Chapter II: Part 2

"Later I carried a small chicken home to my nest in the big oak on the hill yonder. My nest is a very simple affair,--just a few crooked sticks. The lining is of leaves and a few pieces of loose bark which we picked up.

"Come and see me sometime, Mr. Raven. I will show my babies to you. They are wonderful birdlings with bright yellow eyes and bluish bills.

"Just now I must be off. I see Mrs. Speckle has ventured out from the bushes again and that little girl with the flapping hat--"

The little girl and the "flapping hat" sprang up from the fence-corner with such a shout that the chicken-hawk circled away into the air and did not return that day.

The raven flew away, crying sadly, "Caw! Caw! Caw!" Mother Speckle went on quietly catching bugs for her downy babies.

THE FIRST HAWK

During the short Greenland summer the Eskimos live along the seacoast. They put up their strange skin huts and hunt and fish and make merry through the season when the sun shines at midnight.

Now in places along the Greenland coast there are steep high cliffs. Here the birds which fly farther north in summer make their nests.

Often, as the Eskimo sits by his campfire, he hears the half-angry, half-sad cry of "Kea! Kea! Kea!" Looking up then, he often sees a lonely hawk sitting on the highest, most desolate cliff.

The Eskimo father laughs when he hears this cry and sees the lonely bird on the cliff top. Then the little Eskimo children creep nearer to their father with certainty that a new story is in store for them.

"Tell us the story of the hawk!" the Eskimo children cry eagerly.

This then is the story which the Eskimo father tells to his little ones "in their funny furry clothes."

"Long, long ago in a tiny Eskimo village, there lived a strange-looking old woman. Her neck was so short that she really looked as though she had no neck at all and as though her head was set upon her shoulders.

"People laughed when they saw the funny-looking old woman. Some were so unkind as to make fun of her strange appearance.

"This unkindness made the old woman very unhappy.

"By and bye the children of the village went every day to the hut of the old woman to play.

"They teased and tormented her. If she raised the bearskin curtain at the doorway and spoke to them they did not heed her.

"'Short neck! Short neck!' the rude children shouted. Then they stood and laughed at her.

"So it came that the poor old woman grew more and more unhappy. To escape her tormentors she often climbed to the cliff tops and sat on the edges of high rocks where it was difficult to follow.

"Here, safe and quiet, she would sit for hours. Sometimes in her loneliness she raised her arms above her head and cried aloud.

"The people of the tiny Eskimo village often saw the lonely figure on the cliffs. They noticed that the old woman stayed less and less in her little snow hut in the village.

"Then one morning an Eskimo child, looking up, thought she saw the old woman sitting as usual on the rocks. But the child's brother said that he saw only a strange bird with a very short neck.

"At that moment the bird raised its wings and flapped them above its head.

"'Kea! Kea! Kea!' cried the strange new bird. 'Kea! Kea! Kea! who was it called me short neck?'

"'Ah,' said the children's father, looking up from his fishing-nets, 'I think you both were right.'"

ORIGIN OF THE RAVEN AND THE MACAW

(ZUNI CREATION MYTH)

Long, long ago there were but few Indians on the earth. The world was not as it is now. The earth people did not understand things as they now understand them.

It therefore happened that a beautiful Indian prince came to live with the earth people.

In his hand he carried a plume stick. It was a magic wand and was covered with feathers of beautiful colours.

There were yellow feathers. There were red feathers. There were blue-green feathers. There were black and white and gray feathers.

Fastened to this magic wand were also many strange shells and charms which the earth children did not understand and which the strange prince did not explain fully.

"What is this strange plume stick?" asked the earth children.

"It is the magic wand which tests the hearts of earth children," was the reply.

The earth children wondered, but they did not understand.

"Ah, but show us what you mean!" they cried, eagerly.

"Look!" replied the strange prince.

Then amid the plumes and charms of the magic wand there appeared four round things.

"They are eggs!" cried the earth children. "Two are blue like the sky. Two are red-brown like the dust of our own pleasant earth!"

Then the earth children asked many questions which the strange prince tried patiently to explain.

"Now," said the strange prince, "choose whichever eggs you will. By and bye they will hatch. From them will come birds such as you never before have seen. From each pair of eggs will come a pair of birds."

"You who choose the blue eggs shall follow the birds which come from the blue shells. You and your children and your children's children shall dwell in the land in which these birds nest.

"You who choose the red-brown eggs shall follow the birds which come from the red-brown shells. You and your children and your children's children shall dwell in the land in which these birds nest!"

"But which shall we choose?" cried the eager earth children.

"Nay," said the strange prince, "that I may not tell. But this much you may know:

"From one pair of eggs shall come forth beautiful birds. Their feathers shall be coloured, like the leaves and fruits of summer. They shall nest in the land of everlasting summer-time and plenty.

"They who choose those eggs will follow these birds to the beautiful country of summer-time. The fruits will ripen daily and fall into the hands of the lucky earth children. Their food will come to them without labour and they shall know neither hunger nor cold."

"And what will happen if we choose the other pair of eggs?"

The strange prince shook his head half sadly and smiled on the earth children.

"From the other pair of eggs," he said, "shall come forth birds with black feathers, piebald with white. This pair will nest in a land where you may gain food by labour only.

"Those who follow this pair of birds shall struggle summer and winter. By long days of toil they shall provide food. By long nights of watchfulness they shall keep warmth within their homes."

Then the strange prince ceased speaking. The earth children looked at each other and forgot to speak. Each looked into the eyes of the other and asked a question. Each wished to follow the birds which would lead them to the land of everlasting summer-time and idleness and plenty.

"Which eggs do you choose?" asked the strange prince.

"The blue--the blue!" cried the earth children. Then those who were strongest and quickest pushed forward.

They fought for the blue eggs, and getting them hurried away with gladness.

They buried the blue eggs in the soft loam on the sunny side of the cliff. They sat down to watch when the young birds should hatch.

Now there remained those weaker earth children who had been pushed aside. For them there was no choice. The strange prince gave into their hand the red-brown eggs.

The red-brown eggs were placed amid the soft green grasses by the riverside. The earth children into whose care they were given sat also by the riverside and waited.

Sometimes, as they waited for the hatching of the red-brown eggs, they looked up to the place in the cliff where the stronger ones watched the beautiful blue eggs.

Then the weaker ones sighed and turned to the ugly red-brown eggs amid the grasses.

By and bye, as those on the cliff waited, they heard faint tappings inside the blue shells.

"Ah," they said, "the birds will come soon now. They will lead us to the land of summer-time."

When at length the shells burst and the young birds came out, they looked much as other birds look. They had large mouths and panting sides and tiny featherless bodies. Soon the pin-feathers appeared.

"See!" cried the watchers, "now the beautiful plumage is starting!"

And those by the riverside, hearing the cry, looked up, and looking up they sighed. The red-brown eggs also were cracking open and the young birds coming out of the shells. Soon the earth children must follow their bird leaders. They fed and tended the young birds for still a few days.

Then one morning there were sighs and discontent on the cliff. For the birds which came from the blue shells were feathered and ready for flight. Their colours were black and white! So also is all the bare earth and the new-fallen snow!

It was a pair of ravens, which the stronger earth children followed to the country where winter follows summer and where men work for food. As the earth children laboured, the ravens taunted them with hoarse, laughing cries.

Now those other earth children who watched the red-brown eggs stood up by the riverside and smiled.

From the red-brown eggs had come birds of gorgeous plumage. On the breath of a sweet-scented breeze they were wafted far to southward--to the summer land. And those earth children who followed the beautiful birds still live easily in the land of everlasting summer-time.

ALL ABOUT THE CHICKEN-HAWK

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Voice--sharp, harsh, discordant cries--queer "whistling" noises.

Upper parts brownish black mixed with white--throat and under tail coverts white--other under parts having darker markings.

Bill--short, curved, and very sharp.

Claws--strong, curved, and very sharp,--middle toe longest.

Wings--long and pointed--made for rapid flight and long journeys.

Female larger than male.

Food--other smaller birds of the air--small ducks and chickens--occasionally larger insects, snakes, etc.

Nest in the fork of a tree--made of crooked sticks and lined with leaves, bark, etc.

Eggs--two to four in number, bluish white, thickly speckled with brown.

Iris in young bird's eyes yellow--turning to reddish brown with maturity.

ALL ABOUT THE RAVEN

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Three times the size of robin.

Does not migrate, but is usually resident in the place where it can best provide for itself and family.

Is glossy black in colour, with gleams of purple and green above--duller underneath.

Flies in wide circles high above the tree-tops, and utters a weird, uncanny cry, which has given it the name of being a bird of ill omen, and to many people the cry of the raven is deemed a sign of approaching evil.

Nest very compactly built of sticks and grasses and lined with wool from sheep's back. Nest is used year after year, being often relined and made habitable.

Young when first hatched are black and white--they however change to entire black in a very short time.

Food of the raven is varied, apparently anything edible which comes in his way--grain, seeds, grubs, worms, field-mice, fruit, are found on his menu.

THE KINGFISHER

OR HALCYON BIRD

WITH THE WATER WATCHMAN

"Please, Jack," begged Phyllis.

"Girls always talk," replied Jack.

"I will not say a word to you--indeed I will not."

"Well, if you spoil my fishing--" began Jack.

"And I'll pick thimbleberries for our lunch," said Phyllis, eagerly.

So it happened that a small girl in a great sunbonnet followed a small boy with a still larger straw hat and a fishing-pole and line, out of the back gate and down the lane.

True to her promise, Phyllis said nothing, but trudged along behind Jack with wide open, watchful brown eyes.

By and bye the children came to a pond of shining, clear water. How still everything seemed, how brightly the sun shone!

"Now if you talk you'll scare the fish," said Jack, with an air of great importance.

"I will not talk," Phyllis whispered back, shutting her lips very tightly and sitting down beside her brother with a little sigh.

Jack threw his line--Phyllis watched with awe. They sat for a moment waiting for a "bite."

Then Jack jerked the line up sharply, not so much because he thought he had caught something, as because he hoped he would catch something.

"I don't believe there are any fish here," he grumbled at last.

But Phyllis's bright eyes had caught sight of something and she forgot all about the fishing and her resolve not to speak.

"Look!" she cried, pointing to a fallen tree-trunk which hung over the water.

On a branch sat a bird. He was considerably larger than a robin.

On the top of his head was a tall crest, which reached to the nape of his neck.

His back and the entire upper part of his body was blue. His wings and short tail bore spots and bars of white.

The lower part of his body was white and across his breast ran two bands of blue.

"His bill is longer than his head!" laughed Phyllis. "What a funny big head and what funny little feet! Who is he, Jackie?"

"A kingfisher!" Jack replied.

"What is he doing?" asked Phyllis.

"Fishing," said Jack, shortly.

In a moment Jack spoke again.

"There must be fish here if Mr. Kingfisher is on the lookout. He is a famous old fisherman. He could not live without fish to eat. Did you notice the white spot above each eye?"

Encouraged by the sight of the other fisherman, Jack again cast his line and waited for a bite.

Phyllis watched the bird. Suddenly it seemed to drop from the branch. It dived into the water.

There was a great flutter and splash--a struggle. Then the bird in the blue and white uniform perched again on the old branch.

The children watched eagerly.

In the bird's strong bill was a scaly, glittering fish. It wriggled and flopped helplessly, but could not escape.

The bird held the fish firmly in its strong grasp, raised his head and struck the fish three or four sharp knocks against the branch. Then the fish wriggled no longer.

"He can never swallow that big fellow!" cried Jack, forgetting his own fishing. "I have seen kingfishers swallow minnows alive and whole, but that fish is too large for him to manage!"

The bird, however, seemed to think that he could "manage" it. He started to swallow the fish. When it was half-way down his throat it stuck.

With much sputtering and gagging the bird brought the fish up again. But he must have his dinner, and not in the least discouraged, tried again.

He gagged and writhed. The scales and fins stuck in his throat. Up came the fish again.

Four--five times he struggled to swallow the fish. Five times he failed to succeed. Five times the fish-scales glittered again in the sunlight. Such strange wrigglings and twistings the bird made.

"The poor fellow is having an unhappy time with his lunch," laughed the children.

At the sixth effort the fish was safely landed in the bird's stomach.

With a flash of blue wings he circled through the air. He gave a noisy rattling cry as he alighted on a branch nearer to the children.

Again the bird watched the water intently. Again he dived like a flash. Again he bore a fish to the surface and killed it by striking it against the tree.

But this time the kingfisher did not swallow the fish. He rose with it in his bill and flew gracefully away.

The children watched for some time, but the strange blue bird did not return. Then Jack turned again to his fishing.

"I thought you were to furnish the thimbleberries for lunch," he said.

"So I shall," Phyllis replied, snatching up her basket and starting off in the direction of some bushes which she could see.

So Jack was left to his fishing and Phyllis went berrying.

Sure enough the bushes proved to be loaded with beautiful ripe berries. Soon the little fingers were stained quite purple and the little basket was half filled with berries.

As she started to return to her brother, Phyllis passed along the foot of a high bank. She was singing softly to herself when she heard the rattling cry of the kingfisher quite near.

He gracefully swung into sight on wide-spread wings. He bore another fish in his strong bill.

When he saw Phyllis he stopped short and held himself perfectly still in the air while he looked at her.

At length, deciding that she was harmless, he circled past the little girl and entered a small hole on the face of the bank.

"Why!" said Phyllis. "I wonder why he has gone in there. I shall wait for him to return."

So Phyllis waited until the bird came out. Then she held out her basket of berries.

"Will you have some of my berries?" she said. "I'm sure that your throat must be sore from the scratching of those fish-scales. You had to try so many times before you got it down. Tell me, did this last fish also stick in your throat?"

The kingfisher "chuckled" deep down in his throat.

"I do not eat berries," he said. "I usually eat fish. I sometimes eat large insects or shrimps, but I love to fish."

"So does my brother," said Phyllis, politely, glancing at Jack sitting motionless on a rock in the sunshine.

"Why did you go into that hole to eat?"

The kingfisher chuckled again.

"That is my nest," he said. "My wife is in there. I took the fish to her. She can fish quite as well as I, but our eggs are just hatching and she dare not leave them."

"That a bird's nest?" cried Phyllis. "Who made it?"

"Mrs. Kingfisher and I did," was the reply. "We found this fine steep bank when we came from the south in March.

"I began the nest myself. I held myself still in the air before the bank just as I did when I first noticed you. Then I drove my beak into the soft bank with quick plunges. How the clay rattled and rolled and splashed into the water below!

"It was but a very short time before I had a foothold on the bank. Mrs. Kingfisher and I worked very quickly. Soon we dug ourselves out of sight."

"But how do you dig--"

"Oh, just look at my bill, Phyllis. With it I loosen the earth. With my feet I scratch the dirt out in a perfect shower behind me. Our tunnel is so narrow that we could not turn around in it."

"How deep is it?" asked the little girl, pushing back her big hat and peering in.

The kingfisher did not seem to hear her. He just went on with his story.

"Perhaps a little less than two feet from the outside we made a turn to the right. After that we were obliged to bring the earth out in our beaks.

"Two could not work at once. While I worked at the tunnel Mrs. Kingfisher fished. While she worked, I fished. At last the tunnel was eight feet long.

"'That is a very safe distance,' said Mrs. Kingfisher to me. 'Let us dig no more, but make our nest here at the end of the tunnel.'

"We built a wonderful nest," the bird went on, "a fine prickly nest for our little ones. We did not line it with feathers and moss. We carefully arranged a pile of fish-bones and scales at the farthest end of the tunnel. On these bones and scales my wife laid six white eggs. Already four little baby kingfishers have pecked their way out of the white shells. The others will be out soon.

"I must be off about my fishing. Mrs. Kingfisher and I will both be very busy now catching minnows for those blue babies of ours."

With another chuckle and rattle the kingfisher flew away to his fishing station over the pond.

Phyllis picked up her basket of berries and returned to the spot where Jack still sat patiently holding his pole.

"Oh, Jack--" Phyllis began.

"Sh-h-h-h!" whispered Jack. "You promised not to talk. You'll scare the fish away. Girls always talk."

"I'm sorry," said Phyllis. "How many have you now?"

"None--but I've had a nibble several times. I think they'd bite better if the sun would go under a cloud."

"Let's eat our lunch now," begged Phyllis. "Perhaps there'll be some clouds by the time we finish."

As they ate Phyllis told her brother about the kingfisher's nest and babies. When they finished the sky was as blue as ever.

"These are halcyon days," said Jack, looking very wise.

"Wh-a-a-t--?" said Phyllis, wholly puzzled and half frightened at the new word.

"Well, you see father told me about them the other day when we were fishing in this same place.

"It seems that long ago when people were not very wise, they believed all sorts of queer things. They told strange stories about the things which they did not understand.

"In those days kingfishers were called halcyons. Some said these birds made nests which floated on the sea.

"As long as these eggs or birdlings were in the nest, the people said, the sea would remain smooth and the weather fair.

"Ever since then, when we hear any one speak of 'halcyon days,' we know that they mean pleasant happy days."

"Then," laughed Phyllis, "this has been one of the 'halcyon days' even though you failed to catch any fish."

Then two tired little people trudged home through the river reeds and down the lane.

On their way the blue kingfisher flashed by, chuckling harshly deep down in his throat.

THE HALCYON BIRDS

That evening Phyllis opened a new book and on almost the first page she saw something about the halcyon birds.

"Perhaps it is Jack's story," she said. Then she curled herself up on the soft sofa and this is the story she read.

In the beautiful long ago, in the wonderful country of Greece there lived a king, wise and just and peaceful. His people loved him.

The king lived in a marble palace on the top of a low hill. With him lived his wife, the lovely Queen Halcyone.

But though the king was wise and just and good, his heart was sad. There was unrest in the land. Troubles were rife in Greece.

At length one day the king came to the room where Queen Halcyone sat with her maids. They were spinning carefully and happily together.

"My Halcyone--my queen," said the king, "as you know, I am greatly troubled and disturbed. I do not know what is the best thing for me to do. I must seek wise advice from the gods."

Queen Halcyone dropped her distaff and looked in fear at the king.

"I must go," said the king to Halcyone, "on a long journey across the seas. As you know, in the Temple of Apollo there is a wise oracle. To this oracle must I go in search of counsel."

Then the lovely Queen Halcyone's heart was filled with sorrow. She feared that harm might come to the king, whom she loved for his goodness and his kindness.

Halcyone fell on her knees before the king. She begged him to postpone this terrible journey across the seas.

"Indeed," cried she, "there are cruel dangers, O my king! The journey is long and wearisome. Remain at home with me!"

The king smiled pityingly upon his lovely queen. He kissed her gently before he answered.

"It seems to me," he said, sadly, "that there is no other way. I must go."

"Ah, then, I pray, take me also. Let me share the dangers and the weariness."

"You could not--" the king began.

"In truth it would be easier far than to bear the loneliness and dread when you are gone. It would be weary waiting for your return!"

Now the king loved Halcyone. He longed to remain at home with her. But already the boat lay ready for departure--and there was no place for Halcyone.

Already the oarsmen sat at their benches ready to row away. So the king bade Halcyone farewell and stepped on board and quickly pushed off.

With bitter tears Halcyone stood on the bank and watched the king's boat push out from shore.

When it looked but a speck she shaded her eyes with her hand and still watched. But when in the purple distance the tiny speck could no longer be seen, Halcyone turned with a sigh to the marble palace and her maidens.

On and on across the waters the little boat sped. For a time all went well. At night the stars shone. In the morning the sun arose from the blue waters and travelled across a cloudless sky. Gentle winds blew, filling the sails and pushing the little boat quietly on its way.

But one day a change came over the sea. The moaning of the wind was heard. Dark clouds scurried across the sky.

The waves rose high and broke in white crests of foam. The rain poured down. The wind crept up and sprang upon the little boat with fury.

For a time the boat rose and fell with the waves. It pitched and rolled and reeled. Great waves splashed over it, washing the oarsmen overboard.

The masts were torn away. At last the little boat, buried in the trough of the wave, sank beneath the water.

The king and all his crew lay buried deep beneath the deep blue sea.

Weeks passed. Months passed. A year went by.

Queen Halcyone wandered restlessly up and down the shore. With weary eyes she watched the purple distance. But the king did not return.

She prayed to the gods that they would guard and protect the king whom she loved so dearly. She went to the sacred altars of her country, and burned incense there.

When the goddess Juno heard the prayers and saw the tears of the lovely Queen Halcyone, she was sad for her. Juno called to her side the beautiful rainbow messenger, Iris.

"Iris," said Juno, "this night I wish you to go down on your rainbow bridge to the god of dreams.

"Ask him to send to Halcyone a dream which shall tell her of the fate of her husband, the king. It is better that she should know what has befallen him whom she loved than to wander thus in uncertainty."

So Iris, the beautiful messenger, swept down to the god of dreams--and that night Halcyone dreamed that the king came to her and told her his story. He told her how the boat and all therein had long since been buried under the sea.

"Be brave, my Halcyone," said the shade of the dead king. "Be brave and patient, and soon perchance, if the gods will, thou shalt come to me in the land of shades."

When the dream left her, Halcyone sprang from her couch and ran again to the seashore. She stretched out her arms and called aloud to Aeolus, the father of the winds.

"O great father Aeolus," she prayed, "give me wings so large and strong that they will carry me to the spot where the king now lies.

"Hear me, Aeolus! Hear Halcyone, thy child!"

And as she prayed, lo, she rose slowly into the air. The folds of her blue robe enwrapped her.

Halcyone floated out across the sea. Again and again her breast touched the white crest of the waves and left its foam on her throat and on the bosom of her dress.

On and on she sped across the billowy waters. Her wings were firm, strong, untiring.

At last, floating upon the water she spied the form of the king. With a hoarse rattling in her throat she called to him.

With her strong wings outspread, Halcyone hung motionless above the king. Those broken cries came again and again from her throat.

And Juno, looking down from her cloudland home, saw Halcyone kneeling on the waves beside the dead king. She leaned down from her place in the heavens and touched the king's forehead.

Lo! there rose from the water two strong-winged birds in dresses of blue and white.

"Ah," sighed Aeolus, "let us call them the halcyon birds, for the lovely Halcyone, whose love did not fail her.

"Let these birds live ever beside the waters and rear their young in peace and quiet.

"Behold, when Halcyone broods over her little ones I will hold my winds in check. The waters shall be quiet and the sun shall shine merrily.

"And these days of peace and quiet and happiness shall be called 'halcyon days,' for ever."

ALL ABOUT THE KINGFISHER

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Comes north in early March--remains until December, often throughout the year.

Song--harsh, discordant, laughing chuckle or rattle--never musical.

Upper parts blue--wings and tail with white markings--lower parts white with two blue bands across breast--bluish tinge on sides--a white spot in front of each eye.--Head large and crested--bill longer than head--feet small.

Food--principally fish which it obtains by diving and kills by striking against a tree if large, or swallows alive if small.--This food supplemented by larger insects, shrimps, etc.

Nest--tunnelled out of bank--six to eight feet deep--at the extreme end of tunnel is the nest made of fish-bones and scales.

Eggs--pure white--four to six in one brood.

THE RED-HEADED WOODPECKER

IN CAP OF RED

Phyllis sat in her own room, rocking her doll to sleep. The window was open and the curtain flapped idly in the breeze.

Presently into the room darted a bird. He was beautifully dressed. His soft gray uniform was spotted and barred with white.

He did not seem in the least alarmed when he found himself in the room with Phyllis. He perched on the window-ledge and did not even glance at the little girl.

In a moment he flew to the ledge above her door. With his strong little bill he began to rap, rap, rap at the wood.

"You act like a woodpecker, but you do not look like one," said Phyllis.

"That shows that you do not know all about woodpeckers," said the gray, downy bird. "I belong to the family of red-headed woodpeckers."

"You?" cried Phyllis, amazed. "But where is your red cap, and where is your white vest, and where is your black coat? You are trying to fool me, my friend."

"My father and mother have crimson heads and necks and throats. They have white breasts. They have black backs and wings and tails. When they fly, the broad white bands on the wings are quite plain to be seen.

"My home nest is that in the trunk of the old oak by the gate."

"It is very queer," said Phyllis. "Perhaps some other bird laid an egg in the woodpeckers' nest by mistake."

The small bird fluttered quite helplessly with laughter.

"Oh, no, Phyllis, I see I have to tell you all about it. I am a woodpecker, surely. But I am quite young yet. It is not a week since I had my first lesson in flying."

"You fly very well for a young bird," said Phyllis.

"Well, my mother is very wise," said the bird.

"She does not think it well for her babies to get out of the nest until they have grown quite large. She says that if we wait until our wings are strong we will not be so apt to fall into danger.

"So I remained inside the nest until I was quite a large, strong bird. Then my parents called me out and taught me to fly.

"Only yesterday I asked my mother why I did not wear a dress and cap like her own.

"She said, 'Wait a little longer, my child. When you are quite grown your cap will be as red as my own. You will look so much like your father and me that those children down there will be unable to tell us apart.'

"It is little wonder that you did not know me for a woodpecker in this simple gray dress. All woodpecker children, however, dress in this quiet fashion at first. I shall be happy when I get my gorgeous red cap."

"Well," said Phyllis, "I am very glad you came to see me. I knew there was a nest in the old oak-tree. I watched your father and mother one whole morning a few weeks ago. I think they chose the oak because of those old dead branches.

"I saw your mother brace herself against the tree with her stiff tail. Then how her wedge-shaped bill rapped and rapped against the wood. For fully twenty minutes she rapped away at the rotten wood. Then she grew tired and your father took her place at the tree-trunk.

"Soon they pecked a hole deep enough to hide them from sight, but their constant rap, rap, rap could still be heard.

"I wondered how deep they made the hole, but it was too high for me to climb to find out."

"Having just come from the nest I can tell you all about it," replied the young woodpecker. "My parents dug down into the soft trunk to a depth of perhaps eighteen inches. At the bottom they hollowed out a large roomy place for the nest. They did not line it with feathers or grasses. Instead of a bed of moss was a little sawdust and the smooth white sides of the oak.

"In this nest my mother laid six pure white eggs. She sat on them and kept them warm until at last six downy birds came out of the shells.

"We were hungry little things. Both our mother and father were kept busy filling our greedy, ever-open mouths.

"And whatever they brought was sure to be very nice. Sometimes it was a cherry or a berry, sometimes a bit of pear or apple.

"But, best of all, were the fat, juicy little grubs which they often brought.

"I asked my father where he got the grubs. He made fun of me and called out to my mother in his shrill, lively way.

"She said that that was a thing which every young woodpecker should find out for himself.

"After that, every time a fat grub was brought to me, I wondered if I should ever be able to find them when I began to shift for myself.

"At last my wings were strong enough and my parents called me out of the nest. I very soon found that the fat grubs lived beneath the bark of my own oak-tree. All I had to do was to strike my bill into the bark and bear off the prize."

"Were you sorry to leave your safe high nest?" asked Phyllis.

"Indeed it was not so safe," said the young woodpecker. "On the day that I left the nest a great black snake crept in. He swallowed my little brothers and sisters.

"My parents were wild with grief. They said that was the thing they always dreaded, that such things often happened in woodpeckers' nests."

"How sad!" said Phyllis. "I should never have thought of snakes!"

"They are our greatest danger," was the reply. "Squirrels sometimes come in and steal the nuts and corn we have stored away, but the snake is the most to be feared."

"So you store away food?" Phyllis asked. "Do you stay here in the winter, then?"

"Oh, yes, we often stay all winter. Have you not seen us flying about among the trees in the winter-time?"

By this time the bird sat on the window-sill.

"Must you go?" asked Phyllis. "Here is a strawberry for you."

"Thanks," said the bird, pecking away at the fruit. "I am just off to the corn-field. My father showed me this morning how to open the husks of the green corn to get at the rich, milky kernels inside."

"When you get your red cap, come back," cried Phyllis, and the young woodpecker's lively cry answered from the corn-field.

A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND[1]

Away, away in the Northland,
Where the hours of the day are few,
And the nights are so long in winter
They cannot sleep them through;

Where they harness the swift reindeer
To the sledges, when it snows;
And the children look like bears' cubs
In their funny, furry clothes;

They tell them a curious story--
I don't believe 'tis true;
And yet you may learn a lesson
If I tell the tale to you.

Once, when the good Saint Peter
Lived in the world below,
And walked about it, preaching,
Just as he did, you know,

He came to the door of a cottage,
In travelling round the earth,
Where a little woman was making cakes
And baking them on the hearth;

And being faint with fasting,
For the day was almost done,
He asked her from her store of cakes
To give him a single one.

So she made a very little cake,
But as it baking lay,
She looked at it, and thought it seemed
Too large to give away.

Therefore she kneaded another,
And still a smaller one,
But it looked, when she turned it over,
As large as the first had done.

Then she took a tiny scrap of dough,
And rolled and rolled it flat;
And baked it as thin as a wafer--
But she couldn't part with that.

For she said, "My cakes that seem too small,
When I eat them myself,
Are yet too large to give away."
So she put them on the shelf.

Then the good Saint Peter grew angry,
For he was hungry and faint;
And surely such a woman
Was enough to provoke a saint.

And he said, "You are far too selfish
To dwell in a human form,
To have both food and shelter,
And fire to keep you warm.

"Now, you shall build as the birds do,
And shall get your scanty food
By boring, and boring, and boring,
All day in the hard dry wood."

Then up she went through the chimney,
Never speaking a word,
And out of the top flew a woodpecker,
For she was changed to a bird.

She had a scarlet cap on her head,
And that was left the same,
But all the rest of her clothes were burned
Black as a coal in the flame.

And every country schoolboy
Has seen her in the wood;
Where she lives in the trees till this very day,
Boring and boring for food.

And this is the lesson she teaches:
Live not for yourself alone,
Lest the needs you will not pity
Shall one day be your own.

Give plenty of what is given you,
Listen to pity's call;
Don't think the little you give is great,
And the much you get is small.

Now, my little boy, remember that,
And try to be kind and good,
When you see the woodpecker's sooty dress,
And see her scarlet hood.

You mayn't be changed to a bird, though you live
As selfishly as you can;
But you will be changed to a smaller thing--
A mean and a selfish man.

--Phoebe Cary.

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

ALL ABOUT THE WOODPECKER

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Comes north in May--often stays all winter--most commonly seen in the fall.

Song--shrill, lively call resembling the voice of the tree-frog.

Male and female have crimson head and neck--upper parts black with white marking--white band across wings--most conspicuous when bird is in flight.

Lower parts white--bill wedge-shaped, strong, and sharp--tail strong and stiff, used as a brace when clinging to a tree-trunk and tapping with bill--toes arranged two in front and two behind for better support in clinging to tree trunks, etc.

Young birds resemble the parents, except that in colour they are a mottled gray.

Food is largely fruit--green corn, nuts, and larval insects procured from tree-trunks.--Sometimes stores away nuts, etc.

Place chosen for nest is usually a rotting tree, which is easier to bore.--Hollow from fifteen to eighteen inches deep.--Eggs pure white, generally six in number.

THE LARK

IN THE MEADOW

If Jack's big black dog, Nero, had not chanced to snatch Phyllis's rag doll by the head and run away with it this story would have never been written.

You see, Nero bounded straight across the meadow and Phyllis, fearing that she would lose the doll, ran shrieking after him.

Nero was only playing, and soon dropped the doll and ran off. Phyllis regained her property and started to return, when a bird rose from the grass at her feet with a queer whirring sound.

Phyllis looked up at the bird and then down to the spot from which it had flown.

In another moment she would have stepped in the nest. This meadow lark's nest was unlike any other Phyllis had found. Indeed, it could scarcely be called a nest at all.

But when she looked at it Phyllis thought what a wise little bird the meadow lark must be to choose such a place for the nest.

Had Phyllis not chanced upon it in just the way she did she might have looked all day long and not discovered it.

The nest was flat upon the ground. Around it and over it arched the tall meadow grasses. The nest itself was made of grass--it seemed to Phyllis that it was made in a somewhat careless manner, and that the eggs might easily roll out upon the ground.

There were four beautiful oval eggs in the nest--the largest birds' eggs Phyllis had as yet discovered. They were over an inch long, and were of a beautiful rosy white colour, speckled closely with reddish brown spots.

As Phyllis sat very still, the mother bird crept softly back to her home. She carefully settled herself on the grassy nest and with her bill tenderly tucked the eggs under her soft feathers.

"How careful you are!" exclaimed Phyllis. "No fear of your breaking the eggs."

The brown bird rose up quickly in fright and looked uncertainly toward the fence. Phyllis thought to see her whirr off again.

"Oh, don't go," she cried. "I will not harm you! Truly I will not disturb you!"

The meadow lark looked again toward the fence, and then settled herself once more over her precious eggs.

"Why do you look toward the fence so often?" asked Phyllis.

"Do you not see that bird perched upon the fence?" asked the meadow lark.

"Yes," Phyllis answered, "what is he doing there?"

"He is our sentinel," said the meadow lark. "He is on the lookout for danger. When he gives the alarm, the rest of the flock know there is danger near.

"When we hear the sentinel's alarm we are off in an instant. We fly high into the air. Did you not notice how I hovered near the grass-tops for a moment and then rose high into the air?"

"Yes," answered Phyllis, "and I knew that you were a lark because of that whirring sound you made when flying."

"Ah, but I am not really a lark at all," said the bird. "I am called the meadow lark, but in truth I belong to the blackbird family. The red-winged blackbird is an own cousin of mine. So also is the oriole, who builds a queer hanging nest in the tree-tops.

"The oriole is very proud of her woven nest, but I should consider it a dangerous place for bird babies. My little ones will never be hurt by falling from their nest.

"Neither can I imagine how any bird can dare to build in such an open place.

"My home is hidden here amid the grasses. Sometimes we find places like this, where the grass blades naturally arch over and hide the nest.

"Sometimes we weave a sort of arch over the nest with the downy, fine fibres from the grass leaves.

"Did you notice the little lane down which I returned to my tiny home?"

"No," said Phyllis, "I thought you just came through the grasses by the easiest way."

"If you will look closely," said the meadow lark, pecking away at her own brown feathers, "if you look very, very closely, you will see the tiny path which leads directly to my door."

Phyllis leaned down and peered very curiously among the grass stems. Sure enough, there was a tiny winding path, almost hidden from sight. It led directly to the meadow lark's nest.

"You are a very wonderful little bird," she cried.

"I shall have some very wonderful babies one of these fine days," said the meadow lark, proudly.

"How safely they will be hidden from danger," said Phyllis.

"Well," said the mother bird, shaking her head, sadly, "I am very sure that I build in a safer manner than my cousins. But, alas, even meadow larks are not free from danger."

"I might have stepped on your nest?" said Phyllis.

"Yes," said the bird, "but what makes me fear most are the field-mice and the snakes. They make great havoc in our nests when they discover them. Many a tiny fledgling has been swallowed by a great creeping, crawling snake. Many a beautiful egg has been eaten by the hungry little field-mice."

"I hope no harm will come to your little home," said Phyllis. "I notice one thing which you have for a protection from harm."

"What is that?" asked the meadow lark.

"It is your colour."

The meadow lark raised her head in gentle surprise.

"And what has my colour to do with my danger?" she asked.

"Why," said the little girl, feeling wondrous wise, "do you not see that the browns of your feathery dress are the same colours as the grass stems and the stubble amid which you brood and feed?"

"Why, so it is," said the meadow lark. "My back is brown, edged with brownish white. That is like the grass stems. I am streaked with black and brown and cream colours. That is like the blades of grass.

"My throat and breast are yellow like the stubble amid which I feed. You are wonderfully wise, Miss Phyllis."

"What a beautiful black crescent you have upon your breast," said Phyllis. "It was almost the first thing I noticed when I met you."

"Did you observe the dark brown lines on my head? They seem to cross my eyes."

"I think you are quite beautiful," said Phyllis.

"Ah, but you should see my mate," said the meadow lark. "He is much more beautiful than I. My feathers seem pale and faded when I walk beside him. When fall comes, however, my own colours will brighten."

"On what shall you feed your little ones?"

"When I tell you, you will see again that I am wise in choosing this place for a nest.

"My babies need never grow hungry, for the grass seeds are always falling. The beetles and worms and ants are always walking by. The moths and the butterflies are for ever laying their eggs in all sorts of convenient places. You remember how their eggs do not hatch out into butterflies and moths at once. They are just ugly little worms called grubs."

"Yes," said Phyllis, "I remember."

The meadow lark carefully tucked an egg farther under her soft brown feathers.

"I am glad," she said, "that my eggs do not hatch out as grubs. Perhaps if they did, I should care no more for my babies than the butterfly does for hers. I am told that she does not even know her own children."

"You are quite right," said Phyllis. "She herself told me so."

The meadow lark gave a low whistle and nervously flitted her tail, showing the white feathers with which it was edged.

"It has been some time since I have heard your clear, sweet whistle," said Phyllis. "I thought you must have left our meadow. You have a most beautiful voice."

"Oh, no, we shall not soon leave your meadow, Phyllis. In the autumn we may join a party of larks and take our family to the marshes for awhile, but we shall return. Meadow larks do sometimes go south for the winter, but usually they live their lives in their home meadows."

"Then you will sing for me again?" asked the little girl.

"Oh, with pleasure," said the meadow lark.

"You remember how we used to sing in the spring? Just now our thoughts are so taken up with our nesting that we have little time for song. But later, when the little ones are able to care for themselves, I shall gladly whistle to you once more."

"I shall listen for you," said Phyllis. "Just now I must go, for I hear my mother's voice. Good-bye, meadow lark!"

And the meadow lark from her nest whistled a low good-bye.

THE SONG OF THE MERRY LARK[1]

Once there was an old gray pussy, and she went down into the meadow, where she saw a merry lark flying among the tall reeds; and pussy said, "Where are you going, little lark?"

And the merry lark answered, "I am going to the king to sing him a song this fine May morning."

And pussy said, "Come here, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty ring round my neck."

But the lark said, "No, no, gray pussy; no, no! You worried the little mouse, but you shall not worry me."

Then the lark flew away till he came to a high oak-tree, and there he saw a gray, greedy hawk sitting. And the gray, greedy hawk said, "Where are you going, pretty lark?"

And the lark answered, "I am going to the king, to sing him a song this fine May morning."

And the gray, greedy hawk said, "Come here, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty feather in my wing."

But the merry lark said, "No, no, gray, greedy hawk, no, no! You pecked at the little linnet, but you shall not peck at me."

Then the lark flew away till he came to the side of a rock, and there he saw a sly fox sitting. And the sly fox said, "Where are you going, sweet lark?"

And the lark answered, "I am going to the king, to sing him a song this fine May morning."

And the sly fox said, "Come, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty white spot on the tip of my tail."

But the lark said, "No, no, sly fox; no, no! You worried the little lamb, but you shall not worry me."

Then the merry lark flew away till he came to the garden of the king; and there he sat among the red clover blossoms and sang his sweetest song.

And the king said to the queen, "What shall we do for this little lark who has sung so sweet a song to us?"

And the queen said to the king, "I think we must have some May-day games for the little lark, and invite robin redbreast to sing with him."

So the gay robin redbreast came and sang with the lark.

And the king and the queen and all the fine lords and ladies danced and made merry while the little birds sang.

And after that the lark flew away home to his own green meadow, where the old gray pussy-cat still lived among the tall reeds.

[1] Permission of American Book Company.

SAVED BY A LARK[1]

Little Helen was four years old. She lived in the country in a white house with green window blinds. The house stood in a large yard, and had pretty flowers in front of it and a row of big maple-trees on each side.

Behind the house was an orchard, where the birds liked to build their nests and sing their sweet songs. Helen had a swing between two large apple-trees which stood a little way from the back door. She could swing ever so high, and could almost touch the green apples on one of the branches.

Back of the orchard and garden stood three big red barns. These barns were full of wonders for Helen. She was always glad to go into them with her father, and see the piles of corn and wheat, the plows and wagons, and the many other things that were there.

One morning in the harvest-time Helen was standing alone upon the door-step. The sun shone bright; the robins were singing in the apple-trees; the grasshoppers were chirping in the lane; but Helen heard only the sound of the far-off reaper, as it came to her through the soft morning air. She knew that her father was with the reaper.

Don't you know what a reaper is? It is that with which the farmer cuts his grain when it is ripe. It is drawn by horses, and it cuts down the grain stalks with many sharp knives, which move back and forth very fast.

"I think I will go out to the field and help father," said Helen to herself.

In another moment the little feet were turned toward the harvest field.

Across the orchard and down the lane she went, carrying her sunbonnet in her hand and talking to the grasshoppers, which would somehow get in her way.