Chapter 3

You see this old Rook was very patriotic, and of course a great Tory to boot. He disliked change of every sort and kind. He, and his ancestors before him, had built in these same elm-trees, since the first gray stone of the old mansion had been laid. From these same trees, from generation to generation, they had watched the sun rise and set during the stormy days of winter and the sunny days of summer. They had noted the seasons as they came and went, enjoying the fruits and the joys of each, and when any rook was cut off by death, it was generally old age that killed him,--unless it were that occasionally a youngster, more enterprising than prudent, would lean out of his nest to see the world around him, and what was going on there, and then a sudden rush of his small body through the air, and a thud at the foot of the tree, would tell of the premature decease of a promising rooklet. Yes, "Old England for ever!" was still the watchword of the rooks.

"Certainly it is very delightful just now," said the Blackbird, looking round him. Delicate young leaves were bursting forth on every side; primroses, anemones, and even a few early cowslips were peering through the grass below, the sun was shining, and the woods were filled with a chorus of song.

"Yes indeed," said the Rook solemnly "'the stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed time, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming.'"

This conversation, and all his other talks and small adventures, were faithfully reported to the home-tied wife. His voice beguiled the many weary hours during which she patiently sat on her nest.

It was thus that matters went on until towards the end of the thirteenth day, when certain mysterious sounds were heard to proceed from the nest, faint peckings, which would cease and then begin again. One day, while his wife was taking her mid-day meal, the Blackbird hopped close to the nest, and put his head over the side, and as he watched and listened, lo and behold, through a slight crack in the blue shell of one of the eggs peeped a very tiny beak!

It was very marvellous! This beak moved backwards and forwards, and in and out, and gradually, the crack becoming larger, a small featherless head emerged. Yes, so it was; and before sunset the following day five callow little birds lay huddled together in the nest, and although they were his own sons and daughters, it must be confessed that the Blackbird could not help thinking them remarkably ugly. They had very few feathers on their poor naked little bodies, their heads appeared to be of an enormous and disproportionate size,--and then, their mouths!

As they squatted in the nest with their five mouths opened to their widest, displaying five red throats, the Blackbird thought that never before in all his long life had he seen anything so frightful. How such enormous creatures had ever come out of those five pretty little eggs he could not imagine. However, he had no time for reflection, for what on earth did those eager little monsters mean by gaping at him like that?

At last it occurred to him that they might be hungry, and thereupon he and his wife set off to pick up small worms and insects for them. The Blackbird fancied that being so very young they would require delicate feeding, but this proved to be an entire mistake. Never before had he thought it possible that such small bodies could dispose of so much food. From morning to night, and almost from night to morning, he and his poor wife were to be seen flying backwards and forwards conveying provisions to the nest.

However, none of the brood ever seemed to be satisfied. Five mouths always opened wide when the Blackbird returned, although he could only feed one at a time, and he never, for the life of him, could remember which he had fed last.

Worms, grubs, caterpillars, insects, all found their way to the little gaping mouths,--nothing came amiss, until the Blackbird felt that if it went on much longer there would be no insects left in the whole country, and that his young ones would certainly die of indigestion. However, the little birds flourished, and grew apace, and each night as the Blackbird drew in his wings for a few short hours of rest, he wondered when the brood would be old enough to feed themselves, for he looked forward, and with no small longing, to that time of rest.

END OF CHIRP THE SECOND.

CHIRP THE THIRD.

SUMMER.

It is not to be supposed that our little friends Willie and Alice made but that one visit to the Blackbird's nest. No, at some hour or other of each day the small couple stole across the lawn to peep at the mother as she sat on her nest. At first, the birds were rather alarmed by these visitations, but they soon grew accustomed to them, more especially when they found that their young friends meant no harm.

One morning, on going to the nest, Willie was very much surprised to find that a wonderful change had taken place. The pretty little blue eggs had disappeared, and behold, in their place were five callow, gaping creatures! Alice was also very much interested, and it was but natural that she should insist upon seeing what excited her brother so much. Willie, therefore, after considerable difficulty, raised her sufficiently high to let her have a good look at the funny little heads. At the sight of them, Alice kicked her little feet with joy, which caused her to slip quickly through Willie's arms on to the grass. Her fresh white frock was a good deal tumbled in consequence, and her hat had fallen off in the scramble.

At this critical moment their nurse, Mrs. Barlow, appeared on the scene. "Master Willie! Master Willie!" she called, "how often I've told you not to lift Miss Alice. She's a deal too heavy for you; and look how you've tumbled her clean white frock. There'll be an accident some day, or my name's not Barlow. I won't have you dragging her about the country in this way; before you've done you'll make a regular tom-boy of her, and, bless her heart, she's a real delicate little lady."

Master Willie tried to look penitent, and he secretly hoped their beloved nest would not be discovered. However, the nurse had her suspicions of their bush, so she walked straight up to it and then round it.

"Well, I do declare," she said at last, "there's a nest, and that's what you've been after, is it? Well, of all the nasty, horrid little things that ever I saw these birds are the nastiest. Bless me, I wonder now how they get along, and no nurse to look after them."

_What fun they must have_, was Willie's secret thought. They could rove about the country at their "own sweet will," and never think about tumbling their clothes. But then he remembered that the birds hadn't got any clothes to speak of, and that, as yet, they couldn't even fly. He therefore began to wonder how they did manage without a nurse, and thought he should like to try, just for a week or two, how _he_ could get along without one. What climbings, delightful wanderings, and general mischief presented themselves to his childish imagination! _what_ fun he and Alice would have!

"Whatever bird is it?" said the nurse.

"_Our_ Blackbird," replied Willie, with an air of considerable importance.

"_Your_ Blackbird!" she said; "why, whatever does the child mean? Well, anyhow, the gardener will soon make short work of the Blackbirds, nasty mischievous things!--why, they eat up all the fruit, and destroy the flowers."

"Oh, Nanny," cried the little boy sadly, "don't say that, our Blackbird is so good, he sings beautifully, and we are so fond of him. The gardener mustn't kill our Blackbird." Tears stood in the soft brown eyes, and Nanny, who was really a kind-hearted woman, hastened to say that she didn't at all suppose that that particular Blackbird would be killed, it was only that birds in general were such destructive creatures, that the fewer of them there were left about, the better.

Willie, however, was not altogether consoled, and he could not help feeling that Nanny was not so sympathetic as she might be about his dear Blackbird. Still he hoped for the best, and determined, at the very earliest opportunity, to entreat the gardener to spare every Blackbird, young and old, for the sake of his particular friend.

All this had happened in the spring, some months before, and it was now July. The young Blackbirds, hatched in April, had been out and abroad in the world some weeks. They were not yet quite full grown, and still depended upon their parents for help and advice. The parent birds, however, had not a little to do, for by this time they had hatched a second brood, and, just now, these last required their constant attention, although they hoped that by the end of the month their young ones would be able to fly a little. This brood had proved more refractory than the first one, and they were continually getting into trouble and mischief. One of them tumbled into a pool of water, and was as nearly as possible drowned; another was pursued by a cat and had his leg very much hurt; while a third, alas! a poor little fellow, tumbled right out of the nest one morning, fell on the hard ground, and never breathed again.

But although the Blackbird had his troubles, and serious ones they were too, the beauty and luxuriance of the season rejoiced his heart. The country was in its richest summer garb, even the porch of the old gabled house was covered with pale pink roses. A splendid yellow rose, a _Gloire de Dijon_, clustered round the library window, and a white rose peeped in at the drawing-room. White and yellow jasmin, varied here and there by clusters of deep crimson roses, covered the west side of the house and the old bay window, and the garden below was gay with bright-coloured flower-beds.

Every tree was in full foliage, and the avenue of limes was sweet with small white blossoms, and musical with the murmur of myriads of contented bees, who found some of their sweetest nectar there. The newly-mown hay was falling on all sides, and the trees gave a very grateful shade to the tired haymakers during the noon-tide heat.

The spot, however, which most attracted the Blackbirds, was the kitchen garden. What ripe red strawberries were hidden away under the thick leaves on the long slope of the upper garden! what cool green gooseberries, and what a variety of currants, were fast ripening in the lower garden! The Blackbird would often retire with one or two of his young people to this favoured region. They would first settle themselves at the strawberry-bed, though it must be confessed that this part of the feast was attended with some peril. They felt a certain degree of nervousness, a sense of insecurity, for a horrid net had been stretched over this particular bed, and sometimes the dark feathered heads got caught in it.

One day the Blackbird had a most terrible fright. He and his wife, and some of the young ones, had been hard at work on the ripe strawberries. They had been so busy that they did not hear stealthy footsteps approaching on the sandy gravel till they were quite close to them. Then the birds rose in the air, with shrill cries of alarm, all except _Mamma_ Blackbird, who somehow could not get her head from under the net. She struggled desperately; the gardener was now close upon her. The poor bird, wild with alarm, fluttered backwards and forwards, till at last by a supreme effort, she freed herself and fled away, very much scared, but rejoicing in her liberty. This affair gave all the family a fearful shock, and it was some days before they dared to re-visit the strawberry-bed.

All things considered, though, the strawberries were very good, the birds preferred the lower garden, where they could hop comfortably and securely under the gooseberry and currant bushes. There were no nets there, and the gardener could not pounce down upon them through those stiff thorny bushes; they could feast on the small, red gooseberries, and then, for a change, pass on to the smooth yellowish ones. Their meal generally ended by a visit to a certain bush where the clusters of white currants hung conveniently near the ground.

There was one spot, however, which was perhaps the most attractive of all. On the south side of the garden flourished an old cherry-tree which bore on its wide spreading arms "white hearts" of the very finest quality and flavour. This was a secret corner to which the birds repaired at eventide, and where, curiously enough, the gardener never suspected them of trespassing.

One bright July morning the Blackbird noticed a most unusual stir at the old mansion. There was a good deal of running about, to and fro, and in and out. The dairymaid paid a great many visits to the dairy, and other maids might be seen hurrying in all directions. The small brother and sister had more than once trotted out on the lawn to look at the sky, and make sure that it was not raining.

When the Blackbird happened to fly across the garden he was still more puzzled. Two gardeners with large baskets were stooping over the strawberry beds, hard at work, picking the last of the strawberries. Alas! there would be none left! Another gardener was walking down the rows of raspberry-bushes, filling a capacious basket with the red and white berries. A small boy was collecting currants in another bulky receptacle, while two more were pulling quantities of gooseberries. What did it all mean?

Later on in the day two large carts quite brimming over with rosy-faced girls and boys passed through the yard, and on into the hay-field hard by. The little ones were soon seated in groups on the soft, sweet hay, and then the old mansion began to pour forth its inmates.

Servant-maids appeared with their gowns tucked up, carrying large cans of hot tea, followed by men in livery with huge platters piled with plum-cake, and stacks of bread-and-butter; and last, but by no means least, the ancient housekeeper, and her special maids, with baskets of fruit and jugs of rich golden cream. Then, last of all, from under the old porch, appeared the mother and father and their two children, our Willie and Alice. Little Alice looked so fair and pretty in her white frock, blue sash, and blue shoes; and Willie's bright young face was flushed with excitement and delight.

Then the Blackbird began to suspect what it all meant. It was Willie's birthday; yes, he was five years old, and he had chosen, as his treat, that all the village children should be invited to tea in the hay-field. It was a great joy to Willie to hand round the cake and fruit, and to watch the little faces aglow with happiness. Willie and Alice, and even their mamma and papa, had tea in the hay-field, and Willie thought that never before had even strawberries and cream been quite so delicious.

It was a lovely afternoon, and it was very pleasant to sit on the newly-mown hay and listen to the birds singing in the trees. Of course, the Blackbird could not resist going to see and, as far as he could, share the fun, and he and his family had a private banquet of their own: for it so happened that one plate of fruit had been put behind a little hay-cock and then overlooked and forgotten, and there, fearless of gardeners or nets, the Blackbirds devoured the last of the strawberries.

After tea games were proposed, and the merry voices could be heard in "blindman's buff," and "drop the handkerchief," until quite late into the evening. By this time the fathers and mothers had arrived to look after their children and take them home, and many were the kind words and warm thanks expressed to Willie and Alice as their graceful little figures went in and out among the groups as they said "good night."

At last little Alice was fairly tired out, so she was borne away by Nurse Barlow, who announced it as her decided opinion that the children would "get their deaths of cold, and both be laid up the next day."

Poor Mrs. Barlow had not enjoyed her afternoon. She had been constantly occupied in trying to find Willie and Alice, for, as there were so many children scattered over the field, they had continually escaped her searching eye. Once she had ruthlessly torn Alice away as she was standing between two rosy-cheeked, delighted village urchins, playing "drop the handkerchief." Each of her little fair hands was clasped by the strong brown fingers of a small village neighbour, and Alice vigorously resented being thus carried off.

"The idea of her playing with them," murmured Mrs. Barlow contemptuously as she carried her off.

Not long afterwards a shout of triumph attracted her attention to another part of the field, where she was certain "Master Willie" would be found. "If there's mischief going on," she said, "he's sure to be in it;" and when she reached the spot, there he was sure enough, in his best clothes trying to climb the well-greased pole. As may be supposed his intentions of reaching the top, and securing the prize, were quickly nipped in the bud, and he was obliged to make a more sudden descent than he had counted upon.

Notwithstanding these slight interruptions, everything went off most satisfactorily, and all were sorry enough when the time arrived to say good-bye.

The children assembled in front of the old house, and sang a short hymn--

"We are but little children weak;"

and then they were marched off to their different homes, and Willie went to bed, his thoughts full of the happy day they had had, and the words of the children's hymn still sounding in his ears.

The Blackbird had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. There had been no drawbacks. Although he had not been one of the invited guests, he felt somehow that he had been welcome, and he was very pleased to have seen so much of his two young friends, and to have left them so happy.

At this summer-time, it was a great pleasure to the Blackbird during the afternoon to perch on the limb of an old fir-tree on the lawn, and watch the squirrels at their gambols. They would play long, long games of hide and seek among the dark branches, and then, tired of that, they would chase each other from bough to bough, scattering the pine-cones, which dropped with a soft sound on the grass below. Little wagtails ran nimbly about the lawn uttering their shrill "quit, quit," and catching as they ran the gnats and other insects. The small dark heads of the swallows could be seen as they crouched and twittered beneath the gables of the old mansion, and the distant trickling of water made a soft accompaniment to these varied sounds.

One afternoon when the Blackbird was thus perched on his favourite fir-branch he saw the old Rook sailing slowly by. He had not seen his old friend for some time, so he gladly welcomed and joined him. Away they flew to a copse beyond the lake where hazels and alders grew. A bright, pebbly stream wound through this copse, babbling cheerily as it went, and both birds alighted on an overhanging bough to watch the tiny fish as they poised and darted backwards and forwards. At a bend of the stream a little higher up, a brilliant-hued kingfisher was on the watch, and another bird of much soberer plumage was perched on a hazel bough beyond. He had yellow legs, a long tail, and ashen-coloured plumage spotted with white, which attracted the Blackbird's attention, for he did not remember ever to have seen him before.

"Do you know that bird?" inquired the Blackbird, nodding in the direction of the stranger.

"Indeed I do," replied the Rook, dryly; "but he's no friend of mine I assure you. He's one of the laziest and most unprincipled of creatures. He has only one good point about him, that's his note, and you must know that well. His 'twofold shout' of _cuckoo_ is a welcome sound to every one, for it tells us that Spring is here. As I said, however, that is his only good point,--for, can you believe it? _he never builds a nest!_"

"Never builds a nest!" exclaimed the Blackbird in astonishment, "then where does he lay his eggs?"

"Why," said the Rook, "the cuckoos have the impudence, the audacity, to drop them in the nest of some other bird, any nest that takes their fancy. And that is not all. Not only does the cuckoo lay its egg in a stranger's nest, but the unfortunate bird whose nest he has chosen has not only to sit on his egg, and hatch his great gawkey young one, but has also to feed it, and rear it till it can take care of itself. Nice job it is too," said the Rook with disgust. "Then they are so knowing--ay, they're clever birds! Why they never lay their eggs in the nests of any of the Finches, because they are seed-feeding birds, and the cuckoos know full well that their young ones would starve, because a seed-feeding bird wouldn't be able to rear them. Therefore they always choose the nests of the insect-feeding birds, and they never make a mistake. I wish they would sometimes, then there would be a few less of them! Those little pied wagtails, that you were watching on the lawn just now, often have the honour thrust upon them of hatching and rearing a young cuckoo, as do also the hedge sparrow and the reed warbler. The cuckoos are such cowards too," continued the Rook, "that they sometimes lay their eggs in the poor little nest of quite a small bird who can't even remonstrate with, much less fight them. Last Spring a vile cuckoo actually laid her egg in a wren's nest, and the two poor little wrens had to hatch and rear the young monster. You may fancy what hard work it was,--it was nearly the death of them!"

The Blackbird groaned sympathetically, for he remembered his own labours in that line. After a last glance at the kingfisher, the cuckoo, and the winding stream, the two friends flew farther on, over "flowery meads" and shining woods. The hedges were purple with marshmallow and vetch, while in other places the blue heads of the succory, and the pink and white briar roses were luxuriant, not to speak of the pale bindweed which clung so affectionately round the slender stems of the hazels.

The pair of friends alighted for a moment to gaze at all this summer wealth.

"I _do_ wish it could always be summer," sighed the Blackbird.

"You'd soon get very tired of it if it were," retorted the Rook, "and you would not value the sunshine and flowers half so much if you always had them."

"Perhaps not," said the Blackbird, gazing rather sentimentally at the closing blossoms of the convolvulus, "perhaps not, but the flowers are very lovely."

"Yes," said the Rook, gravely; "they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet we are assured that even the great King Solomon in all his glory 'was not arrayed like one of these.' The great God is over all His works, friend Blackbird; nothing, however small or however insignificant it may be, is overlooked or forgotten by the Creator."

After a few moments of silence the Blackbird said, "I must be going home; my young ones are not yet able to do without me."

"Your young ones!" exclaimed the Rook, in a tone of surprise; and then he added, "Ah, you've had two broods, I suppose?"

"Yes," replied the Blackbird, "and the last are still young. My first are now quite grown up."

"I once knew a relation of yours," said the Rook, "who hatched three broods in one year."

"Dear me," said the Blackbird in a tone of commiseration, "how exhausted he must have been by the time he had finished with his third family."

"I have been told, and on the best possible authority too," said the Rook, rather mischievously, "of a pair of Blackbirds who had four families--"

"Oh, pray don't," said the Blackbird, as he opened out his wings as if for flight; "you make me feel quite nervous."