Part 8

Barn Swallow. The Barn Swallow formerly was abundant throughout the northern states, especially in New England. The tightly built modern barn, however, no longer invites the presence of the Barn Swallow by affording it friendly shelter, and the birds are becoming scarcer and scarcer. To provide openings in modern barns, and to encourage the presence in them of colonies by providing convenient nesting sites are easy and effective methods by which this beautiful species may be greatly increased in numbers. This bird also requires protection from the English Sparrow, which in one foray has been known to kill the young and destroy the eggs of a large colony.

Bank Swallow. The well known Bank Swallow, as its name implies, nests in sand-banks in holes of its own digging. Some farmers in the northern states take special pains to protect their colonies of Bank Swallows from the marauding of the prowling cat. Some even take pains to excavate suitable banks on their farms and devote them to the exclusive use of the Swallows. Gravel and sand-banks are so numerous throughout the north, especially in New England, that at trifling expense the number of colonies of Bank Swallows may be vastly increased, to the advantage of every farmer north and south, and to that of every nature lover as well.

Cliff Swallow. The curious pouch-shaped mud structures of the Cliff Swallow, attached under eaves or to the face of cliffs, are a sight familiar enough in the northern and western states, but in the cotton states, save Texas alone, they are wanting, the bird that makes them being exclusively a migrant. The English Sparrow persecutes also the Cliff Swallow; hence, in the north, the bird is much less common than formerly. In Germany the presence of Swallows around houses is so much desired that artificial nests made of clay or other material are put up in order to attract birds by saving them the labour of constructing their own domiciles. No doubt our own Cliff Swallows would be quick to respond to a similar offer of ready-made dwellings, rent free, and in this way the range of this extremely useful species might be materially increased. The Cliff Swallow is one of the most indefatigable insect destroyers extant, and every motive of patriotism and humanity should prompt communities among which they live to protect and foster them in every possible way.

Purple Martin. This, the largest and in many respects the most beautiful of all our Swallow tribe, is the most local and the least numerous. In New England and, perhaps, in most of the northern states generally, this fine bird is steadily diminishing in numbers. The English Sparrow often takes possession of its boxes, ruthlessly kills the young Martins or throws out the eggs, and usually succeeds in routing the colony and appropriating the boxes. When measures are not taken to abate the Sparrow nuisance in the immediate vicinity of Martin colonies, the usual result is that the Martins are forced to abandon their houses. The habit of putting up houses for the accommodation of Martin colonies is not as common in the north as it formerly was, and to this indifference to the Martins’ presence, to persecution by the Sparrow, and to losses due to the prevalence of cold storms during the nesting season, no doubt, is due the present scarcity of the bird.

From the standpoint of the farmer and the fruit grower, perhaps, no birds more useful than the Swallows exist. They have been described as the light cavalry of the avian army. Specially adapted for flight and unexcelled in aërial evolutions, they have few rivals in the art of capturing insects in mid-air. They eat nothing of value to man except a few predaceous wasps and bugs, and, in return for their services in destroying vast numbers of noxious insects, ask only for harbourage and protection. It is to the fact that they capture their prey on the wing that their peculiar value to the cotton grower is due. Orioles do royal service in catching weevils on the bolls; and Blackbirds, Wrens, Flycatchers, and others contribute to the good work; but when Swallows are migrating over the cotton-fields they find the weevils flying in the open and wage active war against them.

—H. W. Henshaw, B.B.S., in _Value of Swallows as Insect Destroyers_.

“That Wise Man didn’t say anything about Chimney Swallows, and, please, Gray Lady, you left them out, too,” said Sarah Barnes, the moment the scrap-book closed, “and I know they catch lots of flying bugs.”

“Ah, Sarah!” exclaimed Gray Lady, laughing, “I did not precisely forget, but I was waiting for some one of you to ask the question. The bird that is called the Chimney Swallow even exceeds the others in being forever on the wing and never perching or ‘sitting down,’ as Sarah calls it, and it is a brave insect destroyer. In fact, it never perches even for one moment, but when it does rest makes a sort of bracket of its sharply pointed tail-feathers and rests against a tree or inside the chimney, somewhat as a Woodpecker does when resting on an upright tree-trunk. The Woodpeckers, however, have very strong feet, and the feet of the Chimney Swallow are very weak. But here comes the funny part—this chimney bird isn’t a Swallow, and the Swallows would call him a changeling. He is a Swift, first cousin to the tiny Humming-bird and the mysterious Night Hawk and Whip-poor-Will, so we must leave his story until we come to that of the family where he belongs, for after we have learned the names of individual birds, it is well to know their family and kin. You cannot always tell by the plumage of birds if they are related. Louise Stone, Fannie White, and Esther Gray here are cousins, and all live in one house, but as their last names are different, and they do not look alike, a stranger would have to be told, for he could not guess that they belong to one household.

“It is three o’clock already, and I see that Tommy and Dave have quite finished their windmills and Ruth’s apron is waiting for the pocket, so in spite of Farmer Hill’s remarks about ‘not working,’ every one has something to show for this Friday afternoon.

“Before we go, let me see if you can tell the ‘_Things to remember_’ about the five swallows.

“Sarah—the Barn Swallow?”

“Shiny, steel-blue back and forked tail.”

“Dave—the Bank Swallow?”

“Dusty cloak fastened across the front.”

“Ruth—the Tree Swallow?”

“White satin breast.”

“Roger—the Eaves Swallow?”

“White on its forehead and all over mixed colours.”

“And the Purple Martin? Who knows it?”

“It’s the biggest of all and doesn’t fly quite so sudden. I’ve seen ’em up at Grandpa Miles’s in New York State,” said little Clary Hinks, and then blushing because she had dared to speak.

“Next week in the playroom!” said Gray Lady, smiling over her shoulder at them as they filed out the door to the time beaten by Tommy’s drum.

IX TWO BIRDS THAT CAME BACK

(Birdland, September 27th.)

The rain had poured steadily all Thursday and Friday, until Friday evening, and the wind blew so hard that many a little window-pane in the older farm-houses fell in with a crash and the owner, jumping up quickly to snatch the lamp out of the draught, would exclaim, “I do declare, we haven’t hed sech a genuine old-fashioned line-storm for years!”

The “line” being the short for equinox, the imaginary line crossing the sun’s path over which, on March 21st, old Sol is supposed to step from winter into spring. Again, on September 21st, he steps from summer into autumn, takes off his summer hat, with its crown of burning rays, and tells his wife to ask North Star for the key to the iceberg, where his winter flannels are kept in cold storage, so that they may be ready for any emergency. The fact that these storms seldom come upon the days when they are due, simply proves that the solar system prefers to measure time to suit itself.

A little before dawn, on Saturday morning, the rain stopped; the heavy clouds in the east broke up into bars of blue steel, through which the sun peered cautiously, as if uncertain whether or not to break them away. Then, suddenly deciding that it would, it signalled to the clear, cool, northwest wind to blow and chase away the vapours that made the clouds too heavy.

By the time Tommy Todd’s father came in, carrying two milk-pails, Tommy following with a third, there was promise of a fine crisp autumn day, and Grandpa Todd, who had decided a week before, on his eightieth birthday, that he would give up milking, at least for the winter, came into the well-porch, and scanning the sky carefully, with an air of authority, said: “To-night we’ll have hard frost if the wind drops. We’d better get in those cheese pumpkins jest as soon’s they’re dried off. Robins and Blackbirds flockin’ powerful strong, and old Chief Crow has brung his flock clear down to the ten-acre lot already.”

Old Chief was the name that Grandpa Todd had given to a particularly wise bird, whom he insisted was twenty-five years old at the least, who was master of the roost in the cedar woods and, by his wise guidance, kept his flock the largest in the township, in spite of all the efforts of the farmers, hired men, and boys in the vicinity to drive them out.

There, also, on the slope south of the house, were fully half a hundred Robins pluming themselves, shaking their feathers out to dry, and acting in every way like travellers pausing on a journey, rather than residents going out for a stroll.

Tommy had paused to look at them, balancing the pail carefully as he did so, and then the sight of the birds reminded him that it was the day to go up to “the General’s,” and he hurried in to eat his breakfast and finish the Saturday morning “chores” that he always did for his mother. Then he went to the shed to look over the collection of bits of old wood that he had both begged and gathered far and near for the making of bird-houses.

A neighbour, who was re-covering his cowshed roof with galvanized iron, had let Tommy pick up as many mossy shingles as he could carry, and some of these were really beautiful with tufts of gray lichens, some with bright red tips, blending with mosses of many soft shades of green.

Tommy selected from the assortment as large a bundle as he could carry, and, after cording it securely, went to the house to tidy up, for Gray Lady had asked the children of the Kind Hearts’ Club to come at nine o’clock this first Saturday, for it would take them some time to look at the play and work rooms before settling down to doll-dressing and bird-house making. As he crossed the kitchen, his mother, who was kneading bread, pointed a floury finger toward a garment that hung over the back of a chair. Tommy picked it up, and then his usual boyish indifference, which he kept up at home even when he was pleased, broke down and he gave an exclamation of delight, for there was a new carpenter’s apron with a pocket for nails in front, the whole being made of substantial blue jean, precisely like the one worn by Jacob Hughes himself.

Gray Lady had asked as many of the boys as owned overalls to bring them. Tommy’s were very old and had many patches, besides being smeared with paint, and he hated to have dainty Goldilocks see them, so it seemed to the boy that his mother must have seen straight into his mind (as mothers have a way of doing) and read what he most needed.

Slipping his head through the yoke and fastening the waist-band in place, Tommy suddenly grabbed his mother, flour, bread, and all, in a rough embrace, and then clattered up the backstairs, laughing at the two white hand-marks that she had printed on his shoulder in her surprise.

* * * * *

Up at “the General’s” house Gray Lady, Goldilocks, Ann, and Jacob Hughes were as busy as possible making preparations for the first regular meeting of the Club. To the children, the whole performance in anticipation seemed like the most delightful sort of play, but every one who thinks will realize how much pains Gray Lady was taking to have everything in order for the children’s first view of the place. After this, like the wise friend that she was, she had planned that the children themselves would in turn take out the work, put it away, and clear up threads or shavings as the case might be.

The playroom was on the southeast corner of the attic, and had three dormer-windows with wide seats underneath. Being an attic, the windows were set rather high in the slanting room, but, if one stood on the wooden seats, there was a beautiful view toward the river valley on the south, while the east window looked down over the orchard, and it seemed as if one might almost step out and walk upon the tree-tops.

On the chimney side was a small-sized cooking-stove, and between this and the chimney-corner ran shelves with a cupboard beneath, whereon and in a set of blue-and-white dishes and various pots and pans were ranged. At either end of the room was a stout table surrounded by chairs, one being a kitchen table with a drawer, and the other a plain dining table with a polished top, suitable for playing games, or holding books or work. It was upon this table that the work-boxes and dolls were ranged, twelve in all, and by each a little pile of clothes, all cut and ready-basted, the whole being covered by a cloth. Gray Lady and Ann had agreed between themselves that lessons in sewing had better come first and garment-cutting follow later on.

All the garments were to be made to put on and take off like real clothes, and though they were very simple, each doll when dressed would personate a different character, for there was clothing for a baby doll, a schoolgirl, a young lady, a trained nurse, little Red Riding-Hood, and so on.

The workshop faced north and east, and was on the opposite side of the stairs. This was of the same shape as the playroom, but a small wood-stove, that could be used for heating glue-pots, and to keep the room from freezing in winter, took the place of the cooking-stove, and there was a long workbench, with vise, lathe, and mitre-box attachment under two of the windows where the best light fell. Across one side of the room, various tools were hung in racks, while at the end opposite the windows was tacked a great sheet of paper upon which many styles of bird homes were pictured. Below this was a space painted black like a school blackboard, and upon this Jacob had redrawn in rough chalk several of the pictures to a working-scale.

Gray Lady and Goldilocks were already upstairs when the party arrived, for though Goldilocks could walk very nicely when on a level, going up and down stairs was a matter that took time.

BIRD-HOUSES AND NESTING-BOXES. Fig. 1. hollow-limb nesting-box; Fig. 2, birch-bark bird-house; Fig. 3, slab bird-box; Fig. 4, cat-proof box; Fig. 5, old-shingle box; Fig. 6, chestnut-bark nesting-box; Figs. 7 and 9, boxes with slide fronts; Fig. 8, house for Tree Swallow.

From _Useful Birds and their Protection_ by G. H. Forbush.

Tramp, tramp, came the feet up the stairs to the second hall, with the rhythm of a marching regiment. Then there was a pause and evidently some discussion, for, as Gray Lady went forward and opened the door at the head of the attic stairs, she heard Sarah Barnes’ voice say, “Why, it’s a big Crow and a little one; but how did they come in here? Don’t touch him, Tommy, he’ll bite you. Crows bite like everything when they get mad.”

Then Tommy’s voice said, “The big one’s a Crow, sure enough, but the little one couldn’t be any more’n mice’s little rats. It’s one of those queer new birds that had nests down in the Methodist Church steeple last spring; I went up with Eb Holcomb one day when he was fixing the bell-rope and I saw them, but nobody ’round here knows what they’re called—unless Gray Lady may.”

Looking down, Gray Lady saw the odd pair in question and said to Goldilocks, “Your two pets have managed to get in and are trapped between the top and bottom of the stairs. Whistle for them, dearie, for the children are waiting to come up.”

Goldilocks gave two very good imitations of the quavering call of a Crow, and then, using a little oddly shaped silver whistle that hung about her neck on a ribbon, gave a series of melodious whistles, when, to the surprise and delight of the children below, Crow and Starling (for this was the name of the smaller bird) immediately turned about and went upstairs, the Crow hopping and flopping, for one of its wings was deformed, and the Starling, as soon as it had room enough for a start, flying straight and true. When the children followed, they found the Crow perched on the back of Goldilocks’ chair and the Starling flitting about the open rafters until he found a perch that suited him upon a hook that had once held a hammock, where he seemed quite at home. The Crow, however, was anxious and uneasy when he saw the children trooping up, and flopping from the chair-bar with a sidewise motion, he scuttled across to the stove, under which he disappeared, occasionally peering out with his head on one side like a very inquisitive human being.

“I don’t wonder that you look astonished,” said Gray Lady, “at seeing birds in this house that are apparently captive, but the truth is that they will not go away, and come back through every open window. So, as we have not the heart to drive them away, we let them live here in the playroom and about the barns, where they find plenty to eat, and at any moment they wish to go, freedom is close at hand for the taking.”

“But what made them come to begin with?” asked Dave. “Crows are mostly the scariest things going.”

“Jacob found the Crow up in the cedar woods in May,” said Goldilocks. “All the others were able to fly and take care of themselves, but this one stayed in the low bushes and its parents were feeding it. One morning, when Jacob was up there cutting cedar posts for the gate he made to Birdland, he heard a great commotion; the old Crows and the young ones were cawing and screaming and flying about in distress, while crouching in the bushes, and just ready to spring upon the Crow, was a big half-wild cat. It used to belong to the people up at the lumber camp, but when they went away they left it, and all last winter and spring it has lived by hunting.”

“I know about that cat,” said Tommy. “The Selectmen have offered five dollars’ reward for it, and it kills more chickens, even big roosters, than all the Hawks this side of Bald Hill.”

“After Jacob had driven the cat away,” continued Goldilocks, “he picked up the young Crow to try to find out why it had not flown away like its brothers. At first it was afraid and fought and pecked his fingers, but by and by it let him handle it, and he found that one wing was twisted, so that it was of no use. The point where the long quill feathers grow was turned under, Jake said, just the way it is in a roast chicken, and it must have happened when the bird was little and had no feathers, because those on that point of the wing were stunted and twisted where they had tried to grow after it was hurt. Jake straightened the wing as well as he could, and clipped the feathers on the other one so that he shouldn’t be so lopsided. The wing is stiff and doesn’t work rightly yet, but Jake thinks that after next summer’s moult the feathers may come in better; meanwhile I’ve called him Jim, because that is the usual name for tame crows.

“Jim likes to live about here and he does such a lot of funny things. Why, the other day, out in the arbour, he dropped the little afternoon-tea sugar-tongs into the cream jug and took all the lumps of sugar in the bowl and hid them in the empty robin’s nest overhead, and we should never have dreamed that he had done it if Anne hadn’t come in with fresh cakes and startled him so that he dropped the last lump. He moves very quickly, for he can fly a little and he uses his wings and beak to help him climb, something like a parrot. Jacob has put him over in the woods by the Crow’s roost, time and time again, but he always comes hopping back.”

Sarah Barnes was going to ask what else the Crow had done, when the Starling flew across the room and out through one of the windows that was opened from the top.

“He’s gone!” she cried; “I’m dreadfully sorry, ’cause I wanted to look at him so’s I’d know Starlings if I see them again. Please, how did you get him? His wings seem very strong, and he flew as straight as anything.”

“Larry has only gone out for a little fly,” laughed Goldilocks; “he will be back before long, and if the window should happen to be closed, he will rap on the glass with his beak. No, his wings are well and strong, and he is perfectly able to go away to his friends in the church tower, for it was from one of those nests, that Tommy saw up between the slats, that he fell.

“Eben brought him up for mother to see, because a good many people down at the Centre Village had been watching these strange birds, and wanted to know their name and where they came from. He was too little to be turned out all alone, and Eben said that the nest had been upset and the others that fell out were dead, so, as he ate soaked dog-biscuit (because you know that there’s meat in it that makes up for bugs to young birds), I thought I would bring him up and then let him go; but you see the joke is that he won’t go, and he acts as much afraid of being out-of-doors after dark as a usual wild bird would if you put him in a cage.”

“Who brought Starlings here, and do they belong to the same family as Blackbirds? They look a lot like them, only they’ve got shorter tails,” said Tommy Todd.

“I think I have a description of the bird, as well as the date of his coming, in the scrap-book,” said Gray Lady, “for he is an English bird and the only one of its family in this country, so you can see why they may be lonely, and like to flock in company with the Blackbirds.

The Common Starling: _Sturnus magnus_.

_Length_: 8.5 inches.

_Male and Female_: Black plumage shot with metallic green and blue lights. In full plumage upper feathers edged with buff, giving a speckled appearance, which disappears as the feathers are worn down, leaving the winter plumage plain and dull. Yellow bill in summer; in winter, brown.

_Note_: A sharp flock-call and a clear, rather musical, two-syllable, falling whistle.

_Nest_: Behind blinds in unoccupied buildings, in vine-covered nooks in church towers; also in bushes.

_Eggs_: 4-7, greenish blue.

This bird is a foreigner, imported to New York City some fourteen years ago, some people are beginning to fear not too wisely, for the birds are rather quarrelsome, and, being larger than the English Sparrow, though not so hardy, are able to wage war upon birds like Robins, and seize the nesting-places of natives.

The first birds, less than a hundred in number, were set free in Central Park, New York City. Now these have increased to numerous flocks that in Connecticut have gone as far east as New Haven, and here in Fairfield and several villages near by are acclimated and quite at home, though the bitter and lasting cold of the winter of 1903-1904 thinned them out considerably.

Whether they prove a nuisance or not, they are very noticeable birds, looking to the first sight, as they walk sedately across a field, like Grackles with rumpled plumage. A second glance will show that this is but the effect of the buff specks that tip all the upper feathers, while the distinct yellow bill at once spells Starling!