Chapter IV: Part 4

The bobcat seldom climbed the ledge to its den, but would more often mount a tall tree, from where it readily leaped to the flat rock. The cat, having clawed itself up the tree, as usual, raised itself, clinging to a dead branch, and gave forth a long, terrific yell of baffled rage as it faced the camp-fire, which flamed up between it and its den, for when it had left the ledge for the swamp, back of that fire, safe in the den were the bobcat’s family. It dare not leap over the glowing flames; still, unwilling to forsake its mate and kittens, it held its position upon the tree. Another fierce, more terrible yell, and the two boys came tumbling out of the den, and at the same instant the fire flamed up and they both saw the angry bobcat perched in the tree directly opposite them.

“Gee, what’s that thing? A tiger, Jud?” gasped Tom, clutching his brother in sudden terror.

“Nope; maybe a catamount. Say, Jiminy, come to think of it, I guess we must have been asleep in its den,” spoke Jud.

“What’s to hinder his jumping over the fire and tackling us, Jud?” gasped Tom.

“Well, he won’t, not so long as we can keep it built up high. Come on; hurry, Tom. Get more spruce, quick,” and then both boys piled on more wood, and by the light they could still see the angry bobcat, who kept his position right opposite them, its green eyes glittering angrily, occasionally uttering its long, uncanny yell, which echoed back from the dark mountain and sounded like a dozen bobcats yelling in concert.

“Oh, just hear him yell; he’d jump straight on us, only for the fire. Say, we can’t pick up much more wood round here,” announced Jud, finally. “We can’t climb up above either, on account of the rocky roof, and if we go down below he’ll sure jump straight on us. What’ll we do, I wonder?”

“Oh, say, Jud, what can we do, anyhow?” gasped Tom.

“We’ll have to climb down an’ risk his jumping, I guess. I’ll go, Tom. I ain’t afraid, much,” spoke Jud, bravely.

Jud threw the last armful of dry spruce upon the fire, and was just about to climb down the ledge pluckily after more, when both boys heard a far-off, whimpering yell, which came through the woods from somewhere.

“Say, what’s that, Jud? Another one of them things, do you think?” asked Tom, anxiously.

“Sounds mighty like one, but then it’s a long ways off, down below somewhere.”

“But if it comes up here, we can’t fight two of ’em, can we, Jud?”

“No, but we can keep ’em off with clubs. Here, you take this one; it’s got knots all over it; and I’ll find one for myself. We’ll crawl into the den and then if they chase us we’ll whack ’em over the head,” said Jud.

Just then another long, whimpering call came from down below the ledge, and then, instead of leaping, as it might, over the dying fire onto the ledge, as the boys had expected every instant the great cat would do, with its pointed ears laid back upon its flat skull the bobcat, from its perch upon the dead limb, sent back one long, answering yell into the night and began to slide and claw its way hastily down out of the tall tree without even deigning to notice the two boys. For, to tell the truth, the bobcat had only been interested in its little family all the while, and not in the boys at all, and so now with no thought but to follow its mate, whose appealing call had come to it from below, and anxious to get away as far as possible from the bewildering, hateful glare of the flames, which it hated, the wild creature soon caught the welcome, wild scent of the mother cat, and loped off into the dark silence of the night, leaving the two boys alone in safe, undisturbed possession of the bobcat’s den.

XIV

WHY AHMUK THE BEAVER MOVED

Through the summer days most of the wild dwellers of swamp and woods lead rather an idle, care-free life, as is their habit, thinking very little of autumn or winter, because it is a long way off; of course we have to except the squirrels, who are so very thrifty that they run back and forth, industriously storing their winter supplies all summer long. Then, too, there is the beaver family, who are perhaps the busiest creatures of all the wild kindred of the woods.

Wise and thrifty was Ahmuk, the King of a Beaver Colony who lived down in the swamp, and so old was he that actually tufts of snow-white hairs mingled with his stiff, bristling whiskers on either side of his round, furry face. He ruled over the company of beavers who made up his particular colony in the wisest manner, and kept them all busy, which is a trait of the beaver family. One often hears the remark that “he worked like a beaver,” and you had only to watch Ahmuk and his family at work to understand just what this saying meant, for they worked away summer and winter, rain or shine, and, when necessary, all through the night, especially in freshet time.

One day, after Ahmuk had hastily called a council together, all the beavers, young and old, hurriedly began to tear down their old cabins beside the stream and move them higher up on the bank. The beaver cabins were built upon a solid foundation of sticks and brush, rounded off at the top, and neatly plastered over with mud, clay and sod, which they slapped into place with their flat, spade-like tails, which they use almost as well as another pair of hands.

The stream where Ahmuk and his colony lived ran through the heart of the great swamp, so they had many other neighbors; they never quarreled, however, for beavers are most amiable in disposition, and inclined to be friendly with all their wild kindred. Musquash, the muskrat, and his great tribe lived close by, and were a sort of cousin to the beaver family, for their habits were quite similar, and they also built their lodges along the banks of the stream. All through the rank grasses of the swamp, and threading the tall reeds you might see their winding, well-worn trails.

One day when Musquash the muskrat swam past the cabins of Ahmuk the beaver, he saw them at work moving their lodges, and paused to watch them, even forgetting to munch a prize of lily roots because of his great curiosity. He saw them all out upon the bank, working away for dear life, and hurrying madly, never stopping an instant, as they tore down all the old foundations and moved them far above the old site.

“Now I wonder what that’s for?” thought Musquash to himself; “it seems to me that my cousins the beavers are always making themselves a lot of unnecessary work. Moving again? How foolish! Well, I don’t intend to move my family again this season; the old huts are quite good enough;” and then Musquash, having satisfied his curiosity, lazily paddled himself down-stream leaving a long line of bubbles in the brown water to show where he had passed.

Now, if Musquash had but tarried long enough to ask Ahmuk why he was moving he might have been a great deal wiser, and thus saved himself much trouble and sorrow, for Ahmuk was so very wise that he knew that a big flood was coming very soon; and sure enough it did, and then the water rose and rose for days, until it washed away all the muskrat cabins, and even drowned out some of the little muskrats who were tucked away in distant chambers of the settlement, and were too young to swim and save themselves. But high and dry, far up on the bank above the great flood, stood the cabins of Ahmuk the beaver, quite safe; their work had not been in vain.

Soon after the great flood Ahmuk and the colony began to work building a wonderful, great dam, for they wished to make the stream into a pond. So they began to chop down great trees, gnawing them in such a manner that they cut the deepest place in the tree trunk next to the water, so that it would fall that way, and thus they would be saved the trouble of dragging the log a distance. Ahmuk and his tribe had such strong, chisel-like teeth that they could soon chop down quite a large tree, then they would gnaw out deep grooves all around the trunk, and chisel out the wood pulp in great chips, and just as soon as the tree got ready to fall, Ahmuk would slap a loud warning signal with his tail, and all the colony would scuttle away for safety to a high bank, when down came the tree with a mighty crash. When the danger was over and the tree down, back they would all come, and set to work trimming off the branches of the tree, precisely as the lumbermen do. They would then cut the trunk into suitable lengths for building the dam. It was great fun to watch Ahmuk directing the work of the dam building. Altogether they would push the log off into the water, then several of the young, strong beavers would shove it into place, and then they all set to work bringing gravel, mud and stones to fill up and cement the crevices together. They were always careful to build against the current, so that their work might not be washed away. Sometimes the large logs had to be drawn from some distance away from the dam; then Ahmuk would set them all to work, and they would actually dig out a channel right through the soft mud of the swamp, and float the log down to the dam.

At last the dam was finished and sentinels appointed to watch it day and night, for just as soon as a sentinel would discover a break in the dam he would awaken all the colony, and out they would tumble from the cabins, and work all night if necessary to make it safe and strong again. Sometimes Ahmuk even found it necessary to build a smaller dam below the large one to protect it. Then, too, when he found a low spot anywhere along the bank, he set them all to work building it up high enough to keep the water from running out of their pond. So you can readily understand that the dam required constant attention to keep it safe. When everything was in fine shape, the new pond soon became so deep that all sorts of strange new water plants, which the beavers loved, began to grow in the deeper water, while down from the smaller streams came trout, pickerel, and bull-pouts to live in the thick growths of water-weeds; and best of all, the pond lilies grew and floated upon the surface of the new pond, and every morning spread out their white, dewy petals in the early dawn; while below, in the dim, green depths of the water, trailed the long, succulent lily roots which Ahmuk and his family loved to feed upon.

The building of the great dam, and the making of the pond brought plenty of new neighbors to the spot: the great blue heron and her family, the kingfisher tribe, and many others, because the Beaver Colony had made the place so beautiful and inviting, and there were wonderful new things to be found in the pond. The long summer days came, and in the beaver cabins the family of Ahmuk was becoming so large that Ahmuk held counsel with the colony, and they finally decided that the time had come when the younger families must start out and look for a new place to live in. So, as the beaver family are very sociable, and always like to travel in companies, they all set off together one fine moonlight night to seek a new place for their dam-building, and to found another village.

The colony traveled together a long distance, for they really could not decide just where to settle, because each place which they came to seemed not just what they were looking for, not nearly as fine a location as the old village had been. Then, too, when the longing for wandering seizes the beavers they are prone to make long journeys into strange countries before they settle down. But finally Ahmuk, rather tired of wandering, and anxious to get back home, if the truth were known, advised them that they had found the proper spot at last, for he saw that there would be plenty of fine young timber close at hand for them to build a dam. So, altogether, they set to work and built a beautiful new dam, and then when it was finished Ahmuk, just to encourage the young beavers, and wishing to leave them comfortably settled, helped them build three fine roomy cabins on the edge of the stream; and making sure that they had plenty of tender young green saplings to nibble on in their larder, Ahmuk and his faithful old mate bade the younger colony farewell and journeyed back to their old home.

Now it so happened that the swamp had always been the safest kind of a home for the Beaver Colony, for seldom did anything ever disturb its wild inhabitants or enter the swamp. But slowly and surely men are beginning to search out and find the secret hiding-places of all little furry creatures of the wood, and while Ahmuk had been far off, at the very source of the stream up in the region of the tall pines, where the little mountain torrents and trout streams are born, a trapper had visited the camp of Ahmuk the beaver. He discovered the deserted cabins and the fine dam, and well knowing the habits of the beaver, he decided that they had simply gone off on a little pleasure excursion, for he did not believe they would willingly give up their fine dam and cabins, and thought they would return in time. So, very warily and cunningly, the trapper set his snares, because one must be exceedingly crafty and wise to trap a beaver.

Back from their long, tiresome wanderings came Ahmuk and his mate, and even though they were weary they both set to work making repairs upon the dam, for something had torn it apart; perhaps the hoofs of clumsy old Megalup, the caribou, or even Unk-Wunk the mischievous porcupine, who just loved to gnaw and gnaw, and destroy every log which came in his way.

When Ahmuk and his mate had finished repairing the dam, they went to their cabin to rest, but Ahmuk happened to remember a little chink which he thought should be strengthened, so turned back to the dam to stow away a few more stones, while his mate entered the cabin. Soon he heard her give a sharp cry of distress, and hurrying to the cabin he soon saw that she had been caught in a cruel trap, which had been deftly concealed beneath the cabin floor. Instantly Ahmuk set about trying to free his mate from the cruel steel teeth, which had nipped into her leg. Bravely they tugged and worked, trying to free her, but in vain. Then, in desperation, Ahmuk, wild with anxiety, with bulging, anxious eyes, set to work with his chisel-like teeth, and as gently as he could he sawed through the leg of his brave little mate, and she was free. True, she had to leave one little black foot behind in the trap, but she didn’t mind that.

Ahmuk and his mate took to the water, and swam swiftly away, leaving behind them forever the beautiful dam and their comfortable cabins. And now afar off, in a spot which it is doubtful if any trapper will ever discover, live Ahmuk and his mate, with a fine new family. They have already built a new dam, and right in the center of it, watchful as ever, you may see Ahmuk himself sitting, erect as a soldier, a sentinel on guard duty; while close by among the thick jungle of the forest the whippoorwills and little brown screech owls keep him company, and his mate and the beaver children sleep safely, not so very far off, in their fine, new cabin on the bank of the pond.

XV

NICODEMUS, KING OF CROW COLONY

“Caw-r-r, caw-r-r, caw-r-r-r,” called the leaders of Crow Colony, scolding and consulting together. It was spring down in Balsam Swamp, and they were preparing to disband and make their nests in which to raise their young.

On the very tip-top of a giant balsam, which had been broken off by the fierce winter gales, Nicodemus, king of the Crow Colony, had, year after year, built his nest. You see, the top of the balsam, being broken off, formed quite a broad platform, just the very spot for a crow’s nest. From its lofty height the whole surrounding country lay spread out beneath like a great map. Besides, the high balsam was sure to be a safe spot, for the tree was very hard to climb, its branches growing at such a great distance from the ground.

Now all winter long the crows had lived together in a colony, but as soon as the sap began to ascend in the maple trees, and even before the thin ice was gone from the water-holes down in the swamp, they began to disband and to come forth from their sheltered retreats in the dense pine forests out into the open country.

Among the very first ones to commence housekeeping for the season was Nicodemus. He was the recognized leader, or king of the colony, because of his age and also because he was very wise and much the strongest crow in the flock. He always chose the most popular young crow in the colony for his mate, fighting and battling with the others for her company, and always getting the best of his rivals.

Now, secretly, Nicodemus was envied and hated by all the other crows, but not one of them had courage enough to approach very near the balsam tree, which Nicodemus appropriated for his home. He let it be understood quite plainly that they must leave him severely alone.

A fine, handsome fellow was Nicodemus. One would easily have selected him as ruler of the colony, for his great glossy black wings, when spread, were wider than those of any other crow in the flock; and his feathers glistened in the sun with burnished-bronze effects which made all the other crows seem quite dull and homely in comparison, and his round, sparkling brown eyes were so very keen and crafty that little escaped him. Nicodemus was also a great tyrant, and had never been whipped in battle--no, not even by the gray hawk who lived in the top of a giant sycamore, on the far side of the swamp. Occasionally the gray hawk would skim low over the nest of Nicodemus, but the old crow would simply take up a firm stand upon his home tree and send out short, insolent, barking crows after the gray, shadowy hawk, or boldly chase him back to the sycamore tree because, to tell the truth, Nicodemus feared nothing which wore fur or feathers in those days.

So when the maples put out their coral, pendent clusters of blossoms, and the willows and catkins down in the swamp burst forth, showing pale, tender green against the bare gray of the thickets, then in the loose, ill-made nest of Nicodemus, on the tip-top of the blasted balsam, there arose such a commotion and clatter that everybody in the Crow Colony was made aware that there were now four young crows in the family of the old king.

“Caw-r-r, caw-r-r,” hoarsely and fretfully clamored the four scrawny young crows just as soon as they opened their filmy young eyes, waking up everybody about them for miles away with their peevish screams, even before the first yellow streak of sunshine broke over the swamp.

And once fully awake, these little pin-feathery crows almost distracted Nicodemus and his mate by their persistent cawing and fretting for food. Off would start both Nicodemus and his mate, searching frantically for food to fill the four ravenous mouths awaiting them back in the balsam tree nest.

Now all this hard work was quite a fresh experience to Nicodemus, king of the colony, for before he had a family he always foraged for himself alone, and whenever he chanced to pounce upon an especially dainty morsel of food he had always sought out some quiet spot, far away from his companions, where, quite unseen, he would proceed to hurriedly gobble down the choice bit quite selfishly. But everything was now sadly changed for, no matter how very hungry he himself might be in the morning, no sooner did he decide to eat his breakfast as usual than far away, from the direction of the giant balsam tree, borne to his ears by the wind, would come the fearful din of the four small, troublesome crows screaming for food. So, in spite of himself, Nicodemus, who was fond of his family in his own fashion, would go back to the nest with whatever he had selected for his own breakfast, and feed it to the young crows. Sometimes it seemed well-nigh impossible to satisfy their ever increasing appetites for, as they grew larger, they clamored louder and louder to be fed, and in spite of the combined efforts of himself and his mate they were sometimes at their very wit’s end to find food, because, you see, other crows of the colony were also raising families, and food was not always to be found at once.

However, Nicodemus was so old and crafty that he soon learned to seek for food in odd places quite unknown to other crows.

Now in secluded spots the boys had set their muskrat traps, and in a certain spot by the brook where lived the mink family were snares and traps. Secretly Nicodemus visited them all, and, when possible, helped himself liberally to whatever he found in the traps. So that the boys never could understand why the traps were sprung sometimes, and occasionally a tuft of muskrat fur, or the tip of a toe left in the trap.

One day Nicodemus, after visiting all the traps along the waterways, found them all empty but one, and that contained nothing but a stale chicken’s head, which Nicodemus saw lying quite carelessly upon one of the traps. He was about to turn from the unwholesome bait in disgust, for he craved something better, when, wafted on the spring air came the loud noise of fretful cawing.

“Caw-r-r, caw-r-r,” squalled the young crows, which meant, “More, more, more.”

At the unwelcome sound of their cawing, Nicodemus, fiercely hungry himself, and terribly desperate, made a quick grab at the bait in the trap, and the next instant he wished he had left it alone, for to his surprise and dismay some sudden force, unsuspected and unseen, clutched at, and bit into his leg, and he was held a prisoner. Oh, how he thrashed and beat his great wings, but the more he struggled and thrashed the tighter the steel teeth of the trap gripped and held him, until finally, just about dusk, the boy who owned the trap came and discovered Nicodemus caught in the trap.

“Nothing but an old crow caught in my trap,” grumbled the boy in disgust, for he had hoped to find a mink. Then, just as he was about to throw out the crow, the thought came to him to take it home and tame it.

The next thing Nicodemus knew he was taken to the barn-yard by the boy, who drove a small stake into the ground and fastened him there securely. But Nicodemus thrashed about so madly that he soon broke the cord which secured him, and then the boy brought a great pair of scissors and clipped off the large wing feathers so he could not fly away; Nicodemus now became subdued and helpless. What a position for the king of Crow Colony. But worse yet was to come to him, for some one told the boy that if you will split the tongue of a crow it will soon learn to speak. Accordingly the tongue of Nicodemus was split, and soon, to the great delight of the boy, Nicodemus began to croak out something which sounded almost like “Hello.”

Secretly, in spite of his humble appearance, Nicodemus was neither tamed nor subdued, and his heart was filled with hate and bitterness toward everybody; especially did he hate the forced companionship of all the tame barn-yard fowls,--most of all that of the great, haughty, strutting red rooster, monarch of the barn-yard, who never lost an opportunity of giving Nicodemus a vicious peck whenever he felt like it. And at feeding time, when Nicodemus ventured near the chickens to share a few kernels of yellow corn, once the haughty red rooster had fallen upon him and spurred him most cruelly with his sharp spurs, so that Nicodemus felt the effects of the thrashing for days and days.

Old Nicodemus was a very humble crow indeed these dark days. He lost all pride in grooming his former glossy, iridescent plumage, and became muddy and draggled. He would sit perched upon an old rain barrel in a corner of the barn-yard and croak and complain dismally to himself, hunching up his shoulders miserably, and uttering a peevish “Caw,” and the new, strange croak which he had acquired, because of his split tongue, until finally he became so dull and uninteresting that the boy lost all interest in him and he was left wholly to himself; and thus it happened that his wings were left unclipped, so that all through the summer the wing feathers grew each day a trifle longer. Ah, Nicodemus’ dull days were soon to be over, for one day, just about the time the first snow flurry fell, he spread forth his great wings and began to circle over the heads of the astonished fowls, cawing triumphantly and stridently; then, with exultant, happy heart, away he flew in the direction of Balsam Swamp.

When he reached his old nest it was empty. Nothing remained of it but a few loose sticks, and these were soon sprinkled over with snow. Oh, how lonely and unhappy was the home-coming of the king of Crow Colony.

Of course Nicodemus knew instinctively that his family had grown up and deserted the nest. Perhaps they had joined the colony for the winter, as was their custom, seeking some close retreat in the dense pines where they herd together for the winter months. He resolved to join the old colony. If he could only go back among his loved ones he would soon be welcomed again and take his rightful place as king of the flock.

All day long he flew heavily about over the swamps and mountains searching for the colony. At last the leaders appeared against the distant sky-line; they had flown over the mountain, and were coming back into the balsams for the night. Straggling and cawing they came, the long procession, and finally joining the last stragglers, Nicodemus flopped heavily along in the rear. And in the darkness of twilight he joined them, huddling close together in the dense green thickets. The flock had not recognized him and they gave him no welcome; evidently he was forgotten. But the next morning they discovered him in their midst, and just as soon as he gave forth his strange, new call they knew him only as a stranger, and one and all the whole colony fell upon him and, with fierce cawings and scoldings, drove him forth from their midst.

Poor, unhappy Nicodemus! Solitary and alone he flew off, deserted by the flock, and probably by his very own family as well. No one had recognized him. The winter which followed was long and cold. At break of day the deposed king would start off alone for food, and when night came, with heavy, tired wings, back he flew to the shelter of the pines in the swamp. There the winds howled and crooned above him, and fierce blizzards sent the snow swirling about his solitary retreat. It is hard for a crow to live alone, for with the colony, where there are sometimes hundreds of crows, they manage to keep warm by huddling closely together for warmth, and so do not freeze to death.

At last spring came, and Nicodemus, glad to be alive now, heard the old colony cawing loudly, and watched the great black band of crows as, greatly excited, they settled in a near-by sycamore to talk over and arrange the business of disbanding.

Then, unable to stand his loneliness longer, with swift, eager flight the old king of the colony joined the flock. In their excitement they did not heed him. But the eyes of the king were alert; nothing escaped them. Soon a young dandy of a crow, accompanied by his mate, spread forth his wings and headed for the stunted balsam tree, the old nesting place of Nicodemus. Then instantly all the old courage of the king came back to him, and with one mighty swoop of his great black wings, with loud, commanding caws, he followed the pair, caught up with them, and drove the presuming young crow away from the balsam. Nicodemus, king of the Crow Colony, thus resumed his place among his kindred as commander of the flock.

XVI

THE STORY OF RUSTY STARLING

Rusty Starling had a coat of glossy black feathers, all speckled over with rust colored dots, for all the world like a freckle-faced boy in summer time. His long, sharp beak was brilliant yellow, and he had such a funny, strutting kind of a walk which made him appear not unlike a dandy as he minced along over wide fields to feed. But Rusty’s song was perhaps the queerest thing of all. It began, usually, with a few preliminary, creaking notes, which somehow reminded you of the noise made by a rusty swinging hinge; but occasionally he would change this note and burst forth into a beautiful, clear whistle, which he followed by a curious, throbbing call; and when he uttered this last call, it seemed to fairly shake his speckled body from the point of his yellow beak to the very tip of his long tail feathers.

Rusty was a foreigner; he sailed across the ocean to America in company with a little band of starlings, and was let loose in a large park. But one bright spring morning he suddenly began to feel strangely lonely, and longing for fresh adventure, he spread his wings, and off he flew to discover for himself a new country. At first he did not get acquainted with the strange American birds readily, for some of them chased him about, pecking at him viciously just because they failed to recognize him, for he was quite unlike any other American blackbird which they had ever met, and they were all suspiciously inclined, and unwilling to adopt a stranger into their midst.

But, taking it altogether, Rusty liked his new home exceedingly, and made himself quite at home in an old apple tree which chanced to be in blossom. The tree was simply riddled with knot-holes, and Rusty knew by experience that beneath the rough bark of the apple tree he could find plenty of fine grubs for the searching. The apple blossoms clustered thickly about him, all pink and white, and the air was sweet with perfume, while in and out, gathering pollen, the honey-bees droned and hummed in the sunshine. All this so charmed Rusty Starling that he began to pour out his strange rusty, creaking song as hard as ever he could pipe. Oh, what a fine spot the apple tree would make for a nest. Why, right below him in a knot-hole was the finest place he had ever run across. He felt very much overcome at the thought of building a nest in the apple tree, and the very idea caused him to change his first harsh, throaty notes into a wonderfully clear, beautiful warbling--the mating call.

Almost before his last note died out, Rusty’s whistle was answered. First came the starling’s creaking notes, then it merged into the same throbbing, inviting call as his own, and thus Rusty found his mate, for another starling had strayed away from the park flock.

Rusty never felt lonely after little Mrs. Rusty’s arrival, and they soon made all plans for their nest building in the knot-hole of the old apple tree. It was such an ideal place, for the whole tree chanced to be hung about with many gossamer caterpillars’ nests; there would be food a-plenty right at their very door.

During the mating days Rusty’s coat of feathers underwent the strangest change, and you would hardly have recognized him, for he became very beautiful, having lost every one of his freckles. His feathers glittered and shone in the sunshine in colors of purple, green and golden hue, and he would flash like a jewel back and forth from morning until night carrying twigs and material for the nest in the apple tree.

The entrance to the nest was so very small that you simply wondered how a full grown starling could ever manage to get inside the door; but once he had squeezed inside, it was deep and roomy, and comfortably lined with down and hair. At sunset Rusty always took up his position on a twig close to the nest and gave a regular concert to his little mate, who sat away down inside the knot-hole brooding five young starlings. But really he or his mate had very little time for songs, for as soon as their pin-feathers commenced to sprout, the little starlings developed such fearful appetites that it took their parents every instant to find food enough to satisfy them.

One day when Rusty and his mate had gone off after food, leaving the little ones home alone, suddenly, as they were expecting the old birds to come home, a strange thing happened. Instead of food being thrust down into their wide, hungry mouths, a long, furry arm, striped with tigerish marks and filled with sharp, cruel claws, came creeping far down into the nest, and when it was withdrawn a baby starling went with it. Five times the dreadful tigerish arm was thrust down into the nest, and each time it took away a starling.

Rusty and his mate made a frightful fuss when they came back to the nest and found it empty; while there upon a flat limb sat a big tiger cat lapping his chops, and freeing his long whiskers from pin-feathers. They flew about his head, rasping shrilly, and trying to peck at him with their long yellow beaks, but the tiger cat simply blinked his eyes insolently at them. And somehow the starlings are of such a happy disposition that nothing ever worries them for long, and in a few days they were as happy as ever.

Autumn came, and soon the few apples left upon their home tree were touched by Jack Frost and became bitter, not very good eating; still Rusty and his mate loved to peck at them, for by this time food began to be scarce. Now, when October came, by rights Rusty and his mate should have gone south with all the other migrating birds, for at this time the starlings usually seek a warmer climate; but strangely enough, Rusty and his mate watched the bluebirds, the straggling flocks of geese and all their neighbors fly off, and still they tarried behind.

When cold weather came they left the apple tree nest, for the snow sifted down into it and blocked up their door completely. They flew off into the pine forests, and huddled closely together to keep warm. One day they were buffeted about in a great howling snow-storm, and Mrs. Rusty was blown against a barb-wire fence and her wing injured. Then Rusty knew he must find a comfortable spot for her or she would perish. So, urging her to follow him, he flew to a farmhouse, and there they perched upon a great chimney. My, what a beautiful warm spot they had discovered! The heat came up in great waves and penetrated their feathers, and best of all they could sit down inside upon a small ledge and be out of the storm.

Soon Mrs. Rusty’s lame wing grew strong, and they were allowed to fly into the barn-yard and share the chickens’ food. And upon sunshiny days they sat together upon the chimney and sang their rusty, creaking song together, for already beautiful visions of a new nest in the apple tree came to them. But one day Rusty flew off, and while he was away they built up a rousing fire in the old chimney to clear out its soot, so that when Rusty came back he could not find his little mate. She had been blinded and overcome by the uprushing smoke, and had perished.

He called and called, but vainly, and took up his lonely life again until spring time; and glad enough he was to welcome back all his old bird neighbors. He recognized them all in turn: the bluebirds, the flickers and the robins. And one great day as he sat lonesomely upon the old apple tree trying hard to keep cheerful by whistling to himself, suddenly he spied what at first sight appeared to be a black cloud floating right in his direction. The cloud moved rapidly, and finally began to come to earth. It was a great colony of birds, and somehow they appeared to Rusty strangely familiar. Soon a soft, creaking, crackling burst of song came to him, and instantly Rusty knew they were starlings.

Hundreds of them there were. They broke ranks finally, precisely like a company of trained soldiers, and settling all over the field, they began walking about with their little, quick, mincing steps.

Rusty gave one great, triumphant whistle of recognition and joy, and spreading his freckled wings he launched forth into the air and had soon joined the colony. And, wonderful to relate, much to his delight he discovered among the great flock another little starling so precisely like his lost mate that he was fully convinced that he had found her. And so when the leader of the great Starling Colony gave his loud whistle of command for the company to form ranks again, at his signal the whole flock arose, and making a wide wheel first, close to the earth, suddenly, as if they were one instead of a great company, they arose in the air and took flight, and Rusty Starling went with them.

XVII

WHERE THE PARTRIDGE DRUMS

All during the beautiful summer days the little Mother Partridge and her mate, the brave, ruffled cock, and their twelve brown chicks had lived just on the border of a deep wood, not too far back, so that when the little ones began to fly their flight should be easy. It was a fine, safe place for the little partridges, for they could easily run and hide from danger beneath the thick shadowy places of the pines, which towered so far above their lowly nest that only the soft, swishy whispering of their plumy tops could be heard down in the covert. The little ones grew rapidly, and were soon good-sized chicks; and they were very knowing, for the very instant their wise mother uttered her warning “cr-rr-r-r” cry, off they would flutter, looking, in their flight, for all the world like a drove of flying dead leaves; and strain your eyes as you might, after they had taken flight, you could never find where one little partridge had hidden itself. Instinct taught them to select a leaf or object which exactly matched their brown feathers, and then lie quite flat. There they would huddle until their mother gave a reassuring cluck, meaning “danger over,” then out they would come in a little flock, and all this time while they lay hid, the little Father Partridge was never idle, I assure you, but took it upon himself, when danger came near the flock, to tell them just as far away as possible, and try to divert the attention of the enemy to himself in the funniest fashion. He would be so brave, even in the face of great danger, that he would boldly strut forth, all his feathers bristling, and the curious ruffle raised about his neck, and so bluster and strut and make such a ridiculous clamor that the intruder invariably forgot to see where the little chicks hid themselves. Then as soon as Mother Partridge and the chicks were off and away, a swift “whir-r-r,” and before you knew it, Father Partridge had vanished as if the earth had swallowed him up.

The partridges always led their little chicks to the very best feeding grounds. Well they knew where the plump little red partridge berries grew thick in their deep green beds of moss, and also they remembered where in the deep mountain slashes the luscious red raspberries hung in ripe clusters; and sometimes they had to do battle with the screaming blue jays to drive them off, providing they reached the feeding grounds first. Brave as well as gallant was the little cock partridge. Off alone, on fleet wing would he fly upon private expeditions of his own, and when he succeeded in finding good feeding, he would mount upon a great log, or high place, and drum, drum, drum, beating his strong wings against his sides, and filling the forest with loud echoing calls--the call of the partridge for his mate, until she and the little partridges had followed him to the feeding place. Many a time when swift danger came upon them from above, and a cruel hawk swooped low after one of the chicks, then Father Partridge would raise his ruff fiercely and rushing forth, his barred wings and tail flaunted high, he would drum so loudly in the very face of the hawk that it would change its course and decide that it really did not care for a young partridge that day.

Gradually, as the young partridges became stronger and larger, they would venture forth into the woods upon short excursions on their own account, but they invariably came back to the home covert at night, where their mother would hover them beneath her soft brown wings, until they became too old, when they would all huddle together beneath the drooping limbs of a low falling spruce, or fly up into its lower limbs; for sometimes their instinct told them to sleep out of reach of Red-Brush, the fox, who sometimes strolled in the woods, near at hand, after dark. But somehow, in spite of the many warnings of wise little Mother Partridge, and fierce drummings of the father, one by one all but four of the partridge chicks mysteriously disappeared in one way or another, until when autumn came there were but six left of the large partridge family.

But they did not seem to mind that, which is the way in partridge families, and all through the autumn they had the very happiest times together that you possibly can imagine. The mornings were beginning to be keen and frosty, but their brown feather coats were thick and glossy, and they were so very plump from the abundance of good feed to be had, that they never minded the cold; it only made them wilder and livelier. Just as the first twinkling sunbeam filtered its way through the tent-like roof of their covert, then Father Partridge would take his head from beneath his wing; with a flash of his bright, beady eyes he would ruffle his crest, then “whir-r-r,” swiftly his wings would take him off, skimming low over frosted ferns and brakes. Then five other “whir-r-s” would sound, and you knew that the partridge family were awake for the day, and had started off to hunt for their breakfast. Indeed in the partridge family it was meal time all day long in those autumn days, for they did nothing but feast continually, because that is the great festival time of the year for partridges. In the hedges the red choke cherries had turned black and hung in such heavy clusters that their branches trailed low, and the fruit was wild and juicy. The thorn apple trees, with their armor of bayonet-like spikes, were filled with scarlet apples, mellow and rich as a persimmon after the frost has ripened it, while over wayside saplings trailed long vines hung thick with little fox grapes doubly tasty because Jack Frost had nipped them. Then too there were beechnuts rattling down out of their yellowing leaves--all these good things to be had for the taking; no wonder the partridges grew each day a trifle more plump that autumn. Still, unlike the thrifty squirrel family, they were not wise enough to lay aside a hoard of food against hard, bitterly cold winter weather; they just flew about enjoying life. So plump did the young ones become that at last you could not tell them from the old partridges. Then, all of a sudden, just as they were becoming recklessly tame and fearless, something terrifying and unknown came into the forest and drove every little thing which wore fur or feathers quite wild with fright.

“Bang, bang, bang,” it sounded, the awful din, sometimes in the depths of the thick spruce bush, and again in the open, or down in the edge of the slashes; then up would curl an evil-smelling blue vapor, and one time when the terrified partridge family took flight two more of the young ones did not follow their leader to safe covert. Four of them, all that were now left, remained safely hidden in the depths of the deep forest for days, and at last the terrifying bangs were no longer heard, and they finally ventured out into the open once more.

By this time the maples, beeches, and the birch trees had all shed their dense leaves, and chilly winds, wintry and bleak, began to croon and whine through the dense coverts among the thick spruces. There the partridges sought shelter each night, and finally winter set in in good earnest and all the little wild creatures sought for warm, snug quarters. The squirrels huddled down in their cozy nests, all lined with leaves, and filled with a choice assortment of provisions, and old Dame Woodchuck had long ago crept into her burrow, deep down in the brown earth, and closed up her door for the winter; not until Candlemas Day would she venture to even stick her nose out-of-doors again. Still, there were plenty who did not care to idle and sleep all through the cold weather, so there was still plenty of life left in the forest.

After the first deep snow the partridges remained hidden in some deep, warm covert among the thick, sheltering pines, coming forth into the open only when they wished to feed upon chance dried berries which the snow and winds had left clinging to bare branches; but for the most part all the birds which had not gone south kept to the deep woods for shelter.

Now right in the heart of a balsam pine lived a great snowy owl, which had drifted from its kindred down from the far North, and taken up its solitary home close to the partridge covert. The great, wise owl thought herself perfectly safe, no doubt, in such a lofty home; so, a few months before, she had laid two beautiful snowy eggs in her retreat, which in time became two small owlets, with such comical, fuzzy, round faces, and large yellow eyes. The great snowy mother owl loved them as only a mother owl knows how, almost wearing herself out to hunt food for them, both day and night. One day when the great snowy owl came back to the balsam pine she arrived just in time to see a sinuous, brown, fur-coated stranger hastily claw himself down from her nest, and dashing swiftly and angrily at him, she managed to clutch just a tuft of his brown fur. He had slipped away, and her nest was empty; and all night long, far above the spot where the partridges nested, the great snowy owl cried out: “Who-who-wo-wo-wo-o-o,” and from that day she nested alone and began to watch and watch for the reappearance of that hateful, sinuous, brown-coated stranger who had stolen the young owl babies, but she watched in vain.

Fiercely raged the great northern blizzards and sometimes when the partridges ventured forth from their coverts when hard pressed with hunger the heavy winds would seize them and dash them roughly about, so that spent and weary they were often forced to come back to shelter without tasting food for hours. Still, in certain places known to the partridges there were still pine cones a-plenty, and in between the brown husk-like layers of the cones they found little nutty seeds of the pine, while beneath, in sheltered spots which the snow did not cover, they scratched for partridge berries, wintergreen plums, and an occasional beechnut which the squirrels had not found. Searching and keen were the wintry winds, which sometimes stung through their feather coats, so they would huddle close together beneath the shelter of a great log, or where pine branches swept low. One day a great storm raged which lasted for many days, and the giant pines rocked so mightily that none of the wild creatures ventured out as long as it lasted. The partridges huddled closely together upon the ground for warmth, and gradually the snow sifted and filtered its way through the forest until it had finally covered everything, even the partridges, who looked like little mounds of snow. Strangely enough they were warm and comfortable beneath their snow coverlet, for the snow arched over each sleek, brown back, forming a little shelter or hut over them, not unlike those small snow huts which the Laps build; and if you could have peeped beneath, you might have seen four pairs of very bright, alert eyes peeping from a tiny opening in their snow covering; that is, when the partridges were not fast asleep.

When the snowflakes began to come down slower and slower, and almost cease, then many of the wild things began to grow very hungry and ventured forth. A sly old weasel started out first, and soon his lithe, snake-like body was skimming silently through the pathless, silent forest, leaving queer little tracks in the soft snow as he traveled. Once in the deep pines he began to peer about for prey; in and out among the brown underbrush he crept, being careful that no twig should snap beneath him to betray his coming. Nothing seemed to be stirring yet; plainly everything was still asleep. But far up above in the giant pine above him the weasel failed to notice that a certain knot-hole was completely filled by a great, round, snowy face lighted by glittering, angry eyes, of pale yellow. For the great snowy owl had seen the weasel the moment he came into the woods, and recognized him as the enemy who had robbed her of the young owlets. On crept the weasel, feeling rather cross, when suddenly his little red eyes lighted upon four very peculiar tussocks of snow just beside a great log; and could he believe his eyes?--one of the snow bundles moved. Then the weasel knew there must be something hidden there. He stole nearer. He was in great luck; surely there were partridges there asleep in the snow. Instantly he gathered himself for a swift spring, but just as he was about to seize the first partridge, a great, white shadowy form, which might have been a giant snowflake, so silently did it fall, came swooping down upon the weasel from above, and the next instant the strong yellow talons hidden in the snowy feathers were buried in the weasel’s fur, and he was lifted and borne in triumph through the air, twisting and struggling to gain his freedom, but vainly.

Then at a signal the brave leader of the partridges rose, and the other three went “whir, whir, whirring” off into the safe places of the forest.

XVIII

HOW SOLOMON OWL BECAME WISE