Part 5

The pack camel travels very slowly, and until you are sufficiently reconciled to the motion to be able to doze on its back, you are constantly tempted to get off and walk. If you want speed, you must buy a racing camel. This seems to belong to a different creation. It is much taller, more alert and more intelligent. It can accomplish 150 miles in sixteen hours without undue effort, and, in the matter of price, compares with the pack camel as the thoroughbred does with the cab horse.

THE SNAPPING-TURTLE.

By reason of the ferocity of disposition of this curious animal, the snapping-turtle (_Chelydra serpentina_) is rather formidable, not only to the smaller creatures which inhabit the same localities, but also to man, its bite causing very severe wounds. It is found in America from Canada to Ecuador, and there are few localities where it is not met with frequently. Swimmers in small lakes are sometimes attacked by it, the habits of the animal both in the water and on land being the same. It is bold as well as fierce, often suffering itself to be lifted from the ground by the object which it has grasped rather than to let go its hold. If attacked, the reptile's long reach and strong jaws enable it to defeat any ordinary foe. The elongated tail of the snapping-turtle has given rise to the popular name, alligator turtle and, being appended to the small, comparatively thin shell, giving an elongated appearance to the body, the specific name _serpentina_ resulted.

When the snapper elevates itself for the attack, with half-open mouth and sullen eyes, there is said to be something fiery and defiant in its attitude, though it is so slow and awkward in recovering itself after missing its point of attack that it presents a most ludicrous appearance. These turtles are remarkably strong. The elder Agassiz states that he observed one bite off a piece of plank more than an inch thick. They also attain considerable size, being the largest inland representative of the order, specimens not infrequently exceeding three feet in length. It is carnivorous in its habits, and is very destructive of fish, small quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles. Many have been the water-fowl which have ventured too close to their voracious enemy. Its appetite is said to be so great that it will even catch young alligators, and devour them in spite of their teeth and struggles.

The flesh of the snapping-turtle is delicate, tender, and of rich flavor. Every fisherman knows that it will take almost any kind of bait, provided it be of animal substance. It, however, prefers fish, and cannot resist a hook so baited.

In the northern United States, from the tenth to the twentieth of June, it has been observed, the female, at early morning, leaves the water and crawls to a sandbank, digs a small cavity with its hind leg, into which the small, round eggs are deposited to the number of twenty-five or thirty, when the sand is drawn over them, the surface smoothed down, and the animal is soon back in the water, the entire operation not lasting over twenty minutes. This method is different from that of our other land turtles. Nothing but sand will suit the purpose of the snapping-turtle. In order to find a suitable spot for the burial of her eggs, the female is often forced to traverse a considerable distance. The sand must be quite dry and exposed to the full rays of the sun. The little ones are hatched in July. The young run by instinct into the water.

Remarkable stories are told of the longevity of the turtle and of its tenacity of life. That they live to near a century is well authenticated. After the head is severed from the body the head will open and shut the mouth and roll the eyes. In one case a stick was held between the open jaws, which closed upon it with violence, and kept hold of it. Meanwhile the headless body was crawling on the ground.

An allied form (_Macrochelys lacertina_) inhabits the tributaries of the Mexican Gulf, extending northward in the Mississippi as far as Missouri.

THE STORY OF LITTLE BILLEE.

CAROLINE CROWNINSHIELD BASCOM.

In the March number of the _Cosmopolitan_ of 1894, I read a most interesting article about a tame humming-bird. I know a number of people who enjoyed it as much as I, so I feel sure all lovers of pets, especially of birds, will be interested in my story of "Little Billee." I have always been passionately fond of animals and would like to make pets of them all. I have cared the least for birds, (except out of doors) and have known very little about them.

I have been ill many months, and my family and friends have done all they could to make the days pass as quickly as possible for me. Early in June my mother found a little brown bird which could not have been more than two weeks old. Thinking it might amuse me she brought him up stairs done up in her handkerchief, and I took him inside the bed. After an hour he seemed very happy and not at all afraid. I looked him over carefully, but found him uninjured. I took him to the open window expecting to see him try to fly away, but he did not seem to have the slightest intention of doing so. From that day to this he has been perfectly devoted to me and my constant companion. At this minute he is sitting on the back of my neck dressing his feathers.

The first day I could not get him to eat anything until night, when he drank milk from an after-dinner coffee spoon. After that he took little pieces of bread soaked in milk from my tongue or lip. I fed him in that way for several days, then he would take it out of my fingers. He lived on bread and milk for two weeks. Now he eats almost everything that I do. All kinds of vegetables, mushrooms, and ice cream. He likes to sit on my hand or shoulder and take them from my fork.

I have some kind of nourishment every two hours and Little Billee knows very well when my maid comes into my room with a salver that there is something on it to eat or drink, and he is wild until he gets on my hand or shoulder. He drinks milk from my tumblers and will not drink water out of anything but my medicine glass. When Little Billee sees me sit down in the morning with an orange on a plate, he flies upon his cage, then over into my lap, and sits on the first finger of my left hand and eats the orange from my spoon. At first he could not crack his own seeds and as he was very fond of them I used to do it for him. Now he can crack them himself, but he prefers eating them outside his cage, and his hemp seed he always brings over and eats on the rug in front of my bed.

Little Billee is very fond of little orange blossom biscuits. I keep some in a tin box under a table by the side of my bed. For several days every time I would reach out of bed and tap on the box Little Billee would come running for a piece. One day I was visiting with a friend and we forgot all about the bird. Soon we heard rap, tap, tap, pop, pop, pop, and there was Little Billee standing by the box waiting for a piece. Since then he comes many times a day. If I send him away with a small piece he returns directly for a large one.

I had quite a time teaching him to stay in his cage. The first day I put him in I was afraid he would die of fright. I left the cage on the floor for two days before he ventured in. After he had been going in and out for some time, I closed the door, but he was frightened quite as much as at first, and he would not go near the cage the rest of the day. Finally I tried taking the cage on my lap and shutting him in; he did not seem afraid then and now he does not mind being shut up in the morning when I am in my dressing-room, but he much prefers going in and out at his own sweet will. If I leave him shut up in his cage and go back to bed, he is frantic until he is let out and gets in the bed with me. For the first two weeks he was not happy if he was not on me somewhere. He would stay in bed with me for hours at a time, but now he plays on the floor, with a little piece of paper, cotton, or ribbon, and eats his seeds and biscuit.

I dress my hair high and it is Little Billee's special delight to sit on the top of my twist while I walk about my room. During the first few weeks if I put him on the floor when he had been in bed with me, he would hop back and forth on the rug in front of my bed, and beg to be taken, or he would fly straight up. I would put down my hand, he would hop upon my finger and in a second be back inside the bed. If I was sitting in a chair and put him down on the floor, he would climb right up from my feet to my neck, put his little bill in my mouth and chirp with glee. One day he was on the floor and did not see me go back to bed, but saw my wrapper over a chair (which stood about a yard from my bed). He supposed I was inside of it, but when he reached the top and found no mouth to put his bill into, he gave several very mournful peeps, but as soon as I spoke to him he chirped and it did not take him long to fly over to me. The next day when I put him down on the floor I was anxious to see what he would do. After teasing for some time for me to take him, he went to a chair, climbed up on the wrapper until he reached the top, then flew over to me. Ever after he came that way when I refused to take him.

One day I left Little Billee on the rug in front of the bed and went into my dressing room. While I was gone my mother came in and sat down. He was much frightened. Every time she spoke to him he ran under the bed, stuck his little head out from under the valance and peeped for me to come to him. When I spoke he answered, but was too much afraid to pass mother to come to me. When I came out he ran quickly to me and flew onto the back of a very low chair. I bent down and he flew up on my shoulder, chirping as loud as he could. No little child could have shown more joy in getting back to its mother. I do not suppose he remembers any other mother, and thinks all little birds have just such good mothers as I.

I have a magnificent big tiger cat named Taffy, so I thought Little Billee would be a very good name for my wee bird. It seems a very appropriate name too, as he spends a great deal of his time dressing himself and manicuring his nails. When he struts about with his head held high you can plainly see the long coat, high collar, high hat, and umbrella and can easily imagine the original Little Billee is before you. But I fear Taffy and my Little Billee will never go walking arm and arm together. Taffy has already caught Little Billee twice, but I have rescued him from the jaws of death before any harm was done. I am trying my best to get them to live contentedly together. I do not allow Little Billee to go out into the hall for fear he will fly down stairs and be caught by Taffy before anyone can reach him. Before the door into the hall is a small rug and he thinks flying over that a great feat, but when I say, "Little Billee, come right home," he returns instantly.

He goes to bed at eight o'clock in a little basket which I put on the top of some hanging shelves so there will be no danger from Taffy in the dark. Taffy sleeps on my bed every night, and very often on the outside when Little Billee is inside, and it seems like the lion and the lamb lying down together. Little Billee will usually be contented in his basket until 7 o'clock in the morning, then I take him into the bed with me where he lies quietly on my arm, neck, or palm until I get up at 9 o'clock. He never makes a peep unless I speak to him, then he chirps away like a happy child. On fine evenings I sat before an open window from 7 o'clock until 8 with Little Billee on my finger listening to the birds. When he became sleepy he tucked his little head under his wing, in a few minutes crawled into the palm of my hand and went sound asleep, ready for his basket.

When the hot wave came I went down-stairs at 7 o'clock, shutting him up in his cage.

The second night I had hard work to catch him. He ran into the hall and would not come when I called to him. The third night, when he saw me making preparations to dress, he acted like mad. He hopped all around me, put out his tiny wings, and tried to fly onto me, opened his bill, but not a sound came out. As I stood in front of my dressing table he flew to the top of his cage (which stood on the floor) to the back of a chair (which was near me), then up to my shoulder, chirping away so merrily that I knew he was saying: "Please take me with you." Of course, after that it is needless to say I took him down-stairs, and he has gone down every night since, where he remains until 8 o'clock, then is put into his basket, and I hear no more from him until morning.

On pleasant mornings I sit on the piazza and Little Billee sits on my hand or plays in my lap. When I walk on the sidewalk Little Billee goes, too, and never offers to fly away, and if the wind blows he holds on tight. Sometimes he sings and always seems interested in all that is going on about him.

Twice Little Billee has flown out of my window from fright. Once he was on my shoulder when a very small girl with a very large hat came up to him and away he flew. The next time a large bunch of ferns was brought to me. I thought he would like it and think it was a nice little tree, but I am all the tree he seems to care for. He was so frightened he flew onto a chair, and as I held up a fern out of the window he went. Both times when my maid went to look for him she could not find him until she peeped, then he answered, and she found him sitting in the grass waiting to be picked up, and he was delighted to get back to me.

Little Billee has never gone to any one except my physician, and that was when I had had him about a week. He went to him, hopped all over his shoulder, picked at his collar and tie and was very friendly. Now he will not go to even him, and I feel sure I am Trilby and his only love. Perhaps the children who read this will think Little Billee is a little angel bird and too good to live, but I will say right here he is too bad to die. Like all bright children sometimes he is very naughty. For instance, when I want to lie quietly on my bed in the day time and Little Billee does not, he will play for some time running up on the top of my pillow, then down again, hop on my arm, then under the sheet until he finds my hand; back he goes and does the same thing over again. When he gets tired of that he will sit on my chin and be very loving, kiss me in the mouth, and chirp away. When he finds I am not going to open my eyes or speak to him he will peck and bite my eyes, nose, ears, cheeks, and lips, and I assure you they are not love bites either. Then again, when he wants to sit on my shoulder and I prefer he should sit on my hand, he will fly up every time I take him down, and bite hard at my hand, and for such a little bird he has a very big bite and a very fierce look.

He loves to visit my mother in her room, and is very happy walking all over her and on her head, but she has never yet been able to touch him. He seems to have eyes all over his head, for, no matter how careful she is, he always sees the finger. He thoroughly enjoys my squeezing him in my hand, and kissing him over and over again.

No doubt long ere this my readers have been wondering what kind of a bird Little Billee is, but that is a question which has not yet been answered. But I love Little Billee so dearly that it makes little difference to me what his nationality is or whether his ancestors came over in the Mayflower, fought in the American revolution, or whether, like Topsy, he "just growed." It was amusing to see Little Billee the first time he heard the piano. One morning two friends came to see me, and while one of them played I lay on the sofa with Little Billee cuddled up in my neck. At first he was very much afraid and did not know what to make of the music. Soon he became charmed (as everyone does who hears exquisite playing) and craned his little neck way out, opened his bill, as if he were drinking in the sound, then reached around, kissed me in the mouth, snuggled down again, for a few minutes, and repeated it as long as she played.

One morning I saw Little Billee lying on the floor before an open window with his neck stretched out and bill wide opened. I thought he was dying, picked him up, but found him as lively as ever. When he did the same thing over again I understood he was taking a sun bath, and now he takes one every morning. One morning it was quite cold when we came in from our walk, and I sat down in front of the fire with Little Billee on my knee. It was amusing to see him put his head on one side, open his bill and drink in the warm air. For six weeks he strongly objected to taking a water bath, and I really suppose he was too young and knew best. I left a little dish for several days on the floor by the side of his cage, but he was very careful not to go near it. One morning everything was very quiet, I on my bed and Little Billee playing about the room. Soon he went to the dish, looked in all four corners, came back to the first one, put his bill in just a little way, then went the rounds; did it all over again, putting his bill in a little further, and shaking off the water. After debating a long time he got on the edge of the dish, put his head in until it was all wet, then screwed up all his courage and in he went. Such a droll little figure as he cut, standing there with his body and head held as high as he could get them, his wings out just a little, not knowing what to do next. All I could think of was a very timid child going in wading for the first time, with long thin legs, very short frock, and arms akimbo. His fear soon left him, and he was bathing like an old stager. When he finished he got out, gave himself two or three good shakes, then came over to the bed, and asked me to take him. I did him up in my handkerchief, but that did not suit him at all. I could not do anything with him, until I let him get on my bare neck, and covered him with the trimming of my robe _de nuit_. He was soaking wet and shivering like a person having a hard chill. He kept very still until his feathers were dry enough to be dressed. Such shaking, dressing of feathers, and prinking I never saw. When his toilet was made to suit him he nestled down under my chin, and we both slept for an hour. Every day we go through the same performance after the bath. One day I wanted to do something in my dressing-room, so thought Little Billee could take his bath and dry himself. Soon I began to hear very mournful peeps, and I came out to find Little Billee, soaking wet, standing in front of my bed, thinking I was there and teasing for me to take him. Of course I could not resist such pleading, so to bed we went. I know I am completely spoiling him, but he is such a dear no one could help it.

Little Billee has taken a great interest in this tale, and when I write is always on my shoulder, arm or hand. His favorite place to sit is on my left hand between my first finger and thumb, as they hold my portfolio on my lap, and peck at my paper and pen. One day he took the pen full of ink into his bill then threw the ink all over my paper. Little Billee has great fun taking the paper off from the bottom of his cage, and carrying it all about the room, and will take it out as fast as I put it in. The other day he went into his cage, took the furthest corner of the paper in his bill, backed out bringing the paper over his head until it was all on the floor, then went over to the opposite corner, took that in his bill, backed off the paper until he came to the end, then went around in a circle like the wind, for perhaps a dozen times, with the paper perfectly straight out just like a sail. After a few moments I put the paper back, he took it right out in the same way and did it all over again.

A number of weeks have passed since I began Little Billee's biography. He grows more wonderful every day, and his devotion to me is simply marvelous. Every day he does some new cunning thing and seems to understand everything I say to him.

The other day he would not come to me when I put down my hand, but ran across the room. After trying for some time to make him mind, I got up and said, "Billee, I am going away and leave you," and started out into the hall. He came chasing after me, and now will always do it when I tell him I am going to leave him. If I go out of my room and tell him he _cannot_ go, he will sit on a chair by an open window or play about on the floor for an hour at a time, and never think of flying out of the window or going out of the door.

(_Continued on page 48._)

THE SAND-HILL CRANE.

The sandhill crane is so often confused, in the popular mind, with the great blue heron, that it may not be amiss to suggest the real differences between them. We should first remember that the crane is not found east of Illinois, except casually or accidentally, but is numerous from Illinois westward to the western border of the plains during the migrations. It ranges as far north as Manitoba. The great blue heron is pretty evenly distributed over the whole of North America. The cranes usually, if not always, migrate in greater or lesser flocks, alternately circling upward to considerable heights and sailing straight away, with both soaring and flapping motion, and with prodigious croakings. The herons migrate singly or in pairs, with long, steady sweep of the wings, and make no outcry. Close at hand the two species would hardly be confused by an ordinarily careful observer, but these large birds are rarely seen close at hand.

The feeding habits of the two birds are very similar, and to this superficial similarity is largely due the confusion, I suspect. Both wade into the water searching for some hapless frog or toad, often standing motionless for minutes at a time until the victim comes within range of the sharply-pointed beak, when a lightning-like movement of the head sends the beak completely through the creature, killing and capturing it with one stroke. The long legs and neck are admirably adapted to this kind of fishing.

Colonel N. S. Goss describes the courting antics of these ungainly birds as extremely ludicrous at times. A veritable Indian war dance, in fact, in which the females join heartily, and like the war dance, stopping only when the last participant falls down with exhaustion. It seems to be a sort of promiscuous wedding ceremony for the whole company.

The crane nests on the dry, flat prairie, usually scraping together some wisps of dry grass, but often with not even this poor excuse for a nest. Here two to four drab-brown colored, rough-shelled eggs are laid and the young reared.

Size seems to be the only criterion which determines what the crane may eat. Perhaps it might better be said, what he will swallow. He seems to relish stones, pocket-knives, steel nails and the like fully as well as the choicest bit of frog or toad. Like many other birds, however, he regurgitates the indigestible matter, and so takes no harm from this promiscuous diet. Many of us may have reason to envy him this capacity.