CHAPTER XXIV

BLACK THOMAS CATCHES A BURGLAR

There was a great commotion in this neighborhood on the first of April, for then the robins came back.

I never heard such a clatter of talk from any bird as came from Vox Clamanti, the head robin. Instead of contenting himself with saying, “Cheer up cheerily, cheer up cheerily,” as the other robins did, he just screamed a great amount of information about where he had spent the winter and what he had been doing, and how the colored people down South had tried to catch him, to make pie, but he was too smart for them.

Finally he got into a quarrel about the Great War. “Of course, you know, birds,” he said fussily, “that robins are the most important birds in the world, and the war was all about them. The bad robins in many nations persecuted my brothers, the English robins, and would not let them into their countries. Then of course the Englishmen, who love their robins, took up arms and began to fight the bad nations who were persecuting us.”

Chummy laughed when he said this, but he was too sensible to argue with him. Black Gorget, Chummy’s next best friend after me, was not so wise, and he said, “I suppose you forget that English robins are not any relation to your family.”

Vox Clamanti looked thoughtful, then he said, “Well, if not brothers, then cousins. My cousins, the English robins—”

“They’re not even cousins,” said Bronze-Wing, the head grackle, “and the war is not about robins, but grackles.”

Vox Clamanti said very rudely, “You are lying,” and then the grackle gave a rough call in his squawky voice, and pulled out one of Vox Clamanti’s tail feathers.

One would have thought the grackle had tried to murder him. Such a screeching and yelling ensued that every bird in the neighborhood came to see what the noise was about.

“What’s the matter with that robin?” I asked Chummy, as we sat side by side in our usual meeting place, a branch on the old elm opposite his tall brick house.

“He was very much spoiled by a university professor,” said Chummy. “This old man, finding Vox Clamanti a weak and half dead young one, on the campus one day, brought him up by hand and named him Vox Clamanti which means something screechy. He praised the young robin too much, and told him he was the smartest bird in the city, and it made Vox put on airs. When the old professor died, and Vox flew outside, the robins never could down him, and they had to make him their head bird to keep him quiet, but he really has not as much brains as some of the other robins. See now, that fuss is all over, and he is looking about for a nesting site, before his mate Twitchtail comes. That tree that they had for a home last summer has been cut down.”

I made no reply, and for some time Chummy and I sat quietly looking down at the street below.

“We’ve had some nice times on this tree, Chummy, haven’t we?” I said.

“Indeed we have,” he replied, “and how much we have seen from here.”

“Have you heard anything more from Squirrie?” I asked.

He began to chuckle. “Yes, Chickari told me the latest news this morning.”

“What is it?” I asked eagerly.

“For a time Squirrie was pretty bad. The only way they could make him behave was to keep watching him. Then the Big Red Squirrel had an idea come in his head. He has a horrid old sister too ugly to mate with anyone. He keeps her up north. He sent for her and gave Squirrie to her. She is very strong and bad-tempered, and she soon cuffed the two policemen squirrels and sent them away. Squirrie hated her at first and begged the Big Red Squirrel to kill him and put him out of his misery, but now Chickari says she is leading him round like a little gentle baby squirrel. He is frightened to death of her, and never dares to rebel. She works him hard and has him even now laying up stores for winter. She says, ‘If you don’t behave I’ll take you further north, where the wind will cut you in two.’”

I laughed heartily. “What a joke on Squirrie;” then I said, “Hush, Chummy—what is this little girl saying about our dear Martins?”

We both looked down to the sidewalk where a young girl was trotting along beside her mother.

“Mummy,” she said pointing to the Martins’ house, “in there lives a woman who raises birds from the dead.”

The mother laughed and Chummy said, “Isn’t that a joke? Your Missie is getting famous.”

“They send for her from all over the city,” I said, “for her or for our Mary to go and doctor sick birds. A lady up in that big apartment house telephoned yesterday for Missie to come quickly, for her canary was having dreadful fits. Missie went and looking at the bird said, ‘Cut his claws, Mrs. Jones. They are so long that they trip him up and make him fall down on the floor of his cage.’”

Chummy was not listening to me. His eyes were fixed on Black Thomas who was gazing upward, his face as soulful as if he had been doing something to be proud of.

“He’s probably been catching an extra number of birds,” I said gloomily.

“No, that isn’t a bird look,” said Chummy. “T-check, t-chack, Thomas, what is the matter with you?”

Thomas strolled to our tree and stretching himself in the sunlight, said proudly, “I caught a burglar last night.”

“Ha! ha!” shouted Vox Clamanti who had been listening, “Thomas has reformed. He’s going to catch men instead of mice and birds.”

All the birds came flying up, Black Gorget and ever so many other sparrows with Sister Susie who had just flown out for an airing. Slow-Boy and Susan, Bronze-Wing, and even Chickari, the good squirrel, and his little mate came running along the branches overhead.

Thomas rolled his eyes at them as they assembled, and when they had calmed down, he began his tale.

“Last night,” he said, “when dinner was over, cook and the maids cleaned up in the kitchen and dining-room and went upstairs to their rooms. There was no one in the back of the house but me. I alone saw a strange man come along the lane by the garden, get over the fence, and come up to one of the dining-room windows which had been left open to air the room. I, all by myself, watched him creep in and hide himself behind the big sideboard in the corner. I said nothing to him, and he said nothing to me, for he did not see me. I had been sleeping beside the radiator, for the night was chilly. At ten o’clock cook came downstairs to lock up. She opened the dining-room door, came in, and put the window down and locked it. I followed her out, and ran to my dear mistress’ room.

“She was in bed, but I mewed and fussed till she got up, and said, ‘What is the matter with Thomas?’

“I threw my whole hunting soul in my eyes, and turned my head from one side to another, like this—” and he moved his black head about, the way he does when he is stealing through the shrubbery looking for young birds.

“By my wings,” said Chummy in my ear, “Thomas is becoming quite a fancy speaker.”

Thomas was going on with his story: “I cried lustily and led her toward the dining room, but when she started to go there I got in front of her and acted in a frightened way.

“She understood me. She is a very clever woman, much cleverer even than your Mrs. Martin, Dicky-Dick.”

“She is not,” I chirped angrily.

“Hush up,” said Chummy, giving me a gentle peck. “Let him finish his tale. Don’t you see how wound up he is?”

“My mistress sent cook upstairs,” said old Thomas, going on, and keeping an eye on Chummy and me, for he knew we were inclined to make fun of him. “She asked two of the gentlemen to come down. They did so, and now I quite joyfully led the procession to the dining-room, and, on arriving there, I sprang toward the sideboard.

“The burglar ran to the window and smashed through it, but the gentlemen caught him, even as I catch a mouse, and they telephoned for the patrol wagon, and he is now in jail and they will probably hang him.”

“Oh, no, Thomas,” said Chummy protestingly, “you go too fast. He will likely get only a prison term.”

The other birds burst out laughing, but Chickari said, “Good boy, Thomas—you are a public benefactor to catch a burglar! What is your mistress going to do to reward you?”

“I am to have a silver collar,” said Thomas soberly, “which I know I shall hate. Cats should never have collars. They prevent us from going into out-of-the-way places.”

“Birds’ nests, for example,” said Bronze-Wing, in his rough voice. “Have you heard the latest thing about cats, Thomas—I mean the latest plan to keep them from catching birds?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Thomas shortly.