Stories of Birds Part 22

"That is the way to rest," said the heron.

"What were you doing here?" Phyllis asked, wading a little closer to the long-legged bird.

"I was fishing," said the great blue heron. "It is the one thing I delight in. From morning till night--"

"My brother Jack--" began Phyllis, but the bird paid no attention.

"I sometimes stand here perfectly still for hours. I wait patiently for the fish or the frogs to appear.

"Then I strike suddenly with my strong, sharp bill. I snap up the fish or frog and give it a knock or two to kill it.

"Then I eat it. If it is a fish I swallow it, head first, so that the scales shall not scratch my throat.

"But see, Phyllis, the sun has set, and I have not yet had my supper.

I really must leave you!"

Then the great blue heron rose slowly and silently and circled away over the flat sea-marshes. Barefooted Phyllis scampered back to the little seaside cottage, where a fish supper was awaiting her.

SEA-PIGEONS

It was very early in the spring. The sun rose, stayed for only a moment above the horizon, and then sank again from the sight of Eskimo children.

But already huge icebergs broke from the sh.o.r.e and floated out to sea.

Already the icy winds hurried away farther north. Already a few of the bravest birds were returning for the summer season.

It happened that a whole family of Eskimo children ran shouting and laughing along the top of a cliff which overhung the sea.

The older ones cared for the little ones. All were as happy and thoughtless as children could be. In their glee they took off their boots and ran with bare feet.

Now below the cliff on the ice waited some Eskimo hunters. They watched the huge cakes of ice farther out break off and float away.

They knew that soon the ice nearer sh.o.r.e would crack and float off in the same manner.

They knew also that when the sh.o.r.e ice cracked the seals would rise and push their noses out of the water for air.

The hunters, therefore, sat for hours upon their three-legged stools, waiting with ever-ready spears.

The children, not seeing the hunters, ran more noisily among the high rocks of the cliff.

At last with a booming sound the ice cracked and spread apart. The water gushed up and spread lightly over the ice. The hunters waited breathlessly.

It was but a moment before the brown nose of a seal appeared. The hunters lifted their spears to strike. But at that instant came a wilder shout from the children and the brown nose of the seal disappeared.

"Oh," cried the hunter, angrily, "I wish the cliff would topple over on those noisy children!"

Hardly were the words spoken when with a great clash the cliff did topple over. As the falling stones rattled about him the hunter heard the shrieks of the children.

Neither the hunters nor the children were ever again seen in the village. But the next day some birds with pink wet feet ran about among the stones at the foot of the cliffs. As they ran they made strange cries which sounded half like children's laughter.

"Listen," say the Eskimo people, when they hear the sea-pigeons cry, "Listen to the voices of the little children who shouted so loud that they frightened away the seals!"

"Look!" cry the Eskimo children, when they see the pink feet of the sea-pigeons, "those are the cold, bare little feet of the Eskimo children who ran and shouted on the cliffs above!"

THE SANDPIPER[1]

Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.

The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit,-- One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high.

Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach,-- One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; He starts not at my fitful song, Or flash of fluttering drapery; He has no thought of any wrong; He scans me with a fearless eye.

Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously?

My driftwood fire will burn so bright!

To what warm shelter canst thou fly?

I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the sky; For are we not G.o.d's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

--Mrs. Thaxter.

[1] Used by permission of and special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

THE CIRCLING OF CRANES

One autumn day ages and ages ago, the cranes were preparing to go south. Cranes always dreaded the cold and flew away to the summer-land at the first glitter of the frost.

The crane leader had a loud, hoa.r.s.e voice, and he called and called to his flock to hurry. The cranes came from all directions at the call of their leader. The father and mother cranes came. The old cranes came and the young cranes came. Even the babies, whose feathers were scarce grown, came flying at the call of the leader.

All the cranes were happy, for they were going to the summer-land.

They were glad to go, for already the frost jewels sparkled on the brown gra.s.ses and the cold winds were beginning to blow.

"Come! come!" cried the crane leader, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e with shouting. "Come! It is full time we were off!"

Young and old spread their wings for flight. They waited a moment for their leader to take his place. As they waited the cranes glanced down to the cold, bare country which they were about to leave.

Thus looking down, the cranes saw a beautiful maiden standing alone at the edge of the village.