Citizen Bird Part 32

"He does not sing on the ground, but moves silently among the leaves and litter of old ferns, such as are found near ponds and streams. A stick will crackle perhaps, and thus draw your attention to him. When he knows that he is seen, he will flip his wings and flirt his tail, like suddenly opening and shutting a fan, as he flits on before you with his head on one side, giving the pert call 'Towhee! towhee!' that is one of his names. Some people think he says 'Chewink! chewink!' and call him by that name; while some who have noticed where he lives, and seen that the color of his sides is like the reddish breast of the Robin, call him the Ground Robin, though he is no relation of the Thrush family.

"Meanwhile his wife stays quietly on the nest, where her brown back matches the dead leaves of which it is made outside, keeping her quite safe from sight.

"In the afternoon, when the work of the day is almost over, and her mate is tired of scratching about for food, he takes a little rest and goes up high in a tree to boldly declare his whereabouts.

"'Jore-e Blur-re, Jore-e Blur-re, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, w.i.l.l.y-nilly!' he calls defiantly, as if he did not like having to keep quiet all day, and meant to tell his name at last.

"In early autumn the Joree family grow sociable enough to come into the garden, but they seldom linger late; vigorous as they are, they hurry southward before any hard frosts come."

The Towhee

Length about eight and a half inches.

Male: black with chestnut sides, white belly, tan-colored under the tail, the side feathers of which are white-tipped.

Female: reddish-brown where the male is black.

A Summer Citizen of the United States east of the plains, and along the southern border of Canada. Nests northward from Georgia. Winters south of the Middle States.

A Ground Gleaner, Seed Sower, and Weed Warrior.

THE CARDINAL (THE CARDINAL GROSBEAK)

"There is a legend about this Cardinal--the soldier with a red uniform,"

said the Doctor; "one of Mammy Bun's strange stories that came from the Indians to the negroes, always growing larger and stranger.

"There were two Indian warriors of the southwest that hated each other.

One had an only daughter and the other a son. While their fathers were at war, this boy and girl met in the green forest. The old women of their tribes told them that they must never speak to each other, or their fathers would surely kill them. But the children said, 'There is no war or hate in our forest; the birds meet--why may not we?' One summer evening they stayed too long, watching the fish swim in the river and floating little sticks for canoes. The two warriors returned suddenly to their villages, missed their children, and then some one told them tales.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cardinal.]

"The wind whispered to the trees, 'Trouble, trouble! These warriors hate each other more than they love their children. Hide them, O trees!' Then the trees whispered to the birds, 'Help the poor children--help, help!'

And the birds said, 'They shall be turned into birds and escape, if you will make a little fire, O wind, to delay the warriors and give us time.'

"So the trees told the fireflies to light the dead leaves that covered the ground; the wind breathed on the fire, and soon the wood was all aflame!

"'What birds do you choose to be, that you may always live in the forest together?' asked the Bird Brothers of the children. 'Answer quickly, for the time is short.'

"'I will be a large brown Sparrow,' said the girl; 'then none will trap me for my feathers.'

"'And I too,' said the boy.

"Suddenly they were no longer children. But there was confusion, as the fire burned nearer and nearer. "'Fly! fly!' cried the Bird Brothers.

'You have wings--do not look at the earth, lest you grieve to leave it.'

"Gonda, being obedient, made an effort to fly above the flame, which only tinged some of her feathers red. But Towai, loath to leave the earth, lingered so long that his feathers became all red from the flames, and the soot blackened his face.

"Though these two birds and their children still belong to the dull-brown Sparrow family, they have little peace in the forest where they live. Towai wears a splendid red robe and is called the Cardinal, but there is a price upon his head because of his beauty.

"This is one of the legends that explains why this bird is cla.s.sed with Sparrows. The Tanager is more fiery red, and the Oriole carries flame on his back; but there is something strange about the Cardinal--he seems out of place and lonely with us. He should belong to a tropical country and have orchids and palms for companions--but instead, where do we find him?"

"Please, Doctor," said Rap, who thought he could answer that question, "the miller's wife has a pair in a cage, but they aren't very pretty, 'cause they've sc.r.a.ped most of the feathers off their heads and rumpled their tails, trying to get out. The miller caught three of them down there last winter, only one died and the other two aren't a bit happy; the male doesn't sing and the female has a cough. The miller's wife doesn't care much for them; they're a bother to feed, she says--have to have meal-worms, and rice with the hulls on, and all that." "Why doesn't she let them out?" asked Olive.

"'Cause she thinks that maybe some of the people that come fishing will buy them."

"How much does she ask for them?" said the Doctor.

"She said if they ever moulted out and got any decent feathers she could ask three dollars for them, but the way they were looking a dollar was all she could expect."

"Children, shall we have a Liberty Festival this morning? How would you like for me to buy these birds and bring them here, so that you can see them, then--then what?"

"Open the cage and let them out and see what they will do!" screamed Dodo, jumping up and down.

"May I go down to buy them?" begged Nat.

"You will have to take me, too," said Olive.

"Can I open the door?" asked Dodo.

"Here is the dollar--now go, all together," said the Doctor, putting his hands over his ears; "but if you make so much noise the birds in the river woods will mistake your kind intentions and think you are a family of wildcats."

In less than half an hour the party returned, Nat carrying the cage, which was only a box with a bit of wire netting over the front.

"No wonder poor Mrs. Cardinal has a cough, living in this dirty box,"

said Olive. "See, father, only one perch--and I don't believe the poor things have ever had a bath given them."

"That is the saddest part of caging wild birds," said the Doctor. "Not one person in fifty is willing to give them the care they need. Put the cage under those bushes, Nat.

"I began by asking, Where do we find this bird? Living in Florida in sunshine, among the shady redwoods of Kentucky, and in all the bitterness of our northern winters. He varies his habits to suit his surroundings, and roves about after the nesting season; in mild climates he sings for six months of the year--from March until August. But one of the strangest things about him is that he wanders most when the trees are bare and he can be so easily seen that hundreds of his kind are shot for their gay feathers, or trapped to sell alive for cage birds. When snow is on the ground he is very conspicuous."

"Why doesn't he get into evergreens or cedar bushes?" asked Rap.

"He does when he can and often sings when so hidden; but he is not a very quick-witted bird and seems to move awkwardly, as if his topknot were as heavy as a drum major's bearskin.

"But no one can find fault with his song; it first rings out loud like a shout, then ends as clearly as the bubbling of the stream near which he likes best to live--'Cheo-cheo-chehoo-cheo-qr-qr-qrr-r-r.'"

"Isn't it time to let them out?" whispered Dodo. "Mrs. Cardinal is coughing again dreadfully!"

"In a moment. Turn the cage sideways, Nat, so that we can watch them through the bushes--so, and please keep quite still. Now, Dodo, open the little door--carefully."

For two or three minutes there was perfect silence. Four young people squeezed behind a tree, and a Wise Man down on his hands and knees behind a stump--all watching two forlorn birds, who did not understand that liberty was theirs for the taking.

Mrs. Cardinal put out her head, then took a step and hopped along the ground into a cornel bush; where, after looking around a moment, she began to smooth her poor feather's. Another minute and Mr. Cardinal followed, giving a sharp chip like a loud Sparrow call. They both hopped off as if they were not half sure their freedom was real.

"I think they might have sung to us," whispered Dodo.

"Too soon," said the Doctor; "but I'm sure that we have not seen or heard the last of our Cardinals."