mean old thing must have 'witched
us."
"Yes, we're 'chanted," said Twinkle. "And now, what are we going to do
about it? We can't go home, for our folks would be scared nearly into
fits. And we don't know the way home, either."
"That's so," said Chubbins, fluttering his little wings to keep from
falling, for he had nearly lost his balance.
"What shall we do?" she continued.
"Why, fly around and be gay and happy," said a clear and merry voice
beside them. "That's what birds are expected to do!"
[CHAPTER II] _The Forest Guardian_
Twinkle and Chubbins twisted their heads around on their little
feathered necks and saw perched beside them a big bird of a most
beautiful blue color. At first they were a bit frightened, for the
newcomer seemed of giant size beside their little lark bodies, and he
was, moreover, quite fierce in appearance, having a crest of feathers
that came to a point above his head, and a strong beak and sharp
talons. But Twinkle looked full into the shrewd, bright eye, and found
it good humored and twinkling; so she plucked up courage and asked:
"Were you speaking to us?"
"Very likely," replied the blue bird, in a cheerful tone. "There's no
one else around to speak to."
"And was it you who warned us against that dreadful creature below in
the forest?" she continued.
"It was."
"Then," said Twinkle, "we are very much obliged to you."
"Don't mention it," said the other. "I'm the forest policeman--
Policeman Bluejay, you know--and it's my duty to look after everyone
who is in trouble."
"We're in trouble, all right," said Chubbins, sorrowfully.
"Well, it might have been worse," remarked Policeman Bluejay, making a
chuckling sound in his throat that Twinkle thought was meant for a
laugh. "If you had ever touched the old tuxix she would have
transformed you into toads or lizards. That is an old trick of hers, to
get children into her power and then change them into things as
loathsome as herself."
"I wouldn't have touched her, anyhow," said Twinkle.
"Nor I!" cried Chubbins, in his shrill, bird-like voice. "She wasn't
nice."
"Still, it was good of you to warn us," Twinkle added, sweetly.
The Bluejay looked upon the fluttering little things with kind
approval. Then he laughed outright.
"What has happened to your heads?" he asked.
"Nothing, 'cept they're smaller," replied Chubbins.
"But birds shouldn't have human heads," retorted the bluejay. "I
suppose the old tuxix did that so the birds would not admit you into
their society, for you are neither all bird nor all human. But never
mind; I'll explain your case, and you may be sure all the birds of the
forest will be kind to you."
"Must we stay like this always?" asked Twinkle, anxiously.
"I really can't say," answered the policeman. "There is said to be a
way to break every enchantment, if one knows what it is. The trouble in
these cases is to discover what the charm may be that will restore you
to your natural shapes. But just now you must make up your minds to
live in our forest for a time, and to be as happy as you can under the
circumstances."
"Well, we'll try," said Chubbins, with a sigh.
"That's right," exclaimed Policeman Bluejay, nodding his crest in
approval. "The first thing you must have is a house; so, if you will
fly with me, I will try to find you one."
"I--I'm afraid!" said Twinkle, nervously.
"The larks," declared the bluejay, "are almost the strongest and best
flyers we have. You two children have now become skylarks, and may soar
so high in the air that you can scarcely see the earth below you. For
that reason you need have no fear whatever. Be bold and brave, and all
will be well."
He spoke in such a kindly and confident voice that both Twinkle and
Chubbins gained courage; and when the policeman added: "Come on!" and
flew straight as an arrow into the air above the tree-tops, the two
little skylarks with their girl and boy heads followed swiftly after
him, and had no trouble in going just as fast as their conductor.
It was quite a pleasant and interesting experience, to dart through the
air and be in no danger of falling. When they rested on their
outstretched wings they floated as lightly as bubbles, and soon a
joyous thrill took possession of them and they began to understand why
it is that the free, wild birds are always so happy in their native
state.
The forest was everywhere under them, for it was of vast extent.
Presently the bluejay swooped downward and alighted near the top of a
tall maple tree that had many thick branches.
In a second Twinkle and Chubbins were beside him, their little hearts
beating fast in their glossy bosoms from the excitement of their rapid
flight. Just in front of them, firmly fastened to a crotch of a limb,
was a neatly built nest of a gray color, lined inside with some soft
substance that was as smooth as satin.
"Here," said their thoughtful friend, "is the nest that Niddie Thrush
and Daisy Thrush built for themselves a year ago. They have now gone to
live in a wood across the big river, so you are welcome to their old
home. It is almost as good as new, and there is no rent to pay."
"It's awfully small!" said Chubbins.
"Chut-chut!" twittered Policeman Bluejay. "Remember you are not
children now, but skylarks, and that this is a thrush's nest. Try it,
and you are sure to find it will fit you exactly."
So Twinkle and Chubbins flew into the "house" and nestled their bodies
against its soft lining and found that their friend was right. When
they were cuddled together, with their slender legs tucked into the
feathers of their breasts, they just filled the nest to the brim, and
no more room was necessary.
"Now, I'll mark the nest for you, so that everyone will know you claim
it," said the policeman; and with his bill he pecked a row of small
dots in the bark of the limb, just beside the nest. "I hope you will be
very happy here, and this afternoon I will bring some friends to meet
you. So now good-bye until I see you again."
"Wait!" cried Chubbins. "What are we going to eat?"
"Eat!" answered the bluejay, as if surprised. "Why, you may feast upon
all the good things the forest offers--grubs, beetles, worms, and
butterfly-eggs."
"Ugh!" gasped Chubbins. "It makes me sick to just think of it."
"What!"
"You see," said Twinkle, "we are not _all_ birds, Mr. Bluejay, as you
are; and that makes a big difference. We have no bills to pick up the
things that birds like to eat, and we do not care for the same sort of
food, either."
"What _do_ you care for?" asked the policeman, in a puzzled voice.
"Why, cake and sandwitches, and pickles, and cheese, such as we had in
our basket. We couldn't _eat_ any live things, you see, because we are
not used to it."
The bluejay became thoughtful.
"I understand your objection," he said, "and perhaps you are right, not
having good bird sense because the brains in your heads are still human
brains. Let me see: what can I do to help you?"
The children did not speak, but watched him anxiously.
"Where did you leave your basket?" he finally asked.
"In the place where the old witch 'chanted us."
"Then," said the officer of the forest, "I must try to get it for you."
"It is too big and heavy for a bird to carry," suggested Twinkle.
"Sure enough. Of course. That's a fact." He turned his crested head
upward, trying to think of a way, and saw a black speck moving across
the sky.
"Wait a minute! I'll be back," he called, and darted upward like a
flash.
The children watched him mount into the sky toward the black speck, and
heard his voice crying out in sharp, quick notes. And before long
Policeman Bluejay attracted the other bird's attention, causing it to
pause in its flight and sink slowly downward until the two drew close
together.
Then it was seen that the other bird was a great eagle, strong and
sharp-eyed, and with broad wings that spread at least six feet from tip
to tip.
"Good day, friend eagle," said the bluejay; "I hope you are in no
hurry, for I want to ask you to do me a great favor."
"What is it?" asked the eagle, in a big, deep voice.
"Please go to a part of the forest with me and carry a basket to some
friends of mine. I'll show you the way. It is too heavy for me to lift,
but with your great strength you can do it easily."
"It will give me pleasure to so favor you," replied the eagle,
politely; so Policeman Bluejay led the way and the eagle followed with
such mighty strokes of its wings that the air was sent whirling in
little eddies behind him, as the water is churned by a steamer's
paddles.
It was not very long before they reached the clearing in the forest.
The horrid tuxix had wriggled her evil body away, to soothe her
disappointment by some other wicked act; but the basket stood as the
children had left it.
The eagle seized the handle in his stout beak and found it was no
trouble at all for him to fly into the air and carry the basket with
him.
"This way, please--this way!" chirped the bluejay; and the eagle bore
the precious burden safely to the maple tree, and hung it upon a limb
just above the nest.
As he approached he made such a fierce fluttering that Twinkle and
Chubbins were dreadfully scared and flew out of their nest, hopping
from limb to limb until they were well out of the monstrous bird's way.
But when they saw the basket, and realized the eagle's kindly act, they
flew toward him and thanked him very earnestly for his assistance.
"Goodness me!" exclaimed the eagle, turning his head first on one side
and then on the other, that both his bright eyes might observe the
child-larks; "what curious creatures have you here, my good policeman?"
"Why, it is another trick of old Hautau, the tuxix. She found two
children in the forest and enchanted them. She wanted to make them
toads, but they wouldn't touch her, so she couldn't. Then she got
herself into a fine rage and made the little dears half birds and half
children, as you see them. I was in a tree near by, and saw the whole
thing. Because I was sorry for the innocent victims I befriended them,
and as this basket belongs to them I have asked you to fetch it to
their nest."
"I am glad to be of service," replied the eagle. "If ever you need me,
and I am anywhere around," he continued, addressing the larks, "just
call me, and I will come at once."
"Thank you," said Twinkle, gratefully.
"We're much obliged," added Chubbins.
Then the eagle flew away, and when he was gone Policeman Bluejay also
bade them good-bye.
"I'll be back this afternoon, without fail," he said. "Just now I must
go and look over the forest, and make sure none of the birds have been
in mischief during my absence. Do not go very far from your nest, for a
time, or you may get lost. The forest is a big place; but when you are
more used to it and to your new condition you can be more bold in
venturing abroad."
"We won't leave this tree," promised Twinkle, in an earnest voice.
And Chubbins chimed in with, "That's right; we won't leave this tree
until you come back."
"Good-bye," said the policeman.
"Good-bye," responded Twinkle and Chubbins.
So the bluejay darted away and was soon lost to sight, and Twinkle and
Chubbins were left alone to seriously consider the great misfortune
that had overtaken them.
[CHAPTER III] _The Child-Larks_
"Folks will be worried about us, Twink," said Chubbins.
"'Course they will," Twinkle replied. "They'll wonder what has become
of us, and try to find us."
"But they won't look in the tree-tops."
"No."
"Nor think to ask the birds where we are."
"Why should they?" enquired Twinkle. "They can't talk to the birds,
Chub."
"Why not? We talk to them, don't we? And they talk to us. At least, the
p'liceman and the eagle did."
"That's true," answered Twinkle, "and I don't understand it a bit. I
must ask Mr. Bluejay to 'splain it to us."
"What's the use of a p'liceman in the forest?" asked Chubbins, after a
moment's thought.
"I suppose," she replied, "that he has to keep the birds from being
naughty. Some birds are just awful mischiefs, Chub. There's the
magpies, you know, that steal; and the crows that fight; and the
jackdaws that are saucy, and lots of others that get into trouble.
Seems to me P'liceman Bluejay's a pretty busy bird, if he looks after
things as he ought."
"Prob'ly he's got his hands full," said Chubbins.
"Not that; for he hasn't any hands, any more than we have. Perhaps you
ought to say he's got his wings full," suggested Twinkle.
"That reminds me I'm hungry," chirped the boy-lark.
"Well, we've got the basket," she replied.
"But how can we eat cake and things, witched up as we are?"
"Haven't we mouths and teeth, just the same as ever?"
"Yes, but we haven't any hands, and there's a cloth tied over the top
of the basket."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Twinkle; "I hadn't thought of that."
They flew together to the basket and perched upon the edge of it. It
seemed astonishingly big to them, now that they were so small; but
Chubbins remarked that this fact was a pleasant one, for instead of
eating all the good things the basket contained at one meal, as they
had at first intended, it would furnish them with food for many days to
come.
But how to get into the basket was the thing to be considered just now.
They fluttered around on every side of it, and finally found a small
place where the cloth was loose. In a minute Chubbins began clawing at
it with his little feet, and Twinkle helped him; so that gradually they
managed to pull the cloth away far enough for one of them to crawl
through the opening. Then the other followed, and because the big
basket was not quite full there was exactly room for them to stand
underneath the cloth and walk around on top of a row of cookies that
lay next to a row of sandwiches.
The cookies seemed enormous. One was lying flat, and Chubbins declared
it seemed as big around as the dining-table at home.
"All the better for us," said Twinkle, bending her head down to nibble
at the edge of the cookie.
"If we're going to be birds," said Chubbins, who was also busily eating
as best he could, "we ought to be reg'lar birds, and have bills to peck
with. This being half one thing and half another doesn't suit me at
all."
"The witch wasn't trying to suit us," replied Twinkle; "she was trying
to get us into trouble."
"Well, she did it, all right," he said.
It was not so hard to eat as they had feared, for their slender necks
enabled them to bend their heads low. Chubbins' hat fell off, a minute
later, and he wondered how he was going to get it on his head again.
"Can't you stand on one foot, and use the other foot like a hand?"
asked Twinkle.
"I don't know," said he.
"The storks stand on one leg," continued the girl. "I've seen 'em in
pictures."
So Chubbins tried it, and found he could balance his little body on one
leg very nicely. For if he toppled either way he had but to spread his
wings and tail feathers and so keep himself from falling. He picked up
his hat with the claws of his other foot and managed to put it on by
ducking his head.
This gave the boy-lark a new idea. He broke off a piece of the cookie
and held it in his claw while he ate it; and seeing his success Twinkle
followed his example, and after a few attempts found she could eat very
comfortably in that way.
Having had their luncheon--and it amazed Chubbins to see how very
little was required to satisfy their hunger--the bird-children crept
out of the basket and flew down to the twig beside their nest.
"Hello!" cried a strange voice. "Newcomers, eh?"
They were so startled that they fluttered a moment to keep from
tumbling off the limb. Then Twinkle saw a furry red head sticking out
of a small hollow in the trunk of the tree. The head had two round
black eyes, an inquisitive nose, a wide mouth with sharp teeth and
whiskers like those of a cat. It seemed as big as the moon to the shy
little child-larks, until it occurred to the girl that the strange
creature must be a squirrel.
"You--you scared us!" she said, timidly.
"You scared _me,_ at first," returned the squirrel, in a comic tone.
"Dear me! how came you birds to have children's heads?"
"That isn't the way to put it," remarked Chubbins, staring back into
the eyes of the squirrel. "You should ask how we children happened to
have birds' bodies."
"Very well; put the conundrum that way, if you like," said the
squirrel. "What is the answer?"
"We are enchanted," replied Twinkle.
"Ah. The tuxix?"
"Yes. We were caught in the forest, and she bewitched us."
"That is too bad," said their new acquaintance. "She is a very wicked
old creature, for a fact, and loves to get folks into trouble. Are you
going to live here?"
"Yes," answered the girl. "Policeman Bluejay gave us this nest."
"Then it's all right; for Policeman Bluejay rules the feathered tribes
of this forest about as he likes. Have you seen him in full uniform
yet?"
"No," they replied, "unless his feathers are his uniform."
"Well, he's too proud of his office to be satisfied with feathers, I
can tell you. When some folks get a little authority they want all the
world to know about it, and a bold uniform covers many a faint heart.
But as I'm your nearest neighbor I'll introduce myself. My name's
Wisk."
"My name is Twinkle."
"And mine's Chubbins."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," said the squirrel, nodding. "I
live in the second flat."
"How's that?" asked the boy.
"Why, the second hollow, you know. There's a 'possum living in the
hollow down below, who is carrying four babies around in her pocket;
and Mrs. Hootaway, the gray owl, lives in the hollow above--the one you
can see far over your heads. So I'm the second flat tenant."
"I see," said Twinkle.
"Early in the morning the 'possum comes growling home to go to bed;
late at night the owl hoots and keeps folks awake; but I'm very quiet
and well behaved, and you'll find me a good neighbor," continued Wisk.
"I'm sure of that," said Chubbins.
As if to prove his friendship the squirrel now darted out of the hollow
and sat upon a limb beside the children, holding his bushy tail
straight up so that it stood above his head like a big plume in a
soldier's helmet.
"Are you hungry?" asked the girl.
"Not very. I cannot get much food until the nuts are ripe, you know,
and my last winter's supply was gone long ago. But I manage to find
some bits to eat, here and there."
"Do you like cookies?" she asked.
"I really do not know," answered Wisk. "Where do they grow?"
"In baskets. I'll get you a piece, and you can try it." So Twinkle flew
up and crept into her basket again, quickly returning with a bit of
cookie in her claw. It was not much more than a crumb, but nevertheless
it was all that she could carry.
The squirrel seized the morsel in his paws, examined it gravely, and
then took a nibble. An instant later it was gone.
"That is very good, indeed!" he declared. "Where do these baskets of
cookies grow?"
"They don't grow anywhere," replied Twinkle, with a laugh. "The baskets
come from the grocery store, and my mama makes the cookies."
"Oh; they're human food, then."
"Yes; would you like some more?"
"Not just now," said Wisk. "I don't want to rob you, and it is foolish
to eat more than one needs, just because the food tastes good. But if I
get very hungry, perhaps I'll ask you for another bite."
"Do," said the girl. "You are welcome to what we have, as long as it
lasts."
"That is very kind of you," returned the squirrel.
They sat and talked for an hour, and Wisk told them stories of the
forest, and of the many queer animals and birds that lived there. It
was all very interesting to the children, and they listened eagerly
until they heard a rushing sound in the air that sent Wisk scurrying
back into his hole.
[CHAPTER IV] _An Afternoon Reception_
Twinkle and Chubbins stretched their little necks to see what was
coming, and a moment later beheld one of the most gorgeous sights the
forest affords--a procession of all the bright-hued birds that live
among the trees or seek them for shelter.
They flew in pairs, one after the other, and at the head of the
procession was their good friend Policeman Bluejay, wearing a
policeman's helmet upon his head and having a policeman's club tucked
underneath his left wing. The helmet was black and glossy and had a big
number "1" on the front of it, and a strap that passed under the
wearer's bill and held it firmly in place. The club was fastened around
the policeman's wing with a cord, so that it could not get away when he
was flying.
The birds were of many sizes and of various colorings. Some were much
larger than the bluejay, but none seemed so proud or masterful, and all
deferred meekly to the commands of the acknowledged guardian of the
forest.
One by one the pretty creatures alighted upon the limbs of the tree,
and the first thing they all did was to arrange their feathers properly
after their rapid flight. Then the bluejay, who sat next to the
child-larks, proceeded to introduce the guests he had brought to call
upon the newest inhabitants of his domain.
"This is Mr. and Mrs. Robin Redbreast, one of our most aristocratic
families," said he, swinging his club around in a circle until Chubbins
ducked his head for fear it might hit him.
"You are welcome to our forest," chirped Robin, in a sedate and
dignified tone.
"And here is Mr. Goldfinch and his charming bride," continued the
policeman.
"Ah, it is a pleasure to meet you," the goldfinch murmured, eyeing the
child-larks curiously, but trying to be so polite that they would not
notice his staring.
"Henny Wren and Jenny Wren," proceeded the policeman.
Twinkle and Chubbins both bowed politely.
"Well, well!" croaked a raven, in a hoarse voice, "am I to wait all day
while you introduce those miserable little insignificant grub-eaters?"
"Be quiet!" cried Policeman Bluejay, sternly.
"I won't," snapped the raven.
It happened so quickly that the children saw nothing before they heard
the thump of the club against the raven's head.
"Caw--waw--waw--waw! Murder! Help!" screamed the big bird, and flew
away from the tree as swiftly as his ragged wings would carry him.
"Let him go," said a sweet brown mocking-bird. "The rowdy is always
disturbing our social gatherings, and no one will miss him if he
doesn't come back."
"He is not fit for polite society," added a nuthatcher, pruning her
scarlet wings complacently.
So the policeman tucked the club under his wing again and proceeded
with the introductions, the pewees and the linnets being next presented
to the strangers, and then the comical little chicadees, the orioles,
bobolinks, thrushes, starlings and whippoorwills, the latter appearing
sleepy because, they explained, they had been out late the night
before.
These smaller birds all sat in rows on the limbs beside Twinkle and
Chubbins; but seated upon the stouter limbs facing them were rows of
bigger birds who made the child-larks nervous by the sharp glances from
their round, bright eyes. Here were blackbirds, cuckoos, magpies,
grosbeaks and wood-pigeons, all nearly as big and fierce-looking as
Policeman Bluejay himself, and some so rugged and strong that it seemed
strange they would submit to the orders of the officer of the law. But
the policeman kept a sharp watch upon these birds, to see that they
attempted no mischievous pranks, and they must have been afraid of him
because they behaved very well after the saucy raven had left them.
Even the chattering magpies tried to restrain their busy tongues, and
the blackbirds indulged in no worse pranks than to suddenly spread
their wings and try to push the pigeons off the branch.
Several beautiful humming-birds were poised in the air above this
gathering, their bodies being motionless but their tiny wings
fluttering so swiftly that neither Twinkle nor Chubbins could see them
at all.
Policeman Bluejay, having finally introduced all the company to the
child-larks, began to relate the story of their adventures, telling the
birds how the wicked tuxix had transformed them into the remarkable
shapes they now possessed.
"For the honor of our race," he said, "we must each and every one guard
these little strangers carefully, and see that they come to no harm in
our forest. You must all pledge yourselves to befriend them on all
occasions, and if any one dares to break his promise he must fight with
me to the death--and you know very well what that means."
"We do," said a magpie, with a shrill laugh. "You'll treat us as you
did Jim Crow. Eh?"
The policeman did not notice this remark, but the other birds all
looked grave and thoughtful, and began in turn to promise that they
would take care to befriend the child-larks at all times. This ceremony
having been completed, the birds began to converse in a more friendly
and easy tone, so that Twinkle and Chubbins soon ceased to be afraid of
them, and enjoyed very much their society and friendly chatter.
[CHAPTER V] _The Oriole's Story_
"We are really very happy in this forest," said an oriole that sat next
to Twinkle, "and we would have no fears at all did not the men with
guns, who are called hunters, come here now and then to murder us. They
are terribly wild and ferocious creatures, who have no hearts at all."
"Oh, they _must_ have hearts," said Twinkle, "else they couldn't live.
For one's heart has to beat to keep a person alive, you know."
"Perhaps it's their gizzards that beat," replied the oriole,
reflectively, "for they are certainly heartless and very wicked. A
cousin of mine, Susie Oriole, had a very brave and handsome husband.
They built a pretty nest together and Susie laid four eggs in it that
were so perfect that she was very proud of them.
"The eggs were nearly ready to hatch when a great man appeared in the
forest and discovered Susie's nest. Her brave husband fought
desperately to protect their home, but the cruel man shot him, and he
fell to the ground dead. Even then Susie would not leave her pretty
eggs, and when the man climbed the tree to get them she screamed and
tried to peck out his eyes. Usually we orioles are very timid, you
know; so you can well understand how terrified Susie was to fight
against this giant foe. But he had a club in his hand, with which he
dealt my poor cousin such a dreadful blow that she was sent whirling
through the air and sank half unconscious into a bush a few yards away.
"After this the man stole the eggs from the nest, and also picked up
the dead body of Susie's husband and carried it away with him. Susie
recovered somewhat from the blow she had received, and when she saw her
eggs and her poor dead husband being taken away, she managed to flutter
along after the man and followed him until he came to the edge of the
forest. There he had a horse tied to a tree, and he mounted upon the
beast's back and rode away through the open country. Susie followed
him, just far enough away to keep the man in sight, without being
noticed herself.
"By and bye he came to a big house, which he entered, closing the door
behind him. Susie flew into a tree beside the house and waited
sorrowfully but in patience for a chance to find her precious ones
again.
"The days passed drearily away, one after another, but in about a week
my cousin noticed that one of the windows of the house had been left
open. So she boldly left her tree and flew in at the window, and
luckily none of the people who lived in the house happened to be in the
room.
"Imagine Susie's surprise when she saw around the sides of the room
many birds sitting silently upon limbs cut from trees, and among them
her own husband, as proud and beautiful as he had ever been before the
cruel man had killed him! She quickly flew to the limb and perched
beside her loved one.
"'Oh, my darling!' she cried, 'how glad I am to have found you again,
and to see you alive and well when I had mourned you as dead. Come with
me at once, and we will return to our old home in the forest.'
"But the bird remained motionless and made no reply to her loving
words. She thrust her bill beside his and tried to kiss him, but he did
not respond to the caress and his body was stiff and cold.
"Then Susie uttered a cry of grief, and understood the truth. Her
husband was indeed dead, but had been stuffed and mounted upon the limb
to appear as he had in life. Small wires had been pushed through his
legs to make his poor body stand up straight, and to Susie's horror she
discovered that his eyes were only bits of glass! All the other birds
in the room were stuffed in the same way. They looked as if they were
alive, at the first glance; but each body was cold and every voice
mute. They were mere mockeries of the beautiful birds that this
heartless and cruel man had deprived of their joyous lives.
"Susie's loving heart was nearly bursting with pain as she slowly
fluttered toward the open window by which she had entered. But on her
way a new anguish overtook her, for she noticed a big glass case
against the wall in which were arranged clusters of eggs stolen from
birds of almost every kind. Yes; there were her own lovely eggs,
scarcely an inch from her face, but separated from her by a stout glass
that could not be broken, although she madly dashed her body against it
again and again.
"Finally, realizing her helplessness, poor Susie left the room by the
open window and flew back to the forest, where she told us all the
terrible thing she had seen. No one was able to comfort her, for her
loving heart was broken; and after that she would often fly away to the
house to peer through the window at her eggs and her beautiful husband.
"One day she did not return, and after waiting for her nearly two weeks
we sent the bluejay to see what had become of her. Our policeman found
the house, and also found the window of the room open.
"He boldly entered, and discovered Susie and her husband sitting side
by side upon the dried limb, their bodies both stiff and dead. The man
had caught the poor wife at last, and the lovers were reunited in
death.
"Also Policeman Bluejay found his grandfather's mummy in this room, and
the stuffed mummies of many other friends he had known in the forest.
So he was very sorrowful when he returned to us, and from that time we
have feared the heartless men more than ever."
"It's a sad story," sighed Twinkle, "and I've no doubt it is a true
one. But all men are not so bad, I'm sure."
"All men who enter the forest are," answered the oriole, positively.
"For they only come here to murder and destroy those who are helpless
before their power, but have never harmed them in the least. If God
loves the birds, as I am sure He does, why do you suppose He made their
ferocious enemies, the men?"
Twinkle did not reply, but she felt a little ashamed.
[CHAPTER VI] _A Merry Adventure_
"Talking about men," said the cuckoo, in a harsh but not very
unpleasant voice, "reminds me of a funny adventure I once had myself. I
was sitting in my nest one day, at the time when I was quite young,
when suddenly a man appeared before me. You must know that this nest,
which was rather carelessly built by my mother, was in a thick
evergreen tree, and not very high from the ground; so that I found the
man's eyes staring squarely into my own.
"Most of you, my dears, have seen men; but this was the strangest sort
of man you can imagine. There was white hair upon his face, so long
that it hung down to his middle, and over his eyes were round plates
of glass that glittered very curiously. I was so astonished at seeing
the queer creature that I sat still and stared, and this was my
undoing. For suddenly there came a rapid 'whish!' through the air, and
a network of cords fell all around and over me. Then, indeed, I spread
my wings and attempted to fly; but it was too late. I struggled in the
net without avail, and soon gave up the conflict in breathless despair.
"My captor did not intend to kill me, however. Instead, he tried to
soothe my fright, and carried me very gently for many, many miles,
until we came to a village of houses. Here, at the very top of a high
house, the man lived in one little room. It was all littered with tools
and bits of wood, and on a broad shelf were several queer things that
went 'tick-tock! tick-tock!' every minute. I was thrust, gently enough,
into a wooden cage, where I lay upon the bottom more dead than alive
because the ticking things at first scared me dreadfully and I was in
constant terror lest I should be tortured or killed. But the glass-eyed
old man brought me dainty things to eat, and plenty of fresh water to
relieve my thirst, and by the next day my heart had stopped going
pitty-pat and I was calm enough to stand up in my cage and look around
me.
"My white-whiskered captor sat at a bench with his coat off and his
bald head bare, while he worked away busily putting little wheels and
springs together, and fitting them into a case of wood. When one of
them was finished it would sing 'tick-tock! tick-tock!' just like the
other queer things on the shelf, and this constant ticking so
interested me that I raised my head and called:
"'Cuck-oo! cuck-oo!'"
"'That's it!' cried the old man, delightedly. 'That's what I wanted to
hear. It's the real cuckoo at last, and not a bit like those cheap
imitations.'
"I didn't understand at first what he meant, but he worked at his bench
all day, and finally brought to my cage a bird made out of wood, that
was carved and painted to look just as I was. It seemed so natural that
I flapped my wings and called 'cuck-oo' to it, and the man pressed a
little bellows at the bottom of the bird and made it say 'cuck-oo!' in
return. But that cry was so false and unreal that I just shouted with
laughter, and the glass-eyed old man shook his head sadly and said:
'That will never do. That will never do in the world.'
"So all the next day he worked hard trying to make his wooden bird say
'cuck-oo!' in the proper way; and at last it really spoke quite
naturally, so that it startled even me when I heard it. This seemed to
please my captor very much; so he put it inside one of the ticking
things on the shelf, and by-and-by a door opened and the wooden bird
jumped out and cried 'Cuck-oo! Cuck-oo! Cuck-oo!' and then jumped back
again and the door closed with a snap.
"'Bravo!' cried old white-hair; but I was rather annoyed, for I thought
the wooden bird was impudent in trying to ape the ways of live cuckoos.
I shouted back a challenge to it, but there was no reply. An hour
later, and every hour, it repeated the performance, but jumped behind
the door when I offered to fight it.
"The next day the man was absent from the room, and I had nothing to
eat. So I became angry and uneasy. I scratched away at the wooden bars
of my cage and tried to twist them with my beak, and at last one of
them, to my great joy, came loose, and I was able to squeeze myself out
of the cage.
"But then I was no better off than before, because the windows and the
door of the room were fast shut. I grew more cross and ill-tempered
than before, when I discovered this, and to add to my annoyance that
miserable wooden bird would every once in awhile jump out and yell
'Cuck-oo!' and then bounce back into its house again, without daring to
argue with me.
"This at last made me frantic with rage, and I resolved to be revenged.
The next time the wooden bird made its appearance I new upon it in a
flash and knocked it off the little platform before it had uttered its
cry more than twice. It fell upon the floor and broke one of its wings;
but in an instant I dashed myself upon it and bit and scratched the
impudent thing until there was not a bit of paint left upon it. Its
head came off, too, and so did its legs and the other wing, and before
I was done with it no one ever would have known it was once a clever
imitation of myself. Finding that I was victorious I cried 'Cuck-oo!'
in triumph, and just then the little door of the ticking thing opened
and the platform where the wooden bird had stood came out of it and
remained for a time motionless. I quickly flew up and perched upon it,
and shouted 'Cuck-oo!' again, in great glee. As I did so, to my
amazement the platform on which I stood leaped backward, carrying me
with it, and the next instant the door closed with a snap and I found
myself in darkness.
"Wildly I fluttered my wings; but it was of no use. I was in a prison
much worse than the cage, and so small that I could hardly turn around
in it. I was about to die of terror and despair when I chanced to
remember that at certain times the door would open to push out the bird
and allow it to say 'Cuck-oo!' before it shut again. So, the next time
it opened in this way, I would be able to make my escape.
"Very patiently I waited in the dark little hole, listening to the
steady 'tick-tock!' of the machinery behind me and trying not to be
nervous. After awhile I heard the old man come into the room and
exclaim sorrowfully because his captive cuckoo had escaped from its
cage. He could not imagine what had become of me, and I kept still and
laughed to myself to think how I would presently surprise him.
"It seemed an age before I finally heard the click that opened the door
in front of me. Then the platform on which I sat sprang out, and I
fluttered my wings and yelled 'Cuck-oo! Cuck-oo!' as loud as I could.
The old man was standing right in front of me, his mouth wide open with
astonishment at the wonderfully natural performance of his wooden bird,
as he thought me. He shouted 'Bravo!' again, and clapped his hands; and
at that I flew straight into his face, and clawed his white hair with
all my might, and screamed as loud as I could.
"He screamed, too, being taken by surprise, and tumbled over backward
so that he sat down upon the floor with a loud bump. I flew to the
work-bench, and then the truth dawned upon him that I was not the
wooden bird but the real one.
"'Good gracious!' said he, 'I've left the window open. The rascal will
escape!'
"I glanced at the window and saw that it was indeed wide open. The
sight filled me with triumphant joy. Before the old man could get upon
his feet and reach the window I had perched upon the sill, and with one
parting cry of 'Cuck-oo!' I spread my wings and flew straight into the
air.
"Well, I never went back to enquire if he enjoyed the trick I had
played upon him, but I've laughed many a time when I thought of the old
fellow's comic expression when a real cuckoo instead of a painted one
flew out of his ticking machine."
As the cuckoo ended his tale the other birds joined in a chorus of
shrill laughter; but Chubbins said to them, gravely:
"He was a smart man, though, to make a cuckoo-clock. I saw one myself,
one time, and it was a wonderful thing. The cuckoo told what time it
was every hour."
"Was it made of wood?" asked the bluejay.
"I don't know that," replied the boy-lark; "but of course it wasn't a
real bird."
"It only shows," remarked the bobolink, "how greatly those humans
admire us birds. They make pictures of us, and love to keep us in cages
so they can hear us sing, and they even wear us in their bonnets after
we are dead."
"I think that is a dreadful thing," said the goldfinch, with a shudder.
"But it only proves that men are our greatest enemies."
"Don't forget the women," said Twinkle. "It's the women that wear birds
in their hats."
"Mankind," said Robin Redbreast, gravely, "is the most destructive and
bloodthirsty of all the brute creation. They not only kill for food,
but through vanity and a desire for personal adornment. I have even
heard it said that they kill for amusement, being unable to restrain
their murderous desires. In this they are more cruel than the
serpents."
"There is some excuse for the poor things," observed the bluejay, "for
nature created them dependent upon the animals and birds and fishes.
Having neither fur nor feathers to protect their poor skinny bodies,
they wear clothing made of the fleece of sheep, and skins of seals and
beavers and otters and even the humble muskrats. They cover their feet
and their hands with skins of beasts; they sleep upon the feathers of
birds; their food is the flesh of beasts and birds and fishes. No
created thing is so dependent upon others as man; therefore he is the
greatest destroyer in the world. But he is not alone in his murderous,
despoiling instinct. While you rail at man, my friends, do not forget
that birds are themselves the greatest enemies of birds."
"Nonsense!" cried the magpie, indignantly.
"Perhaps the less you say about this matter the better," declared the
bluejay, swinging his club in a suggestive manner, and looking sharply
at the magpie.
"It's a slander," said the blackbird. "I'm sure you can't accuse _me_
of injuring birds in any way."
"If you are all innocent, why are we obliged to have a policeman?"
enquired the little wren, in a nervous voice.
"Tell me," said Twinkle, appealing to the bluejay; "are the big birds
really naughty to the little ones?"
"Why, it is the same with us as it is with men," replied the policeman.
"There are good ones and bad ones among us, and the bad ones have to be
watched. Men destroy us wantonly; other animals and the sly serpents
prey upon us and our eggs for food; but these are open enemies, and we
know how we may best avoid them. Our most dangerous foes are those
bandits of our own race who, instead of protecting their brethren,
steal our eggs and murder our young. They are not always the biggest
birds, by any means, that do these things. The crow family is known to
be treacherous, and the shrike is rightly called the 'butcher-bird,'
but there are many others that we have reason to suspect feed upon
their own race."
"How dreadful!" exclaimed the girl-lark.
The birds all seemed restless and uneasy at this conversation, and
looked upon one another with suspicious glances. But the bluejay
soothed them by saying:
"After all, I suppose we imagine more evil than really exists, and
sometimes accuse our neighbors wrongfully. But the mother birds know
how often their nests have been robbed in their absence, and if they
suspect some neighbor of the crime instead of a prowling animal it is
but natural, since many birds cannot be trusted. There are laws in the
forest, of course; but the guilty ones are often able to escape. I'll
tell you of a little tragedy that happened only last week, which will
prove how apt we are to be mistaken."
[CHAPTER VII] _The Bluejay's Story_
"There is no more faithful mother in the forest than the blue titmouse,
which is a cousin to the chickadee," continued the policeman, "and this
spring Tom Titmouse and his wife Nancy set up housekeeping in a little
hollow in an elm-tree about half a mile north of this spot. Of course,
the first thing Nancy did was to lay six beautiful eggs--white with
brown spots all over them--in the nest. Tom was as proud of these eggs
as was Nancy, and as the nest was hidden in a safe place they flew away
together to hunt for caterpillars, and had no thought of danger. But on
their return an hour later what was their sorrow to find the nest
empty, and every pretty egg gone. On the ground underneath the tree
were scattered a few bits of shell; but the robber was nowhere to be
seen.
"Tom Titmouse was very indignant at this dreadful crime, and came to me
at once to complain of the matter; but of course I had no idea who had
done the deed. I questioned all the birds who have ever been known to
slyly steal eggs, and every one denied the robbery. So Nancy Titmouse
saw she must lay more eggs, and before long had another six speckled
beauties in the bottom of her nest.
"They were more careful now about leaving home; but the danger seemed
past. One bright, sunny morning they ventured to fly to the brook to
drink and bathe themselves, and on their return found their home
despoiled for a second time. Not an egg was left to them out of the
six, and while Nancy wept and wailed Tom looked sharply around him and
saw a solitary shrike sitting on a limb not far away."
"What's a shrike?" asked Chubbins.
"It is a bird that looks a good deal like that mocking-bird sitting
next you; but it bears a bad character in the forest and has earned the
vile name of 'butcher-bird.' I admit that I am always obliged to keep
an eye upon the shrike, for I expect it to get into mischief at any
time. Well, Tom Titmouse naturally thought the shrike had eaten Nancy's
eggs, so he came to me and ordered me to arrest the robber. But the
shrike pleaded his innocence, and I had no proof against him.
"Again Nancy, with true motherly courage and perseverance, laid her
eggs in the nest; and now they were never left alone for a single
minute. Either she or Tom was always at home, and for my part I watched
the shrike carefully and found he did not fly near the nest of the
titmice at all.
"The result of our care was that one fine day the eggs hatched out, and
six skinny little titmice, with big heads and small bodies, were
nestling against Nancy's breast. The mother thought they were
beautiful, you may be sure, and many birds gathered around to
congratulate her and Tom, and the brown thrush sang a splendid song of
welcome to the little ones.
"When the children got a little stronger it did not seem necessary to
guard the nest so closely, and the six appetites required a good many
insects and butterfly-eggs to satisfy them. So Tom and Nancy both flew
away to search for food, and when they came back they found, to their
horror, that their six little ones had been stolen, and the nest was
bare and cold. Nancy nearly fainted with sorrow, and her cries were
pitiful and heart-rending; but Tom Titmouse was dreadfully angry, and
came to me demanding vengeance.
"'If you are any good at all as a policeman,' said he, 'you will
discover and punish the murderer of my babies.'
"So I looked all around and finally discovered, not far from the nest
of the titmice, four of their children, all dead and each one impaled
upon the thorn of a bush that grew close to the ground. Then I decided
it was indeed the shrike, for he has a habit of doing just this thing;
killing more than he can eat and sticking the rest of his murdered
victims on thorns until he finds time to come back and devour them.
"I was also angry, by that time; so I flew to the shrike's nest and
found him all scratched and torn and his feathers plucked in many
places.
"'What has happened to you?' I asked.
"'I had a fight with a weasel last night,' answered the shrike, 'and
both of us are rather used up, today.'
"'Still,' said I, sternly, 'you had strength enough to kill the six
little titmice, and to eat two of them.'
"'I never did,' said he, earnestly; 'my wings are too stiff to fly.'
"'Do not lie about it, I beg of you,' said I; 'for we have found four
of the dead titmice stuck on the thorns of a bush, and your people have
been known to do such things before.'
"At this the shrike looked worried.
"'Really,' said he, 'I cannot understand it. But I assure you I am
innocent.'
"Nevertheless, I arrested him, and made him fly with me to the Judgment
Tree, where all the birds had congregated. He was really stiff and
sore, and I could see it hurt him to fly; but my duty was plain. We
selected a jury of twelve birds, and Judge Bullfinch took his seat on a
bough, and then the trial began.
"Tom Titmouse accused the shrike of murder, and so did Nancy, who had
nearly cried her eyes out. I also gave my evidence. But the prisoner
insisted strongly that he was innocent, and claimed he had not left his
nest since his fight with the weasel, and so was guiltless of the
crime.
"But no one had any sympathy for him, or believed what he said; for it
is often the case that when one has earned a bad character he is
thought capable of any wickedness. So the jury declared him guilty, and
the judge condemned him to die at sundown. We were all to fall upon the
prisoner together, and tear him into bits with bill and claw; but while
we waited for the sun to sink Will Sparrow flew up to the Judgment Tree
and said:
"'Hello! What's going on here?'
"'We are just about to execute a criminal,' replied the judge.
"'What has he been doing?' asked Will, eyeing the shrike curiously.
"'He killed the titmice children this morning, and ate two of them, and
stuck the other four upon a thorn bush,' explained the judge.
"'Oh, no; the shrike did not do that!' cried Will Sparrow. 'I saw the
crime committed with my own eyes, and it was the cunning weasel--the
one that lives in the pine stump--that did the dreadful murder.'
"At this all the birds set up an excited chatter, and the shrike again
screamed that he was innocent. So the judge said, gravely: 'Will
Sparrow always speaks the truth. Release the prisoner, for we have
misjudged him. We must exact our vengeance upon the weasel.'
"So we all flew swiftly to the pine stump, which we knew well, and when
we arrived we found the weasel sitting at the edge of his hole and
laughing at us.
"'That is the very weasel I fought with,' said the shrike. 'You can see
where I tore the fur from his head and back with my sharp beak.'
"'So you did,' answered the weasel; 'and in return I killed the little
tomtits.'
"'Did you stick them on the thorns?' asked Judge Bullfinch.
"'Yes,' said the weasel. 'I hoped you would accuse the shrike of the
murder, and kill him to satisfy my vengeance.'
"'We nearly fell into the trap,' returned the judge; 'but Will Sparrow
saw your act and reported it just in time to save the shrike's life.
But tell me, did you also eat Nancy Titmouse's eggs?'
"'Of course,' confessed the weasel, 'and they were very good, indeed.'
"Hearing this, Tom Titmouse became so excited that he made a furious
dash at the weasel, who slipped within his hole and escaped.
"'I condemn you to death!' cried the judge.
"'That's all right,' answered the weasel, sticking just the tip of his
nose out of the hole. 'But you've got to catch me before you can kill
me. Run home, my pretty birds. You're no match for a weasel!'
"Then he was gone from sight, and we knew he was hidden safely in the
stump, where we could not follow him, for the weasel's body is slim and
slender. But I have not lived in the forest all my life without
learning something, and I whispered a plan to Judge Bullfinch that met
with his approval. He sent messengers at once for the ivory-billed
woodpeckers, and soon four of those big birds appeared and agreed to
help us. They began tearing away at the stump with their strong beaks,
and the splinters flew in every direction. It was not yet dark when the
cunning weasel was dragged from his hole and was at the mercy of the
birds he had so cruelly offended. We fell upon him in a flash, and he
was dead almost instantly."
"What became of the shrike?" asked Twinkle.
"He left the forest the next day," answered Policeman Bluejay. "For
although he was innocent of this crime, he was still a butcher-bird,
and he knew our people had no confidence in him."
"It was lucky Will Sparrow came in time," said the girl-lark. "But all
these stories must have made you hungry, so I'd like to invite my
guests to have some refreshments."
The birds seemed much surprised by this invitation, and even Policeman
Bluejay wondered what she was going to do. But Twinkle whispered to
Chubbins, and both the bird-children flew into their basket and
returned with their claws full of cookie. They repeated the journey
many times, distributing bits of the rare food to all of the birds who
had visited them, and each one ate the morsel eagerly and declared that
it was very good.
"Now," said the policeman, when the feast was over, "let us all go to
the brook and have a drink of its clear, sweet water."
So they flew away, a large and merry band of all sizes and colors; and
the child-larks joined them, skimming the air as lightly and joyously
as any of their new friends. It did not take them long to reach a
sparkling brook that wound its way through the forest, and all the
feathered people drank their fill standing upon the low bank or upon
stones that rose above the level of the water.
At first the children were afraid they might fall into the brook; but
presently they gained courage, and when they saw the thrush and
bullfinch plunge in and bathe themselves in the cool water Chubbins
decided to follow their example, and afterward Twinkle also joined
them.
The birds now bade the child-larks good-bye and promised to call upon
them again, and soon all had flown away except the bluejay, who said he
would see Twinkle and Chubbins safe home again, so that they would not
get lost.
They thanked him for this kindness, and when they had once more settled
upon the limb beside their nest the bluejay also bade them good night
and darted away for one last look through the forest to see that all
was orderly for the night.
[CHAPTER VIII] _Mrs. Hootaway_
As the child-larks sat side by side upon their limb, with the soft gray
nest near at hand, the twilight fell and a shadow began to grow and
deepen throughout the forest.
"Twink," said Chubbins, gravely, "how do you like it?"
"Well," replied the girl, "it isn't so bad in the daytime, but it's
worse at night. That bunch of grass mixed up with the stems of leaves,
that they call a nest, isn't much like my pretty white bed at home,
Chubbins."
"Nor mine," he agreed. "And, Twink, how ever can we say our prayers
when we haven't any hands to hold up together?"
"Prayers, Chub," said the girl, "are more in our hearts than in our
hands. It isn't what we _do_ that counts; it's what we feel. But the
most that bothers me is what the folks at home will think, when we
don't come back."
"They'll hunt for us," Chubbins suggested; "and they may come under
this tree, and call to us."
"If they do," said Twinkle, "we'll fly right down to them."
"I advise you not to fly much, in the night," said a cheery voice
beside them, and Wisk the squirrel stuck his head out of the hollow
where he lived. "You've had quite a party here today," he continued,
"and they behaved pretty well while the policeman was around. But some
of them might not be so friendly if you met them alone."
"Would any bird hurt us?" asked the girl, in surprise.
"Why, I've seen a magpie meet a thrush, and fly away alone," replied
Wisk. "And the wrens and chickadees avoid the cuckoo as much as
possible, because they are fond of being alive. But the policeman keeps
the big birds all in order when he is around, and he makes them all
afraid to disobey the laws. He's a wonderful fellow, that Policeman
Bluejay, and even we squirrels are glad he is in the forest."
"Why?" asked Chubbins.
"Well, we also fear some of the birds," answered Wisk. "The lady in the
third flat, for instance, Mrs. Hootaway, is said to like a squirrel for
a midnight meal now and then, when mice and beetles are scarce. It is
almost her hour for wakening, so I must be careful to keep near home."