{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16140/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16140","id":"gutenberg_16140","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16140","summary":null,"tags":["Animals-Wild-Birds","Birds","Birds -- Folklore","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Instructional Books"],"text":"Produced by Suzanne Shell, Julia Miller and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: _Mr. Stork and Miss Heron (page 178)_]\n\n\n\n\n   The Curious Book of Birds\n\n    By Abbie Farwell Brown\n\n     _With Illustrations_\n\n      _By E. Boyd Smith_\n\n\n     BOSTON AND NEW YORK\n HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY\nThe Riverside Press, Cambridge\n             1903\n\n\n\n\n_Published October, 1903._\n\n\n\n\n_There are many books written nowadays which will tell you about birds\nas folk of the twentieth century see them. They describe carefully the\nsinger's house, his habits, the number of his little wife's eggs, and\nthe color of every tiny feather on her pretty wings. But these books\ntell you nothing at all about bird-history; about what birds have meant\nto all the generations of men, women, and children since the world\nbegan. You would think, to read the words of the bird-book men, that\nthey were the very first folk to see any bird, and that what they think\nthey have seen is the only matter worth the knowing._\n\n_Now the interesting facts about birds we have always with us. We can\nfind them out for ourselves, which is a very pleasant thing to do, or we\ncan take the word of others, of which there is no lack. But it is the\nquaint fancies about birds which are in danger of being lost. The\nlong-time fancies which the world's children in all lands have been\ntaught are quite as important as the every-day facts. They show what the\nlittle feathered brothers have been to the children of men; how we have\ncome to like some and to dislike others as we do; why the poets have\ncalled them by certain nicknames which we ought to know; and why a great\nmany strange things are so, in the minds of childlike people._\n\n_Facts are not what one looks for in a Curious Book. Yet it may be that\nsome facts have crept in among the ancient fancies of this volume, just\nas bookworms will crawl into the nicest books; but they do not belong\nthere, and it is for these that the Book apologizes to the children. It\nhas no apology to offer those grown folks who insist that facts, never\nfancies, are what children need._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                        PAGE\n\nTHE DISOBEDIENT WOODPECKER                 1\n(_French_)\n\nMOTHER MAGPIE'S KINDERGARTEN               6\n(_Isle of Wight_)\n\nTHE GORGEOUS GOLDFINCH                    14\n(_Roumanian_)\n\nKING OF THE BIRDS                         18\n(_Gascon_)\n\nHALCYONE                                  27\n(_Greek_)\n\nTHE FORGETFUL KINGFISHER                  33\n(_German_)\n\nTHE WREN WHO BROUGHT FIRE                 39\n(_French_)\n\nHOW THE BLUEBIRD CROSSED                  45\n(_Samoan_)\n\nTHE PEACOCK'S COUSIN                      49\n(_Arabic, Malay_)\n\nTHE MASQUERADING CROW                     59\n(_Russian_)\n\nKING SOLOMON AND THE BIRDS                69\n(_Arabic_)\n\nTHE PIOUS ROBIN                           81\n(_Breton, Basque, Greek_)\n\nTHE ROBIN WHO WAS AN INDIAN               87\n(_Ojibway_)\n\nTHE INQUISITIVE WOMAN                     94\n(_Roumanian_)\n\nWHY THE NIGHTINGALE WAKES                 98\n(_French_)\n\nMRS. PARTRIDGE'S BABIES                  105\n(_Greek_)\n\nTHE EARLY GIRL                           109\n(_Roumanian_)\n\nHOW THE BLACKBIRD SPOILED HIS COAT       114\n(_French_)\n\nTHE BLACKBIRD AND THE FOX                124\n(_French_)\n\nTHE DOVE WHO SPOKE TRUTH                 127\n(_Welsh_)\n\nTHE FOWLS ON PILGRIMAGE                  132\n(_Greek_)\n\nTHE GROUND-PIGEON                        138\n(_Malay_)\n\nSISTER HEN AND THE CROCODILE             145\n(_Congo Negro_)\n\nTHE THRUSH AND THE CUCKOO                153\n(_Roumanian, German_)\n\nTHE OWL AND THE MOON                     157\n(_Malay_)\n\nTHE TUFTED CAP                           164\n(_Ainu, Japanese Islands_)\n\nTHE GOOD HUNTER                          168\n(_Iroquois_)\n\nTHE COURTSHIP OF MR. STORK AND MISS\nHERON                                    176\n(_Russian_)\n\nTHE PHOENIX                              184\n(_Egyptian_)\n\nSeven of these tales appeared originally in _The Churchman_ and two in\n_The Congregationalist_. They are reprinted by the courteous permission\nof the publishers of those magazines.\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n                                        PAGE\nMR. STORK AND MISS HERON (page 178)\n                                Frontispiece\n\n\"NEXT YOU MUST LAY A FEATHER\"             10\n\nSUCH A GORGEOUS COAT!                     16\n\n\"BLESS ME!\" HE EXCLAIMED, \"WHOM HAVE\nWE HERE?\"                                 64\n\nHERE ARE SOME NICE FAT WIGGLY WORMS      106\n\nHE MANAGED TO FLUTTER OUT OF REACH       126\n\n\"O BROTHER, DON'T!\"                      148\n\nPUTRI BALAN BEGAN TO LAUGH               160\n\n\n\n\nThe Curious Book of Birds\n\n\n\n\n    \"Not you alone, proud truths of the world,\n    Not you alone, ye facts of modern science,\n    But myths and fables of eld, Asia's, Africa's fables.\"\n\n                                             _Whitman._\n\n\n\n\nThe Curious Book of Birds\n\n\n\n\nTHE DISOBEDIENT WOODPECKER\n\n\nLong, long ago, at the beginning of things, they say that the Lord made\nthe world smooth and round like an apple. There were no hills nor\nmountains: nor were there any hollows or valleys to hold the seas and\nrivers, fountains and pools, which the world of men would need. It must,\nindeed, have been a stupid and ugly earth in those days, with no chance\nfor swimming or sailing, rowing or fishing. But as yet there was no one\nto think anything about it, no one who would long to swim, sail, row,\nand fish. For this was long before men were created.\n\nThe Lord looked about Him at the flocks of newly made birds, who were\npreening their wings and wondering at their own bright feathers, and\nsaid to Himself,--\n\n\"I will make these pretty creatures useful, from the very beginning, so\nthat in after time men shall love them dearly. Come, my birds,\" He\ncried, \"come hither to me, and with the beaks which I have given you\nhollow me out _here_, and _here_, and _here_, basins for the lakes and\npools which I intend to fill with water for men and for you, their\nfriends. Come, little brothers, busy yourselves as you would wish to be\nhappy hereafter.\"\n\nThen there was a twittering and fluttering as the good birds set to work\nwith a will, singing happily over the work which their dear Lord had\ngiven them to do. They pecked and they pecked with their sharp little\nbills; they scratched and they scratched with their sharp little claws,\ntill in the proper places they had hollowed out great basins and valleys\nand long river beds, and little holes in the ground.\n\nThen the Lord sent great rains upon the earth until the hollows which\nthe birds had made were filled with water, and so became rivers and\nlakes, little brooks and fountains, just as we see them to-day. Now it\nwas a beautiful, beautiful world, and the good birds sang happily and\nrejoiced in the work which they had helped, and in the sparkling water\nwhich was sweet to their taste.\n\nAll were happy except one. The Woodpecker had taken no part with the\nother busy birds. She was a lazy, disobedient creature, and when she\nheard the Lord's commands she had only said, \"Tut tut!\" and sat still on\nthe branch where she had perched, preening her pretty feathers and\nadmiring her silver stockings. \"You can toil if you want to,\" she said\nto the other birds who wondered at her, \"but I shall do no such dirty\nwork. My clothes are too fine.\"\n\nNow when the world was quite finished and the beautiful water sparkled\nand glinted here and there, cool and refreshing, the Lord called the\nbirds to Him and thanked them for their help, praising them for their\nindustry and zeal. But to the Woodpecker He said,--\n\n\"As for you, O Woodpecker, I observe that your feathers are unruffled by\nwork and that there is no spot of soil upon your beak and claws. How did\nyou manage to keep so neat?\"\n\nThe Woodpecker looked sulky and stood upon one leg.\n\n\"It is a good thing to be neat,\" said the Lord, \"but not if it comes\nfrom shirking a duty. It is good to be dainty, but not from laziness.\nHave you not worked with your brothers as I commanded you?\"\n\n\"It was such very dirty work,\" piped the Woodpecker crossly; \"I was\nafraid of spoiling my pretty bright coat and my silver shining hose.\"\n\n\"Oh, vain and lazy bird!\" said the Lord sadly. \"Have you nothing to do\nbut show off your fine clothes and give yourself airs? You are no more\nbeautiful than many of your brothers, yet they all obeyed me willingly.\nLook at the snow-white Dove, and the gorgeous Bird of Paradise, and the\npretty Grosbeak. They have worked nobly, yet their plumage is not\ninjured. I fear that you must be punished for your disobedience, little\nWoodpecker. Henceforth you shall wear stockings of sooty black instead\nof the shining silver ones of which you are so proud. You who were too\nfine to dig in the earth shall ever be pecking at dusty wood. And as you\ndeclined to help in building the water-basins of the world, so you shall\nnever sip from them when you are thirsty. Never shall you thrust beak\ninto lake or river, little rippling brook or cool, sweet fountain.\nRaindrops falling scantily from the leaves shall be your drink, and your\nvoice shall be heard only when other creatures are hiding themselves\nfrom the approaching storm.\"\n\nIt was a sad punishment for the Woodpecker, but she certainly deserved\nit. Ever since that time, whenever we hear a little tap-tapping in the\ntree city, we know that it is the poor Woodpecker digging at the dusty\nwood, as the Lord said she should do. And when we spy her, a dusty\nlittle body with black stockings, clinging upright to the tree trunk, we\nsee that she is creeping, climbing, looking up eagerly toward the sky,\nlonging for the rain to fall into her thirsty beak. She is always hoping\nfor the storm to come, and plaintively pipes, \"_Plui-plui!_ Rain, O\nRain!\" until the drops begin to patter on the leaves.\n\n\n\n\nMOTHER MAGPIE'S KINDERGARTEN\n\n\nDid you ever notice how different are the nests which the birds build in\nspringtime, in tree or bush or sandy bank or hidden in the grass? Some\nare wonderfully wrought, pretty little homes for birdikins. But others\nare clumsy, and carelessly fastened to the bough, most unsafe cradles\nfor the feathered baby on the treetop. Sometimes after a heavy wind you\nfind on the ground under the nest poor little broken eggs which rolled\nout and lost their chance of turning into birds with safe, safe wings of\ntheir own. Now such sad things as this happen because in their youth the\nlazy father and mother birds did not learn their lesson when Mother\nMagpie had her class in nest-making. The clumsiest nest of all is that\nwhich the Wood-Pigeon tries to build. Indeed, it is not a nest at all,\nonly the beginning of one. And there is an old story about this, which I\nshall tell you.\n\nIn the early springtime of the world, when birds were first made, none\nof them--except Mother Magpie--knew how to build a nest. In that lovely\ngarden where they lived the birds went fluttering about trying their new\nwings, so interested in this wonderful game of flying that they forgot\nall about preparing a home for the baby birds who were to come. When the\ntime came to lay their eggs the parents knew not what to do. There was\nno place safe from the four-legged creatures who cannot fly, and they\nbegan to twitter helplessly: \"Oh, how I wish I had a nice warm nest for\nmy eggs!\" \"Oh, what shall we do for a home?\" \"Dear me! I don't know\nanything about housekeeping.\" And the poor silly things ruffled up their\nfeathers and looked miserable as only a little bird can look when it is\nunhappy.\n\nAll except Mother Magpie! She was not the best--oh, no!--but she was the\ncleverest and wisest of all the birds; it seemed as if she knew\neverything that a bird could know. Already she had found out a way, and\nwas busily building a famous nest for herself. She was indeed a clever\nbird! She gathered turf and sticks, and with clay bound them firmly\ntogether in a stout elm tree. About her house she built a fence of\nthorns to keep away the burglar birds who had already begun mischief\namong their peaceful neighbors. Thus she had a snug and cosy dwelling\nfinished before the others even suspected what she was doing. She popped\ninto her new house and sat there comfortably, peering out through the\nwindow-slits with her sharp little eyes. And she saw the other birds\nhopping about and twittering helplessly.\n\n\"What silly birds they are!\" she croaked. \"Ha, ha! What would they not\ngive for a nest like mine!\"\n\nBut presently a sharp-eyed Sparrow spied Mother Magpie sitting in her\nnest.\n\n\"Oho! Look there!\" he cried. \"Mother Magpie has found a way. Let us ask\nher to teach us.\"\n\nThen all the other birds chirped eagerly, \"Yes, yes! Let us ask her to\nteach us!\"\n\nSo, in a great company, they came fluttering, hopping, twittering up to\nthe elm tree where Mother Magpie nestled comfortably in her new house.\n\n\"O wise Mother Magpie, dear Mother Magpie,\" they cried, \"teach us how to\nbuild our nests like yours, for it is growing night, and we are tired\nand sleepy.\"\n\nThe Magpie said she would teach them if they would be a patient,\ndiligent, obedient class of little birds. And they all promised that\nthey would.\n\nShe made them perch about her in a great circle, some on the lower\nbranches of the trees, some on the bushes, and some on the ground among\nthe grass and flowers. And where each bird perched, there it was to\nbuild its nest. Then Mother Magpie found clay and bits of twigs and moss\nand grass--everything a bird could need to build a nest; and there is\nscarcely anything you can think of which some bird would not find very\nuseful. When these things were all piled up before her she told every\nbird to do just as she did. It was like a great big kindergarten of\nbirds playing at a new building game, with Mother Magpie for the\nteacher.\n\nShe began to show them how to weave the bits of things together into\nnests, as they should be made. And some of the birds, who were attentive\nand careful, soon saw how it was done, and started nice homes for\nthemselves. You have seen what wonderful swinging baskets the Oriole\nmakes for his baby-cradle? Well, it was the Magpie who taught him how,\nand he was the prize pupil, to be sure. But some of the birds were not\nlike him, nor like the patient little Wren. Some of them were lazy and\nstupid and envious of Mother Magpie's cosy nest, which was already\nfinished, while theirs was yet to do.\n\nAs Mother Magpie worked, showing them how, it seemed so very simple that\nthey were ashamed not to have discovered it for themselves. So, as she\nwent on bit by bit, the silly things pretended that they had known all\nabout it from the first--which was very unpleasant for their teacher.\n\nMother Magpie took two sticks in her beak and began like this: \"First of\nall, my friends, you must lay two sticks crosswise for a foundation,\nthus,\" and she placed them carefully on the branch before her.\n\n\"Oh yes, oh yes!\" croaked old Daddy Crow, interrupting her rudely. \"I\nthought that was the way to begin.\"\n\nMother Magpie snapped her eyes at him and went on, \"Next you must lay a\nfeather on a bit of moss, to start the walls.\"\n\n\"Certainly, of course,\" screamed the Jackdaw. \"I knew that came next.\nThat is what I told the Parrot but a moment since.\"\n\nMother Magpie looked at him impatiently, but she did not say anything.\n\"Then, my friends, you must place on your foundation moss, hair,\nfeathers, sticks, and grass--whatever you choose for your house. You\nmust place them like _this_.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried the Starling, \"sticks and grass, every one knows how\nto do that! Of course, of course! Tell us something new.\"\n\n[Illustration: _\"Next you must lay a feather\"_]\n\nNow Mother Magpie was very angry, but she kept on with her lesson in\nspite of these rude and silly interruptions. She turned toward the\nWood-Pigeon, who was a rattle-pated young thing, and who was not having\nany success with the sticks which she was trying to place.\n\n\"Here, Wood-Pigeon,\" said Mother Magpie, \"you must place those sticks\nthrough and across, criss-cross, criss-cross, _so_.\"\n\n\"Criss-cross, criss-cross, so,\" interrupted the Wood-Pigeon. \"I know.\nThat will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!\"\n\nMother Magpie hopped up and down on one leg, so angry she could hardly\ncroak.\n\n\"You silly Pigeon,\" she sputtered, \"not _so_. You are spoiling your\nnest. Place the sticks _so_!\"\n\n\"I know, I know! That will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!\" cooed the\nWood-Pigeon obstinately in her soft, foolish little voice, without\npaying the least attention to Mother Magpie's directions.\n\n\"We all know that--anything more?\" chirped the chorus of birds, trying\nto conceal how anxious they were to know what came next, for the nests\nwere only half finished.\n\nBut Mother Magpie was thoroughly disgusted, and refused to go on with\nthe lesson which had been so rudely interrupted by her pupils.\n\n\"You are all so wise, friends,\" she said, \"that surely you do not need\nany help from me. You say you know all about it,--then go on and finish\nyour nests by yourselves. Much luck may you have!\" And away she flew to\nher own cosy nest in the elm tree, where she was soon fast asleep,\nforgetting all about the matter.\n\nBut oh! What a pickle the other birds were in! The lesson was but half\nfinished, and most of them had not the slightest idea what to do next.\nThat is why to this day many of the birds have never learned to build a\nperfect nest. Some do better than others, but none build like Mother\nMagpie.\n\nBut the Wood-Pigeon was in the worst case of them all. For she had only\nthe foundation laid criss-cross as the Magpie had shown her. And so, if\nyou find in the woods the most shiftless, silly kind of nest that you\ncan imagine--just a platform of sticks laid flat across a branch, with\nno railing to keep the eggs from rolling out, no roof to keep the rain\nfrom soaking in--when you see that foolishness, you will know that it is\nthe nest of little Mistress Wood-Pigeon, who was too stupid to learn the\nlesson which Mother Magpie was ready to teach.\n\nAnd the queerest part of all is that the birds blamed the Magpie for the\nwhole matter, and have never liked her since. But, as you may have\nfound out for yourselves, that is often the fate of wise folk who make\ndiscoveries or who do things better than others.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GORGEOUS GOLDFINCH\n\n\nThe Goldfinch who lives in Europe is one of the gaudiest of the little\nfeathered brothers. He is a very Joseph of birds in his coat of many\ncolors, and folk often wonder how he came to have feathers so much more\ngorgeous than his kindred. But after you have read this tale you will\nwonder no longer.\n\nYou must know that when the Father first made all the birds they were\ndressed alike in plumage of sober gray. But this dull uniform pleased\nHim no more than it did the birds themselves, who begged that they might\nwear each the particular style which was most becoming, and by which\nthey could be recognized afar.\n\nSo the Father called the birds to Him, one by one, as they stood in\nline, and dipping His brush in the rainbow color-box painted each\nappropriately in the colors which it wears to-day. (Except, indeed, that\nsome had later adventures which altered their original hues, as you\nshall hear in due season.)\n\nBut the Goldfinch did not come with the other birds. That tardy little\nfellow was busy elsewhere on his own affairs and heeded not the Father's\ncommand to fall in line and wait his turn for being made beautiful.\n\nSo it happened that not until the painting was finished and all the\nbirds had flown away to admire themselves in the water-mirrors of the\nearth, did the Goldfinch present himself at the Father's feet out of\nbreath.\n\n\"O Father!\" he panted, \"I am late. But I was so busy! Pray forgive me\nand permit me to have a pretty coat like the others.\"\n\n\"You are late indeed,\" said the Father reproachfully, \"and all the\ncoloring has been done. You should have come when I bade you. Do you not\nknow that it is the prompt bird who fares best? My rainbow color-box has\nbeen generously used, and I have but little of each tint left. Yet I\nwill paint you with the colors that I have, and if the result be ill you\nhave only yourself to blame.\"\n\nThe Father smiled gently as He took up the brush which He had laid down,\nand dipped it in the first color which came to hand. This He used until\nthere was no more, when He began with another shade, and so continued\nuntil the Goldfinch was completely colored from head to foot. Such a\ngorgeous coat! His forehead and throat were of the most brilliant\ncrimson. His cap and sailor collar were black. His back was brown and\nyellow, his breast white, his wings golden set off with velvet black,\nand his tail was black with white-tipped feathers. Certainly there was\nno danger of his being mistaken for any other bird.\n\nWhen the Goldfinch looked down into a pool and saw the reflection of his\ngorgeous coat, he burst out into a song of joy. \"I like it, oh, I like\nit!\" he warbled, and his song was very sweet. \"Oh, I am glad that I was\nlate, indeed I am, dear Father!\"\n\nBut the kind Father sighed and shook His head as He put away the brush,\nexclaiming, \"Poor little Goldfinch! You are indeed a beautiful bird. But\nI fear that the gorgeous coat which you wear, and which is the best that\nI could give you, because you came so late, will cause you more sorrow\nthan joy. Because of it you will be chased and captured and kept in\ncaptivity; and your life will be spent in mourning for the days when you\nwere a plain gray bird.\"\n\nAnd so it happened. For to this day the Goldfinch is persecuted by human\nfolk who admire his wonderful plumage and his beautiful song. He is\nkept captive in a cage, while his less gorgeous brothers fly freely in\nthe beautiful world out of doors.\n\n[Illustration: _Such a gorgeous coat!_]\n\n\n\n\nKING OF THE BIRDS\n\n\nOnce upon a time, when the world was very new and when the birds had\njust learned from Mother Magpie how to build their nests, some one said,\n\"We ought to have a king. Oh, we need a king of the birds very much!\"\n\nFor you see, already in the Garden of Birds trouble had begun. There\nwere disputes every morning as to which was the earliest bird who was\nentitled to the worm. There were quarrels over the best places for\nnest-building and over the fattest bug or beetle; and there was no one\nto settle these difficulties. Moreover, the robber birds were growing\ntoo bold, and there was no one to rule and punish them. There was no\ndoubt about it; the birds needed a king to keep them in order and peace.\n\nSo the whisper went about, \"We must have a king. Whom shall we choose\nfor our king?\"\n\nThey decided to hold a great meeting for the election. And because the\nespecial talent of a bird is for flying, they agreed that the bird who\ncould fly highest up into the blue sky, straight toward the sun, should\nbe their king, king of all the feathered tribes of the air.\n\nTherefore, after breakfast one beautiful morning, the birds met in the\ngarden to choose their king. All the birds were there, from the largest\nto the smallest, chirping, twittering, singing on every bush and tree\nand bit of dry grass, till the noise was almost as great as nowadays at\nan election of two-legged folk without feathers. They swooped down in\ngreat clouds, till the sky was black with them, and they were dotted on\nthe grass like punctuation marks on a green page. There were so many\nthat not even wise Mother Magpie or old Master Owl could count them, and\nthey all talked at the same time, like ladies at an afternoon tea, which\nwas very confusing.\n\nLittle Robin Redbreast was there, hopping about and saying pleasant\nthings to every one, for he was a great favorite. Gorgeous Goldfinch was\nthere, in fine feather; and little Blackbird, who was then as white as\nsnow. There were the proud Peacock and the silly Ostrich, the awkward\nPenguin and the Dodo, whom no man living has ever seen. Likewise there\nwere the Jubjub Bird and the Dinky Bird, and many other curious\nvarieties that one never finds described in the wise Bird Books,--which\nis very strange, and sad, too, I think. Yes, all the birds were there\nfor the choosing of their king, both the birds who could fly, and those\nwho could not. (But for what were they given wings, if not to fly? How\nsilly an Ostrich must feel!)\n\nNow the Eagle expected to be king. He felt sure that he could fly higher\nthan any one else. He sat apart on a tall pine tree, looking very\ndignified and noble, as a future king should look. And the birds glanced\nat one another, nodded their heads, and whispered, \"He is sure to be\nelected king. He can fly straight up toward the sun without winking, and\nhis great wings are so strong, so strong! He never grows tired. He is\nsure to be king.\"\n\nThus they whispered among themselves, and the Eagle heard them, and was\npleased. But the little brown Wren heard also, and he was not pleased.\nThe absurd little bird! He wanted to be king himself, although he was\none of the tiniest birds there, who could never be a protector to the\nothers, nor stop trouble when it began. No, indeed! Fancy him stepping\nas a peacemaker between a robber Hawk and a bloody Falcon. It was they\nwho would make pieces of him. But he was a conceited little creature,\nand saw no reason why he should not make a noble sovereign.\n\n\"I am cleverer than the Eagle,\" he said to himself, \"though he is so\nmuch bigger. I will be king in spite of him. Ha-ha! We shall see what we\nshall see!\" For the Wren had a great idea in his wee little head--an\nidea bigger than the head itself, if you can explain how that could be.\nHe ruffled up his feathers to make himself as huge as possible, and\nhopped over to the branch where the Eagle was sitting.\n\n\"Well, Eagle,\" said the Wren pompously, \"I suppose you expect to be\nking, eh?\"\n\nThe Eagle stared hard at him with his great bright eyes. \"Well, if I do,\nwhat of that?\" he said. \"Who will dispute me?\"\n\n\"I shall,\" said the Wren, bobbing his little brown head and wriggling\nhis tail saucily.\n\n\"You!\" said the Eagle. \"Do _you_ expect to fly higher than I?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" chirped the Wren, \"I do. Yes, I do, do, do!\"\n\n\"Ho!\" said the Eagle scornfully. \"I am big and strong and brave. I can\nfly higher than the clouds. You, poor little thing, are no bigger than a\nbean. You will be out of breath before we have gone twice this tree's\nheight.\"\n\n\"Little as I am, I can mount higher than you,\" said the Wren.\n\n\"What will you wager, Wren?\" asked the Eagle. \"What will you give me if\nI win?\"\n\n\"If you win you will be king,\" said the Wren. \"But beside that, if you\nwin I will give you my fat little body to eat for your breakfast. But if\nI win, Sir, I shall be king, and you must promise never, never, never,\nto hurt me or any of my people.\"\n\n\"Very well. I promise,\" said the Eagle haughtily. \"Come now, it is time\nfor the trial, you poor little foolish creature.\"\n\nThe birds were flapping their wings and singing eagerly, \"Let us\nbegin--begin. We want to see who is to be king. Come, birds, to the\ntrial. Who can fly the highest? Come!\"\n\nThen the Eagle spread his great wings and mounted leisurely into the\nair, straight toward the noonday sun. And after him rose a number of\nother birds who wanted to be king,--the wicked Hawk, the bold Albatross,\nand the Skylark singing his wonderful song. The long-legged Stork\nstarted also, but that was only for a joke. \"Fancy me for a king!\" he\ncried, and he laughed so that he had to come down again in a minute. But\nthe Wren was nowhere to be seen. The truth was, he had hopped ever so\nlightly upon the Eagle's head, where he sat like a tiny crest. But the\nEagle did not know he was there.\n\nSoon the Hawk and the Albatross and even the brave little Skylark fell\nbehind, and the Eagle began to chuckle to himself at his easy victory.\n\"Where are you, poor little Wren?\" he cried very loudly, for he fancied\nthat the tiny bird must be left far, far below.\n\n\"Here I am, here I am, away up above you, Master Eagle!\" piped the Wren\nin a weak little voice. And the Eagle fancied the Wren was so far up in\nthe air that even his sharp eyes could not spy the tiny creature. \"Dear\nme!\" said he to himself. \"How extraordinary that he has passed me.\" So\nhe redoubled his speed and flew on, higher, higher.\n\nPresently he called out again in a tremendous voice, \"Well, where are\nyou now? Where are you now, poor little Wren?\"\n\nOnce more he heard the tiny shrill voice from somewhere above piping,\n\"Here I am, here I am, nearer the sun than you, Master Eagle. Will you\ngive up now?\"\n\nOf course the Eagle would not give up yet. He flew on, higher and\nhigher, till the garden and its flock of patient birds waiting for their\nking grew dim and blurry below. And at last even the mighty wings of the\nEagle were weary, for he was far above the clouds. \"Surely,\" he thought,\n\"now the Wren is left miles behind.\" He gave a scream of triumph and\ncried, \"Where are you now, poor little Wren? Can you hear me at all,\ndown below there?\"\n\nBut what was his amazement to hear the same little voice above his head\nshrilling, \"Here I am, here I am, Sir Eagle. Look up and see me, look!\"\nAnd there, sure enough, he was fluttering above the Eagle's head. \"And\nnow, since I have mounted so much higher than you, will you agree that I\nhave won?\"\n\n\"Yes, you have won, little Wren. Let us descend together, for I am weary\nenough,\" cried the Eagle, much mortified; and down he swooped, on heavy,\ndiscouraged wings.\n\n\"Yes, let us descend together,\" murmured the Wren, once more perching\ncomfortably on the Eagle's head. And so down he rode on this convenient\nelevator, which was the first one invented in this world.\n\nWhen the Eagle nearly reached the ground, the other birds set up a cry\nof greeting.\n\n\"Hail, King Eagle!\" they sang. \"How high you flew! How near the sun! Did\nhe not scorch your Majesty's feathers? Hail, mighty king!\" and they made\na deafening chorus. But the Eagle stopped them.\n\n\"The Wren is your king, not I,\" he said. \"He mounted higher than I did.\"\n\n\"The Wren? Ha-ha! The _Wren_! We can't believe that The Wren flew\nhigher than you? No, no!\" they all shouted. But just then the Eagle\nlighted on a tree, and from the top of his head hopped the little Wren,\ncocking his head and ruffling himself proudly.\n\n\"Yes, I mounted higher than he,\" he cried, \"for I was perched on his\nhead all the while, ha-ha! And now, therefore, I am king, small though I\nbe.\"\n\nNow the Eagle was very angry when he saw the trick that had been played\nupon him, and he swooped upon the sly Wren to punish him. But the Wren\nscreamed, \"Remember, remember your promise never to injure me or mine!\"\nThen the Eagle stopped, for he was a noble bird and never forgot a\npromise. He folded his wings and turned away in disgust.\n\n\"Be king, then, O cheat and trickster!\" he said.\n\n\"Cheat and trickster!\" echoed the other birds. \"We will have no such\nfellow for our king. Cheat and trickster he is, and he shall be\npunished. You shall be king, brave Eagle, for without your strength he\ncould never have flown so high. It is you whom we want for our\nprotector and lawmaker, not this sly fellow no bigger than a bean.\"\n\nSo the Eagle became their king, after all; and a noble bird he is, as\nyou must understand, or he would never have been chosen to guard our\nnation's coat of arms. And besides this you may see his picture on many\na banner and crest and coin of gold or silver, so famous has he become.\n\nBut the Wren was to be punished. And while the birds were trying to\ndecide what should be done with him, they put him in prison in a\nmouse-hole and set Master Owl to guard the door. Now while the judges\nwere putting their heads together the lazy Owl fell fast asleep, and out\nof prison stole the little Wren and was far away before any one could\ncatch him. So he was never punished after all, as he richly deserved to\nbe.\n\nThe birds were so angry with old Master Owl for his carelessness that he\nhas never since dared to show his face abroad in daytime, but hides away\nin his hollow tree. And only at night he wanders alone in the woods,\nsorry and ashamed.\n\n\n\n\nHALCYONE\n\n\nThe story of the first Kingfisher is a sad one, and you need not read it\nunless for a very little while you wish to feel sorry.\n\nLong, long ago when the world was new, there lived a beautiful princess\nnamed Halcyone. She was the daughter of old AEolus, King of the Winds,\nand lived with him on his happy island, where it was his chief business\nto keep in order the four boisterous brothers, Boreas, the North Wind,\nZephyrus, the West Wind, Auster, the South Wind, and Eurus, the East\nWind. Sometimes, indeed, AEolus had a hard time of it; for the Winds\nwould escape from his control and rush out upon the sea for their\nterrible games, which were sure to bring death and destruction to the\nsailors and their ships. Knowing them so well, for she had grown up with\nthese rough playmates, Halcyone came to dread more than anything else\nthe cruelties which they practiced at every opportunity.\n\nOne day the Prince Ceyx came to the island of King AEolus. He was the son\nof Hesperus, the Evening Star, and he was the king of the great land of\nThessaly. Ceyx and Halcyone grew to love each other dearly, and at last\nwith the consent of good King AEolus, but to the wrath of the four Winds,\nthe beautiful princess went away to be the wife of Ceyx and Queen of\nThessaly.\n\nFor a long time they lived happily in their peaceful kingdom, but\nfinally came a day when Ceyx must take a long voyage on the sea, to\nvisit a temple in a far country. Halcyone could not bear to have him go,\nfor she feared the dangers of the great deep, knowing well the cruelty\nof the Winds, whom King AEolus had such difficulty in keeping within\nbounds. She knew how the mischievous brothers loved to rush down upon\nventuresome sailors and blow them into danger, and she knew that they\nespecially hated her husband because he had carried her away from the\nisland where she had watched the Winds at their terrible play. She\nbegged Ceyx not to go, but he said that it was necessary. Then she\nprayed that if he must go he would take her with him, for she could not\nbear to remain behind dreading what might happen.\n\nBut Ceyx was resolved that Halcyone should not go. The good king longed\nto take her with him; no more than she could he smile at the thought of\nseparation. But he also feared the sea, not on his own account, but for\nhis dear wife. In spite of her entreaties he remained firm. If all went\nwell he promised to return in two months' time. But Halcyone knew that\nshe should never see him again as now he spoke.\n\nThe day of separation came. Standing heart-broken upon the shore,\nHalcyone watched the vessel sail away into the East, until as a little\nspeck it dropped below the horizon; then sobbing bitterly she returned\nto the palace.\n\nNow the king and his men had completed but half their journey when a\nterrible storm arose. The wicked Winds had escaped from the control of\ngood old AEolus and were rushing down upon the ocean to punish Ceyx for\ncarrying away the beautiful Halcyone. Fiercely they blew, the lightning\nflashed, and the sea ran high; and in the midst of the horrible tumult\nthe good ship went to the bottom with all on board. Thus the fears of\nHalcyone were proved true, and far from his dear wife poor Ceyx perished\nin the cruel waves.\n\nThat very night when the shipwreck occurred, the sad and fearful\nHalcyone, sleeping lonely at home, knew in a dream the very calamity\nwhich had happened. She seemed to see the storm and the shipwreck, and\nthe form of Ceyx appeared, saying a sad farewell to her. As soon as it\nwas light she rose and hastened to the seashore, trembling with a\nhorrible dread. Standing on the very spot whence she had last seen the\nfated ship, she looked wistfully over the waste of stormy waters. At\nlast she spied a dark something tossing on the waves. The object floated\nnearer and nearer, until a huge breaker cast before her on the sand the\nbody of her drowned husband.\n\n\"O dearest Ceyx!\" she cried. \"Is it thus that you return to me?\"\nStretching out her arms toward him, she leaped upon the sea wall as if\nshe would throw herself into the ocean, which advanced and retreated,\nseething around his body. But a different fate was to be hers. As she\nleaped forward two strong wings sprouted from her shoulders, and before\nshe knew it she found herself skimming lightly as a bird over the water.\nFrom her throat came sounds of sobbing, which changed as she flew into\nthe shrill piping of a bird. Soft feathers now covered her body, and a\ncrest rose above the forehead which had once been so fair. Halcyone was\nbecome a Kingfisher, the first Kingfisher who ever flew lamenting above\nthe waters of the world.\n\nThe sad bird fluttered through the spray straight to the body that was\ntossed upon the surf. As her wings touched the wet shoulders, and as her\nhorny beak sought the dumb lips in an attempt to kiss what was once so\ndear, the body of Ceyx began to receive new life. The limbs stirred, a\nfaint color returned to the cheeks. At the same moment a change like\nthat which had transformed Halcyone began to pass over her husband. He\ntoo was becoming a Kingfisher. He too felt the thrill of wings upon his\nshoulders, wings which were to bear him up and away out of the sea which\nhad been his death. He too was clad in soft plumage with a kingly crest\nupon his kingly head. With a faint cry, half of sorrow for what had\nhappened, half of joy for the future in which these two loving ones were\nat least to be together, Ceyx rose from the surf-swept sand where his\nlifeless limbs had lain and went skimming over the waves beside Halcyone\nhis wife.\n\nSo those unhappy mortals became the first kingfishers, happy at last in\nbeing reunited. So we see them still, flying up and down over the waters\nof the world, royal forms with royal crests upon their heads.\n\nThey built their nest of the bones of fish, a stout and well-joined\nbasket which floated on the waves as safely as any little boat. And\nwhile their children, the baby Halcyons, lay in this rocking cradle, for\nseven days in the heart of winter, no storms ever troubled the ocean\nand mariners could set out upon their voyages without fear.\n\nFor while his little grandchildren rocked in their basket, the good King\nAEolus, pitying the sorrows of his daughter Halcyone, was always\nespecially careful to chain up in prison those wicked brothers the\nWinds, so that they could do no mischief of any kind.\n\nAnd that is why a halcyon time has come to mean a season of peace and\nsafety.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FORGETFUL KINGFISHER\n\n\nIn these days the Kingfisher is a sad and solitary bird, caring not to\nventure far from the water where she finds her food. Up and down the\nriver banks she goes, uttering a peculiar plaintive cry. What is she\nsaying, and why is she so restless? The American Kingfisher is gray, but\nher cousin of Europe is a bird of brilliant azure with a breast of rusty\nred. Therefore it must have been the foreign Kingfisher who was\nforgetful, as you shall hear.\n\nLong, long after the sorrows of Halcyone, the first Kingfisher, were\nended, came the great storm which lasted forty days and forty nights,\ncausing the worst flood which the world has ever known. That was a\nterrible time. When Father Noah hastened to build his ark, inviting the\nanimals and birds to take refuge with him, the Kingfisher herself was\nglad to go aboard. For even she, protected by AEolus from the fury of\nwinds and waters, was not safe while there was no place in all the world\nfor her to rest foot and weary wing. So the Kingfisher fluttered in with\nthe other birds and animals, a strange company! And there they lived\nall together, Noah and his arkful of pets, for many weary days, while\nthe waters raged and the winds howled outside, and all the earth was\ncovered fathoms deep out of sight below the waves.\n\nBut after long weeks the storm ceased, and Father Noah opened the little\nwindow in the ark and sent forth the Dove to see whether or not there\nwas land visible on which the ark might find rest. Now after he had sent\nout the Dove, Noah looked about him at the other birds and animals which\ncrowded around him eagerly, for they were growing very restless from\ntheir long confinement, and he said, \"Which of you is bravest, and will\ndare follow our friend the Dove out into the watery world? Ah, here is\nthe Kingfisher. Little mother, you at least, reared among the winds and\nwaters, will not be afraid. Take wing, O Kingfisher, and see if the\nearth be visible. Then return quickly and bring me faithful word of what\nyou find out yonder.\"\n\nDay was just beginning to dawn when the Kingfisher, who was then as gray\nas gray, flew out from the little window of the ark whence the Dove had\npreceded her. But hardly had she left the safe shelter of Father Noah's\nfloating home, when there came a tremendous whirlwind which blew her\nabout and buffeted her until she was almost beaten into the waves,\nwhich rolled endlessly over the face of the whole earth, covering the\nhigh hills and the very mountains. The Kingfisher was greatly\nfrightened. She could not go back into the ark, for the little window\nwas closed, and there was no land anywhere on which she could take\nrefuge. Just think for a moment what a dreadful situation it was! There\nwas nothing for her to do but to fly up, straight up, out of reach from\nthe tossing waves and dashing spray.\n\nThe Kingfisher was fresh and vigorous, and her wings were strong and\npowerful, for she had been resting long days in the quiet ark, eating\nthe provisions which Father Noah had thoughtfully prepared for his many\nguests. So up, up she soared, above the very clouds, on into the blue\nether which lies beyond. And lo! as she did so, her sober gray dress\nbecame a brilliant blue, the color caught from the azure of those clear\nheights. Higher and higher she flew, feeling so free and happy after her\nlong captivity, that she quite forgot Father Noah and the errand upon\nwhich she had been sent. Up and up she went, higher than the sun, until\nat last she saw him rising far beneath her, a beautiful ball of fire,\nmore dazzling, more wonderful than she had ever guessed.\n\n\"Hola!\" she cried, beside herself with joy at the sight. \"There is the\ndear sun, whom I have not seen for many days. And how near, how\nbeautiful he is! I will fly closer still, now that I have come so near.\nI will observe him in all his splendor, as no other bird, not even the\nhigh-flying, sharp-eyed Eagle, has ever seen him.\"\n\nAnd with that the foolish Kingfisher turned her course downward, with\nsuch mad, headlong speed that she had scarcely time to feel what\nterrible, increasing heat shot from the sun's rays, until she was so\nclose upon him that it was too late to escape. Oh, but that was a\ndreadful moment! The feathers on her poor little breast were scorched\nand set afire, and she seemed in danger not only of spoiling her\nbeautiful new blue dress but of being burned into a wretched little\ncinder. Horribly frightened at her danger, the Kingfisher turned once\nmore, but this time toward the rolling waters which covered the earth.\nDown, down she swooped, until with the hiss of burning feathers she\nsplashed into the cold wetness, putting out the fire which threatened to\nconsume her. Once, twice, thrice, she dipped into the grateful coolness,\nflirting the drops from her blue plumage, now alas! sadly scorched.\n\nWhen the pain of her burns was somewhat relieved she had time to think\nwhat next she should do. She longed for rest, for refuge, for Father\nNoah's gentle, caressing hand to which she had grown accustomed during\nthose stormy weeks of companionship in the ark. But where was Father\nNoah? Where was the ark? On all the rolling sea of water there was no\nmovement of life, no sign of any human presence. Then the Kingfisher\nremembered her errand, and how carelessly she had performed it. She had\nbeen bidden to return quickly; but she had wasted many hours--she could\nnot tell how many--in her forgetful flight. And now she was to be\npunished indeed, if she could not find her master and the ark of refuge.\n\nThe poor Kingfisher looked wildly about. She fluttered here and there,\nbackward and forward, over the weary stretch of waves, crying piteously\nfor her master. He did not answer; there was no ark to be found. The sun\nset and the night came on, but still she sought eagerly from east to\nwest, from north to south, always in vain. She could never find what she\nhad so carelessly lost.\n\nThe truth is that during her absence the Dove, who had done her errand\nfaithfully, returned at last with the olive leaf which told of one spot\nupon the earth's surface at last uncovered by the waves. Then the ark,\nblown hither and thither by the same storm which had driven the\nKingfisher to fly upward into the ether-blue, had drifted far and far\nto Mount Ararat, where it ran aground. And Father Noah, disembarking\nwith his family and all the assembled animals, had broken up the ark,\nintending there to build him a house out of the materials from which it\nwas made. But this was many, many leagues from the place where the poor\nKingfisher, lonely and frightened, hovered about, crying piteously for\nher master.\n\nAnd even when the waters dried away, uncovering the earth in many\nplaces, so that the Kingfisher could alight and build herself a nest,\nshe was never happy nor content, but to this day flies up and down the\nwater-ways of the world piping sadly, looking eagerly for her dear\nmaster and for some traces of the ark which sheltered her. And the\nreflection which she makes in the water below shows an azure-blue body,\nlike a reflection of the sky above, with some of the breast-feathers\nscorched to a rusty red. And now you know how it all came about.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WREN WHO BROUGHT FIRE\n\n\nCenturies and centuries ago, when men were first made, there was no such\nthing as fire known in all the world. Folk had no fire with which to\ncook their food, and so they were obliged to eat it raw; which was very\nunpleasant, as you may imagine! There were no cheery fireplaces about\nwhich to sit and tell stories, or make candy or pop corn. There was no\nlight in the darkness at night except the sun and moon and stars. There\nwere not even candles in those days, to say nothing of gas lamps or\nelectric lights. It is strange to think of such a world where even the\ngrown folks, like the children and the birds, had to go to bed at dusk,\nbecause there was nothing else to do.\n\nBut the little birds, who lived nearer heaven than men, knew of the fire\nin the sun, and knew also what a fine thing it would be for the tribes\nwithout feathers if they could have some of the magic element.\n\nOne day the birds held a solemn meeting, when it was decided that men\nmust have fire. Then some one must fly up to the sun and bring a\nfirebrand thence. Who would undertake this dangerous errand? Already by\nsad experience the Kingfisher had felt the force of the sun's heat,\nwhile the Eagle and the Wren, in the famous flight which they had taken\ntogether, had learned the same thing. The assembly of birds looked at\none another, and there was a silence.\n\n\"I dare not go,\" said the Kingfisher, trembling at the idea; \"I have\nbeen up there once, and the warning I received was enough to last me for\nsome time.\"\n\n\"I cannot go,\" said the Peacock, \"for my plumage is too precious to\nrisk.\"\n\n\"I ought not to go,\" said the Lark, \"for the heat might injure my pretty\nvoice.\"\n\n\"I must not go,\" said the Stork, \"for I have promised to bring a baby to\nthe King's palace this evening.\"\n\n\"I cannot go,\" said the Dove, \"for I have a nestful of little ones who\ndepend upon me for food.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" said the Sparrow, \"for I am afraid.\" \"Nor I!\" \"Nor I!\" \"Nor I!\"\nechoed the other birds.\n\n\"I _will_ not go,\" croaked the Owl, \"for I simply do not wish to.\"\n\nThen up spoke the little Wren, who had been keeping in the background\nof late, because he was despised for his attempt to deceive the birds\ninto electing him their king.\n\n\"I will go,\" said the Wren. \"I will go and bring fire to men. I am of\nlittle use here. No one loves me. Every one despises me because of the\ntrick which I played the Eagle, our King. No one will care if I am\ninjured in the attempt. I will go and try.\"\n\n\"Bravely spoken, little friend,\" said the Eagle kindly. \"I myself would\ngo but that I am the King, and kings must not risk the lives upon which\nhangs the welfare of their people. Go you, little Wren, and if you are\nsuccessful you will win back the respect of your brothers which you have\nforfeited.\"\n\nThe brave little bird set out upon his errand without further words. And\nweak and delicate though he was, he flew and he flew up and up so\nsturdily that at last he reached the sun, whence he plucked a firebrand\nand bore it swiftly in his beak back toward the earth. Like a falling\nstar the bright speck flashed through the air, drawing ever nearer and\nnearer to the cool waters of Birdland and the safety which awaited him\nthere. The other birds gathered in a flock about their king and\nanxiously watched the Wren's approach.\n\nSuddenly the Robin cried out, \"Alas! He burns! He has caught fire!\" And\noff darted the faithful little friend to help the Wren. Sure enough, a\nspark from the blazing brand had fallen upon the plumage of the Wren,\nand his poor little wings were burning as he fluttered piteously down,\nstill holding the fire in his beak.\n\nThe Robin flew up to him and said, \"Well done, brother! You have\nsucceeded. Now give me the fire and I will relieve you while you drop\ninto the lake below us to quench the flame which threatens your life.\"\n\nSo the Robin in his turn seized the firebrand in his beak and started\ndown with it. But, like the Wren, he too was soon fluttering in the\nblaze of his own burning plumage, a little living firework, falling\ntoward the earth.\n\nThen up came the Lark, who had been watching the two unselfish birds.\n\"Give me the brand, brother Robin,\" she cried, \"for your pretty feathers\nare all ablaze and your life is in danger.\"\n\nSo it was the Lark who finally brought the fire safely to the earth and\ngave it to mankind. But the Robin and the Wren, when they had put out\nthe flame which burned their feathers, appeared in the assembly of the\nbirds, and were greeted with great applause as the heroes of the day.\nThe Robin's breast was scorched a brilliant red, but the poor, brave\nlittle Wren was wholly bare of plumage. All his pretty feathers had been\nburned away, and he stood before them shivering and piteous.\n\n\"Bravo! little Wren,\" cried King Eagle. \"A noble deed you have done this\nday, and nobly have you won back the respect of your brother birds and\nearned the everlasting gratitude of men. Now what shall we do to help\nyou in your sorry plight?\" After a moment's thought he turned to the\nother birds and said, \"Who will give a feather to help patch a covering\nfor our brave friend?\"\n\n\"I!\" and \"I!\" and \"I!\" and \"I!\" chorused the generous birds. And in turn\neach came forward with a plume or a bit of down from his breast. The\nRobin first, who had shared his peril, brought a feather sadly scorched,\nbut precious; the Lark next, who had helped in the time of need. The\nEagle bestowed a kingly feather, the Thrush, the Nightingale,--every\nbird contributed except the Owl.\n\nBut the selfish Owl said, \"I see no reason why I should give a feather.\nHoot! No! The Wren brought me into trouble once, and I will not help him\nnow. Let him go bare, for all my aid.\"\n\n\"Shame! Shame!\" cried the birds indignantly. \"Old Master Owl, you ought\nto be ashamed. But if you are so selfish we will not have you in our\nsociety. Go back to your hollow tree!\"\n\n\"Yes, go back to your hollow tree,\" cried the Eagle sternly; \"and when\nwinter comes may you shiver with cold as you would have left the brave\nlittle Wren to shiver this day. You shall ruffle your feathers as much\nas you like, but you will always feel cold at heart, because your heart\nis selfish.\"\n\nAnd indeed, since that day for all his feathers the Owl has never been\nable to keep warm enough in his lonely hollow tree.\n\nBut the Wren became one of the happiest of all the birds, and a favorite\nboth with his feathered brothers and with men, because of his brave\ndeed, and because of the great fire-gift which he had brought from the\nsun.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE BLUEBIRD CROSSED\n\n\nOf course every one knows that the Bluebird was made from a piece of the\nazure sky itself. One has only to match his wonderful color against the\nApril heaven to be sure of that. Therefore the little Bluebird was\nespecially dear to the Spirit of the sky, the Father in Heaven.\n\nOne day this venturesome little bird started out upon a long journey\nacross the wide Pacific Ocean toward this New World which neither\nColumbus nor any other man had yet discovered. Under him tossed the\nwide, wide sea, rolling for miles in every direction, with no land\nvisible anywhere on which a little bird might rest his foot. For this\nwas also before there were any islands in all that stretch of waters.\nSoon the poor little Bluebird became very weary and wished he had not\nventured upon so long a flight. His wings began to droop and he sank\nlower and lower toward the sea which seemed eager to overwhelm his\nblueness with its own. He had come so far over the salty wastes that he\nwas very thirsty; but with water, water everywhere there was not a drop\nto drink. The poor little bird glanced despairingly up toward the blue\nsky from which he had been made and cried,--\n\n\"O Spirit of the blue sky, O my Father in Heaven, help your child the\nBluebird! Give me, I pray you, a place to rest and refreshment for my\nthirsty throat, or I perish in the cruel blue waters!\"\n\nAt these sorrowful words the kind Father took pity upon his little\nBluebird. And what do you think? He made a baby earthquake which heaved\na rocky point of land up through the waves, just big enough for a little\nbird's perch. It was a tiny reef, and a crack in the rock held but a few\ndrops of the rain which began to fall; but it meant at least a moment's\nsafety and draught of life for the weary bird, and glad enough he was to\nreach it.\n\nHe had not been there long, however, when a big wave almost washed him\naway. He was not yet safe. Still he lacked the rest and refreshment\nwhich he so sorely needed. For the raindrops were soon turned brackish\nby the waves which dashed upon the reef from all sides, and the Bluebird\nhad to keep hopping up and down to avoid being drowned in the tossing\nspray. He was more tired than ever, and this continuous exercise made\nhim even more thirsty. Once more he prayed to the Father for help. And\nonce more the kind Spirit of the Sky heard him from the blueness.\n\nThis time there was a terrible earthquake, until the sea boiled and\nrolled into huge waves as if churned by a mighty churn at the very\nbottom of things, and with a terrified scream the Bluebird flew high\ninto the air.\n\nBut when the noise and the rumbling died away and once more the sea lay\ncalm and still, what do you think the Bluebird saw? The great ocean\nwhich had once stretched an unbroken sheet of blue as far as the eye\ncould see was now dotted here and there by islands, big islands and\nlittle islands, groups and archipelagoes of them, just as on the map one\nsees them to-day peppering the Pacific Ocean. Samoa came up, and Tonga,\nand Tulima, and many others with names quite as bad, if not worse. From\none island to another the Bluebird flew, finding rest and refreshment on\neach, until he reached the mainland in safety. And there the islands\nremain to this day for other travelers to visit, breaking their journey\nfrom west to east or from east to west. There are forests and cascades,\nsprings of fresh and pleasant water, delicious fruits, wonderful birds\nand animals, and finally a race of strange, dark men. (But they came\nlong, long after.)\n\nSo the Bluebird crossed the Pacific, folk tell. Was it not wonderful how\nthe kind Father came to scatter those many islands in the Pacific\nOcean,--stepping-stones for a tiny little Bluebird so that he need not\nwet his feet in crossing that wide salty river?\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEACOCK'S COUSIN\n\n\nLong, long ago in the days of wise King Solomon, the Crow and the\nPheasant were the best of friends, and were always seen going about\ntogether, wing in wing. Now the Pheasant was the Peacock's own\ncousin,--a great honor, many thought, for the Peacock was the most\ngorgeous of all the birds. But it was not altogether pleasant for the\nPheasant, because at that time he wore such plain and shabby old\ngarments that his proud relative was ashamed of him, and did not like to\nbe reminded that they were of the same family. When the Peacock went\nstrutting about with his wonderful tail spread fan-wise, and with his\nvain little eyes peering to see who might be admiring his beauty, the\nPeacock's cousin and his friend the Crow, who was then a plain _white_\nbird, would slink aside and hide behind a tree, whence they would peep\nenviously until the Peacock had passed by. Then the Peacock's cousin\nwould say,--\n\n\"Oh, how beautiful, how grand, how noble he is! How came such a lordly\nbird to have for a cousin so homely a creature as I?\"\n\nBut the Crow would answer, trying to comfort his friend, \"Yes, he is\ngorgeous. But listen, what a harsh and disagreeable voice he has! And\nsee how vain he is. I would not be so vain had I so scandalous a tale in\nmy family history.\"\n\nThen the Crow told the Peacock's cousin how his proud relative came to\nhave so unmusical a voice.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Adam and Eve were living peacefully in their fair garden, while\nSatan was still seeking in vain a way to enter there, the Peacock was\nthe most beautiful of all the companions who surrounded the happy pair.\nHis plumage shone like pearl and emerald, and his voice was so melodious\nthat he was selected to sing the Lord's praises every day in the streets\nof heaven. But he was then, as now, very, very vain; and Satan, prowling\nabout outside the wall of Paradise, saw this.\n\n\"Aha!\" he said to himself, \"here is the vainest creature in all the\nworld. He is the one I must flatter in order to win entrance to the\ngarden, where I am to work my mischief. Let me approach the Peacock.\"\n\nSatan stole softly to the gate and in a wheedling voice called to the\nPeacock,--\n\n\"O most wonderful and beautiful bird! Are you one of the birds of\nParadise?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am one of the dwellers in the happy garden,\" answered the\nPeacock, strutting. \"But who are you who slink about so secretly, as if\nafraid of some one?\"\n\n\"I am one of the cherubim who are appointed to sing the Lord's praises,\"\nanswered the wicked Satan. \"I have stopped for a moment to visit the\nParadise which He has prepared for the blest, and I find as my first\nglimpse of its glories you, O most lovely bird! Will you conceal me\nunder your rainbow wings and bring me within the walls?\"\n\n\"I dare not,\" answered the Peacock. \"The Lord allows none to enter here.\nHe will be angry and will punish me.\"\n\n\"O charming bird!\" went on Satan with his smooth tongue, \"take me with\nyou, and I will teach you three mysterious words which shall preserve\nyou forever from sickness, age, and death.\"\n\nAt this promise the Peacock was greatly tempted and began to hesitate in\nhis refusals. And at last he said,--\n\n\"I dare not myself let you in, O stranger, but if you keep your promise\nI will send the Serpent, who is wiser than I and who may more easily\nfind some way to let you enter unobserved.\"\n\nSo it was through the Peacock that Satan met the vile Serpent, whose\nshape he assumed in order to enter the garden and tempt Eve with the\napple. And for the Peacock's share in the doings of that dreadful day\nthe Lord took away his beautiful voice and sent him forth from the\npleasant garden to chatter harshly in this workaday world, where his\ngorgeousness and his vanity are but a reminder to men of the shame which\nhe brought upon their ancestors.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And therefore,\" said the Crow, concluding his gossip, \"therefore, dear\nPheasant, I see no reason why we should envy your cousin. We are very\nplain citizens of Birdland, but we are at least respectable. I like you\nmuch better, having nothing to make you vain, nothing of which to be\nashamed.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo the Crow spoke, in the wisdom which he had learned from Solomon. But\nthe Peacock's cousin refused to be comforted. The shabbiness of his coat\npreyed upon his mind, and he fancied that the other birds jeered at him\nbecause in such old clothes he dared to be the Peacock's cousin. It\nseemed to him that every day the Peacock himself grew more haughty and\nmore patronizing.\n\nOne day the Crow and the Peacock's cousin were sauntering through the\nMalay woods when they met the Peacock face to face. The Crow looked\ndefiant and stood jauntily; but the Pheasant tried to shrink out of\nsight. The Peacock, however, had spied his poor relative, and was filled\nwith cousinly resentment at his appearance.\n\nHe stopped short. He stood upon one leg. He puffed and ruffled himself,\nspreading out his thousand-eyed tail so that its colors flashed\nwonderfully in the sunshine. He frilled his neck feathers and snapped\nhis mean little eyes maliciously; then turning his back on the shabby\ncouple said, as he stepped airily away,--\n\n\"Ah, I have dropped some of my old feathers back there a little way. You\ncan have them if you like, Pheasant. They will freshen you up a bit; you\nreally are looking shockingly seedy. But for mercy's sake don't wear\nthem in my presence! I can't bear to see any one parading in my cast-off\nelegance.\" Then the Peacock minced away.\n\nThe Peacock's cousin stamped on the ground and flapped his wings with\nrage. If he had been a girl he would have burst into tears. \"I cannot\nstand this,\" he cried. \"To be treated as if I were a beggar! To be given\nold clothes to wear! Crow, Crow, if you were any kind of friend you\nwould help me. But you stand staring there and see me insulted, without\nturning a feather! What is the use of all your wisdom that you learned\nfrom King Solomon if you cannot help a friend in need? I tell you, I\nmust have some better garments, or I shall die of mortification.\"\n\n\"Don't be excited,\" said the Crow soothingly. \"I have been thinking the\nmatter over, and I believe I can do something. Listen. Yesterday I found\nbrushes and a box of colors in a room of the King's palace. They\nbelonged to the Court Painter. Now they belong to me, for I have hidden\nthem away in a hollow tree where no one else can find them. I thought\nthey might be useful, and I think so still.\"\n\n\"Well, well! What do you propose to do with paints and brushes?\" cried\nthe Peacock's cousin impatiently.\n\n\"I propose to paint you, to varnish you, to gild you,\" patiently\nanswered the Crow.\n\n\"Oh, you dear Crow!\" exclaimed the other, clapping his wings. \"You will\nmake me brilliant and beautiful! You will make me worthy of the\nPeacock, will you not? How clever of you to think of such a thing!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the Crow; \"I watched the Court Painter at work in the\ngarden one day, and I know how it is done. I will make you as gorgeous\nas you wish. But you must return the compliment. If you are to be an\nornament of fashion, so must I be; for are we not inseparable cronies?\nAnd when you become beautiful it would not do for you to be seen with\nsuch a dowdy as I am.\"\n\n\"You dear creature!\" said the Peacock's cousin affectionately; \"of\ncourse we will share alike. I will paint you as soon as I see how you\nsucceed with me. Ah, I know your skill in everything. You will be a fine\nartist, my friend! But come, let us get to work at once.\"\n\nSo the flattered Crow led him to the hollow tree where he had concealed\nthe brushes and the gilding and the India ink, and all the gorgeous\nchangeable tints which an Eastern artist uses in his paintings. \"Here we\nare,\" said the Crow. \"Now let us see what we shall see, when Master Crow\nturns painter.\"\n\nThe Crow set to work with a will, splashing on the colors generously,\ngold and green and bronze iridescence. He had the Peacock in mind, and\nthough he did not exactly copy the plumage of that wonderful bird, he\nmanaged to suggest the cousinship of the Pheasant in the golden eyes of\nhis long and beautiful tail. When he had finished, the Crow was\ndelighted with his work.\n\n\"Ah!\" he cried. \"Now bend over this fountain, my dear friend, and\nobserve yourself. I think you do credit to my skill as an artist, eh?\"\n\nThe Peacock's cousin hurried down to the water-pool, all in a flutter of\nexcitement. And when he saw his image he cried, \"How beautiful, how\ntruly beautiful, I am! Why, I am quite as handsome as Peacock himself.\nSurely, now he need not be ashamed to call me cousin. I shall move in\nthe most fashionable circles. Heavens! Look at my lovely tail! Look at\nmy burnished feathers! I must go immediately and show my new dress to\nCousin Peacock. I should not be surprised if he became jealous of my\ngorgeousness.\" And off he started as fast as he could go.\n\n\"Hold on!\" cried the Crow. \"Don't run away so quickly. You have\nforgotten something. Don't you remember that you promised to paint me\nbeautiful like yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh, bother!\" answered the ungrateful friend, tossing his head. \"I have\nno time now for such business. I must hasten to my cousin, for this is a\nmatter of family pride. Run along like a good creature; and by the way,\nyou may as well gather the feathers which Peacock mentioned. I am sure\nthey will make you look quite respectable. Besides, I will give you some\nof mine when I have worn them a little. Ta-ta!\" And he stepped airily\naway.\n\nBut the Crow strode after him, shaking his wings and crying, \"Come back,\ncome back and perform your part of the bargain, you selfish, ungrateful\ncreature!\" And he caught the Pheasant by one of his long tail-feathers.\n\n\"Let go my train, impertinent wretch!\" shrieked the Peacock's cousin,\nturning upon him fiercely. \"I tell you I have no time to spend in such\nnonsense. I must be presenting myself in high society.\"\n\n\"Villain!\" croaked the Crow, and he rushed forward fiercely, intending\nto tear out the beautiful feathers which he had painted for his\nungrateful friend. Thereupon the Pheasant exclaimed,--\n\n\"You want to be painted, do you? Well, take _that_!\" and, seizing the\nbottle of India ink which was in the Eastern artist's paint-box, he\nhurled it at the poor Crow, deluging with blackness his spotless\nfeathers. Then laughing harshly, away he flew to his cousin the Peacock,\nwho received him with proud affection, because they were now really\nbirds of a feather. For the Peacock's cousin was become one of the most\nbeautiful birds in the world.\n\nBut the poor Crow was now a sombre, black bird, wearing the\nseedy-looking, inky coat which we know so well to-day. His heart was\nbroken by his friend's faithlessness, and he became a sour cynic who can\nsee no good in anything. He flies about crying \"Caw! Caw!\" in the most\ndisagreeable, sarcastic tone, as if sneering at the mean action of that\nMalay bird, which he can never forget.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MASQUERADING CROW\n\n\nThe Crow became very sour and disagreeable after his friend the\nPeacock's cousin deserted him for more gorgeous company. Though he\npretended not to care because the Pheasant was now a proud,\nbeautifully-coated dandy, while he was the shabbiest of all the birds in\nhis coat of rusty black, yet in truth he did care very much. He could\nnot forget how the Peacock's cousin had dyed him this sombre hue, after\npromising to paint him bright and wonderful, like himself. He could not\nhelp thinking how fine he would have looked in similar plumage of a\nrainbow tint, or how becoming a long swallow-tail would be to his style\nof beauty. He wished that there was a tailor in Birdland to whom he\ncould go for a new suit of clothes. But alas! There seemed no way but\nfor him to remain ugly old Crow to the end of the chapter.\n\nThe Crow went moping about most unhappily while this was preying on his\nmind, until he really became somewhat crazy upon the subject. The only\nthing about which he could think was clothes--clothes--clothes; and\nthat is indeed a foolish matter to absorb one's mind. One word of the\nPeacock's cousin remained in his memory and refused to be forgotten. He\nhad advised the Crow to gather up the feathers which had fallen from the\nPeacock's plumage and to make himself fine with them. First the Crow\nremembered these words sadly, because they showed the unkind heart of\nhis old friend. Next he remembered them with scorn, because they showed\nvanity. Then he remembered them with interest because they gave him an\nidea. And that idea gradually grew bigger and bigger until it became a\nplan.\n\nThe plan came to him completely one day while he was sitting moodily on\na tree watching the Peacock and his cousin sweeping proudly over the\nvelvet lawn of the King's garden. For nowadays the Pheasant moved in the\nmost courtly circles, as he had promised himself. As they passed under\nthe Crow two beautiful feathers fell behind them and lay on the grass\nshining in the sunlight with a hundred colors.\n\n\"Once more the cast-off plumage of the Peacock family is left for me!\"\ncroaked the Crow to himself. \"Am I only to be made beautiful by\nborrowing from others? Perhaps I might collect feathers enough from all\nthe birds to conceal my inky coat. Aha! I have it.\" And this was the\nplan of the Crow. He would steal from every dweller in Birdland a\nfeather, and see whether he could not make himself more beautiful than\nthe Peacock's cousin himself.\n\nNow the Crow was a skilful thief. He could steal the silver off the\nKing's table from under the steward's very nose. He could steal a maid's\nthimble from her finger as she nodded sleepily over her work. He could\nsteal the pen from behind a scribe's ear, as he paused to scratch his\nhead and think over the spelling of a word. So the Crow felt sure that\nhe could steal their feathers from the birds without any trouble.\n\nWhen the Peacock and his cousin had passed by, the Crow swooped down and\ncarried off the two feathers which were to begin his collection. He hid\nthem in his treasure-house in the hollow tree, and started out for more.\n\nIt was great fun for the Crow, and he almost forgot to be miserable. He\nfollowed old lady Ostrich about for some time before he dared tweak a\nhandful of feathers from her tail. But finally he succeeded; and though\nshe squawked horribly and turned, quick as a flash, she was not quick\nenough to catch the nimble thief, who was already hidden under a bush.\nIn the same way he secured some lovely plumes from the Bird of\nParadise, the Parrot, and the Cock. He robbed the Redbreast of his ruddy\nvest, the Hoopoe of his crown, and he secured a swallow-tail which he\nhad long coveted. He took some rosy-redness from the Flamingo, the\ngilding of the Goldfinch, the gray down of an Eider-Duck. He burgled the\nBluebird and the Redbird and the Yellowbird; and not one single\nfeathered creature escaped his clever beak. At last his hole in the tree\nwas brimming with feathers of every color, length, and degree of\nsoftness, a gorgeous feather-bed on which it would dazzle one to sleep.\n\nThen the Crow set to work to make himself a coat of many colors, like\nJoseph's. He was a very clever bird, and a wondrous coat it turned out\nto be. It had no particular cut nor style; it was not like the coat\nwhich any bird had ever before worn. The feathers were placed in any\nfashion that happened to please his original fancy. Some pointed up and\nsome down; some were straight and some were curled; some drooped about\nhis feet and others curved gracefully over his head; some trailed far\nbehind. He was completely covered from top to toe, so that not one blot\nof his own inky feathers showed through the gorgeousness. A red vest he\nwore, and a swallow-tail, of course, and there was a crown of feathers\non his head. Never was there seen a more extraordinary bird nor one more\ngaudy. Perhaps he was not in the best of taste, but at least he was\nstriking.\n\nWhen all was finished the Crow went and looked at himself in the\nfountain mirror; and he was much pleased.\n\n\"Well now!\" he cried. \"How am I for a bird? I believe no one will know\nme, and that is just as well; for now I am so fine that I shall myself\nrefuse to know any one. Ho! This ought to give some ideas to that\nconceited Peacock family! I am a self-made man. I am an artist who knows\nhow to adapt his materials. I am a genius. King Solomon himself will\nwonder at my glory. And as for the Eagle, King of the Birds, he will\ngrow pale with envy. King of the Birds, indeed! It is now I who should\nrightfully be King. No other ever wore clothes so fine as mine. By right\nof them I ought to be King of the Birds. I _will_ be King of the Birds!\"\n\nYou see the poor old Crow was quite crazy with his one idea.\n\nForth he stalked into Birdland to show his gorgeous plumage and to get\nhimself elected King of the Birds. The first persons he met were the\nPeacock and his cousin,--he who was once the Crow's best friend. The\nCrow ruffled himself his prettiest when he saw them coming.\n\n\"Good gracious! Who is that extraordinary fowl?\" drawled the Peacock.\n\"He must be some great noble from a far country.\"\n\n\"How beautiful!\" murmured his silly cousin. \"How odd! How fascinating!\nHow distinguished! I wish the Crow had painted me like that!\" The Crow\nheard these words and swelled with pride, casting a scornful glance at\nhis old friend as he swept by.\n\nNext he met a little Sparrow who was picking bugs from the grass. \"Out\nof my way, Birdling!\" cried the Crow haughtily. \"I am the King.\"\n\n\"The King!\" gasped the Sparrow, nearly choking over a fat bug, he was so\nsurprised. \"I did not know that the King wore such a robe. How\ngorgeous--but how queer!\"\n\nNext the Crow met Mr. Stork, standing gravely on one leg and thinking of\nthe little baby which he was going to bring that night to the cottage by\nthe lake. The Stork looked up in surprise as the wonderful stranger\napproached.\n\n\"Bless me!\" he exclaimed, \"whom have we here? I thought I knew all\nBirdland, but I never before saw such a freak as this!\"\n\n[Illustration: _\"Bless me!\" he exclaimed, \"whom have we here?\"_]\n\n\"I am the King. I am to be the new King,\" announced the Crow. \"Is\nthere any bird more gorgeous than I?\"\n\n\"Truly, I hope not,\" said the Stork gravely. \"Yet the Woodcock is a very\nfoolish bird. One never knows what he will do next. If he should try to\nbe fashionable\"--\n\nBut the Crow had passed on without listening to the Stork's sarcasm.\n\nAs he went through Birdland he drew behind him a following of feathered\ncitizens, chattering, screaming, tittering all together like the crowd\nafter a circus procession. All the birds, big and little, plain and\npretty, flocked to see this wonderful stranger who because of his fine\nclothes was coming to have himself named King. Some of them thought him\ntruly beautiful, some thought him ridiculous; some envied him, some\njeered. But they all stared; and the more they stared the more conceited\nbecame the Crow, the more sure that the kingdom was to be his.\n\nAt last they came into the presence of the Eagle himself. That royal\nbird was perched upon his eyrie far up on the cliff. Below him gathered\nthe dense flock of birds, waiting to see what would happen when the Crow\ndemanded to be made King in the Eagle's place. The Eagle had been warned\nof the matter by the little Humming-Bird, and was looking very majestic\nand scornful. But the Swallow flew round and round in great circles,\ntwittering excitedly, and in each circle sweeping nearer and nearer to\nthe ground. The Swallow was angry because some one had stolen his\nbeautiful swallow-tail.\n\nPresently the Crow swaggered forth, and cocking his impertinent eye\ntowards the Eagle he croaked,--\n\n\"Hello there, Old High-perch! Give me your crown and sceptre, for I am\nKing of the Birds, not you. Look at my gorgeous clothes; look at your\nown dull plumage. Am I not kingly?--look at me.\"\n\nThe King made no reply, merely gazing sternly at the Crow. But the\nSwallow took up the word.\n\n\"Look at him, look at him indeed, O King!\" he screamed. \"There is\nsomething strange about his kingly plumage. That swallow-tail is mine, I\nknow it!\" And with a vicious tweak the Swallow pulled out the long\nforked feathers of which the Crow was especially proud. Oh, what a\nshriek of rage the mad old bird gave! At that moment the Hoopoe came up\nand said, \"Ha! Methinks I too recognize my property. This is my crown,\"\nand forthwith he snatched the plumes from the Crow's forehead, leaving\nit quite ugly and bare. Next the gentle Redbreast claimed his vest, and\nthe Bluebird her azure feathers, and the Ostrich her train which she had\nsorely missed. Each of the birds in turn came up and with much\nchattering and scolding twitched away the property of which he or she\nhad been robbed, until the Crow stood before them in his customary suit\nof solemn black, a bird ashamed and sore. For they had pecked him with\ntheir bills and beaten him with their wings and scratched him with their\nclaws until even his own plain old coat was frayed and rent.\n\n\"Oh ho, oh ho! It is only old Daddy Crow, after all!\" screamed the birds\nin chorus. And then, because the Eagle burst out laughing, they saw that\nit was really funny. Since the King did not mind being robbed for a time\nof his title, surely they need not mourn over the few feathers which the\nthief had borrowed, especially since each now had his own. Chattering\nwith glee they all flew home to their various nests, leaving the Crow\nalone with his shame and soreness.\n\nJust at this moment the Peacock and his cousin came hurrying up out of\nbreath.\n\n\"Oh, what is it? What is the matter? What was all that noise just now?\"\nasked the Peacock.\n\n\"Oh, what has become of the beautiful, noble, splendid, remarkable,\ngraceful, gorgeous, stylish, long-tailed, kingly stranger?\" questioned\nthe Peacock's cousin, speaking affably to the Crow, for the first time\nsince his adoption into high society.\n\nThe Crow looked at him sideways, and all his madness went away as he saw\nhow very, very silly this creature was.\n\n\"He was a fool in fools' feathers,\" he croaked. \"He is no more. But\nbefore the end he bade me return these to you, saying, 'Fine feathers do\nnot make fine birds.'\" Speaking thus, he presented to the pair their two\nlong feathers with which he had started his collection and which were\nthe only ones now remaining to the masquerading Crow.\n\nThen with a harsh _Caw_! he flew away to his tree. He is not a happy\nbird, but since that time he has never been so mad as to think that\nclothes are the chief thing in the world.\n\n\n\n\nKING SOLOMON AND THE BIRDS\n\n\nKing Solomon was wiser than all men, and his fame was in all nations\nround about Jerusalem. He was so wise that he knew every spoken\nlanguage; yes, but more than this, he could talk with everything that\nlived, trees and flowers, beasts and fowls, creeping things and fishes.\nWhat a very pleasant thing that was for Solomon, to be sure! And how\nglad one would be nowadays to have such knowledge!\n\nSolomon was especially fond of birds, and loved to talk with them\nbecause their voices were so sweet and they spoke such beautiful words.\nOne day the wise King was chatting pleasantly with the birds who lived\nin his wonderful garden, and these are some of the things which he heard\nthem say. The Nightingale, the sweetest singer of all, chanted,--\n\n\"Contentment is the greatest happiness.\"\n\n\"It would be better for most people never to have been born,\" crooned\nthe melancholy Turtle-Dove.\n\nThe happy little Swallow gave her opinion,--\"Do good and you will be\nrewarded hereafter.\"\n\nThe harsh cry of the Peacock meant, \"As thou judgest so shalt thou be\njudged.\"\n\nThe Hoopoe said, \"He who has no pity for others will find none for\nhimself.\"\n\nThe cynical old Crow croaked disagreeably, \"The further away from men I\nam, the better I am pleased.\"\n\nLast of all the Cock who sings in the morning chanted his joyous\nsong,--\"Think of your Creator, O foolish creatures!\"\n\nWhen they had finished talking King Solomon softly stroked the head of\nthe pretty little Dove and bade her cheer up, for life was not so\ndreadful a thing, after all. And he gave her permission to build her\nnest under the walls of the great Temple which he was building, the most\nbeautiful, golden house in the whole world. Some years afterward the\nDoves had so increased in numbers that with their extended wings they\nformed a veil over the numberless pilgrims who came to Jerusalem to\nvisit the wonderful Temple.\n\nBut of all the winged singers who spoke that day in the garden, the wise\nKing chose to have ever near him the Cock, because he had spoken words\nof piety, and the nimble Hoopoe, because he was able to plunge his\nclear gaze into the depths of the earth as if it were made of\ntransparent glass and discover the places where springs of living water\nwere hidden under the soil. It was very convenient for Solomon, when he\nwas traveling, to have some one with him who was able to find water in\nwhatsoever place he might be resting.\n\nThus the Cock and the Hoopoe became Solomon's closest companions; but of\nthe two the Hoopoe was his favorite. The Hoopoe is an Eastern bird and\nwe do not see him in America. He is about as big as a Jay, colored a\nbeautiful reddish gray, with feathers of purple, brown, and white, and\nhis black wings are banded with white. But the peculiar thing about a\nHoopoe is his crown of tawny feathers, a tall crown for so small a bird.\nAnd this is the story of the Hoopoe's crown.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne day when Solomon was journeying across the desert, he was sorely\ndistressed by the heat of the sun, until he came near to fainting. Just\nthen he spied a flock of his friends the Hoopoes flying past, and\ncalling to them feebly he begged them to shelter him from the burning\nrays.\n\nThe King of the Hoopoes gathered together his whole nation and caused\nthem to fly in a thick cloud over the head of Solomon while he\ncontinued his journey. In gratitude the wise King offered to give his\nfeathered friends whatever reward they might ask.\n\nFor a whole day the Hoopoes talked the matter over among themselves,\nthen their King came to Solomon and said to him,--\n\n\"We have considered your offer, O generous King, and we have decided\nthat what we most desire is to have, each of us, a golden crown on his\nhead.\"\n\nKing Solomon smiled and answered, \"Crowns of gold shall you have. But\nyou are foolish birds, my Hoopoes; and when the evil days shall come\nupon you and you see the folly of your desire, return here to me and I\nwill help you yet again.\"\n\nSo the King of the Hoopoes left King Solomon with a beautiful golden\ncrown upon his head. And soon all the Hoopoes were wearing golden\ncrowns. Thereupon they grew very proud and haughty. They went down by\nthe lakes and pools and strutted there that they might admire themselves\nin the water mirrors. And the Queen of the Hoopoes became very airy, and\nrefused to speak to her own cousin and to the other birds who had once\nbeen her friends.\n\nThere was a certain fowler who used to set traps for birds. He put a\npiece of broken mirror into his trap, and a Hoopoe spying it went in to\nadmire herself, and was caught. The fowler looked at the shining crown\nupon her head and said, \"What have we here! I never saw a crown like\nthis upon any bird. I must ask about this.\"\n\nSo he took the crown to Issachar, the worker in metal, and asked him\nwhat it was. Issachar examined it carefully, and his eyes stuck out of\nhis head. But he said carelessly, \"It is a crown of brass, my friend. I\nwill give you a quarter of a shekel for it; and if you find any more\nbring them to me. But be sure to tell no other man of the matter.\" (A\nshekel was about sixty-two cents.)\n\nAfter this the fowler caught many Hoopoes in the same way, and sold\ntheir crowns to Issachar. But one day as he was on his way to the\nmetalworker's shop he met a jeweler, and to him he showed one of the\nHoopoes' crowns.\n\n\"What is this, and where did you find it?\" exclaimed the jeweler. \"It is\npure gold. I will give you a golden talent for every four you bring me.\"\n(A talent was worth three hundred shekels.)\n\nNow when the value of the Hoopoes' crowns was known, every one turned\nfowler and began to hunt the precious birds. In all the land of Israel\nwas heard the twang of bows and the whirling of slings. Bird lime was\nmade in every town, and the price of traps rose in the market so that\nthe trap-makers became rich men. Not a Hoopoe could show his unlucky\nhead without being slain or taken captive, and the days of the Hoopoes\nwere numbered. It seemed that soon there would be no more Hoopoes left\nto bewail their sad fate.\n\nAt last the few who still lived gathered together and held a meeting to\nconsider what should be done, for their minds were filled with sorrow\nand dismay. And they decided to appeal once more to King Solomon, who\nhad granted their foolish prayer.\n\nFlying by stealth through the loneliest ways, the unhappy King of the\nHoopoes came at last to the court of the King, and stood once more\nbefore the steps of his golden throne. With tears and groans he related\nthe sad fortune which had befallen his golden-crowned race.\n\nKing Solomon looked kindly upon the King of the Hoopoes and said,\n\"Behold, did I not warn you of your folly in desiring to have crowns of\ngold? Vanity and pride have been your ruin. But now, that there may be a\nmemorial of the service which once you did me, your crowns of gold shall\nbe changed into crowns of feathers, and with them you may walk unharmed\nupon the earth.\"\n\nIn this way the remaining Hoopoes were saved. For when the fowlers saw\nthat they no longer wore crowns of gold upon their heads, they ceased to\nhunt them as they had been doing. And from that time forth the family of\nthe Hoopoes have flourished and increased in peace, even to the present\nday.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSolomon was ever seeking to grow even wiser. The better to know the\nwonders of God's world and the ways of all creatures, he undertook many\njourneys,--not as we ordinary poor mortals travel, in heavy wagons or\nclumsy boats, by dusty roads or stormy waves. It was in no such\ntroublous ways that Solomon the all-powerful traversed space and reached\nthe uttermost corners of the earth. Thanks to his great knowledge, he\nhad discovered a means of locomotion compared to which the most\nmagnificent railway coaches and the richest palanquins of Indian princes\nwould seem poor indeed. He had caused his Genii to make a silken carpet\nof four leagues in extent. In the midst of this carpet was placed a\nmagnificent throne for the royal traveler himself; and around it were\nseats of gold, of silver, of wood, for the multitude of persons of\ndifferent rank whom he took with him. There was also no lack of the most\ngorgeous furniture and the necessary provisions for a king's traveling\nbanquet.\n\nWhen all was ready Solomon was wont to seat himself upon his throne, and\nwould command the winds to do their duty. Immediately they gently lifted\nthe carpet and bore it rapidly through the air to the appointed spot.\nDuring the journey, above the aerial caravan fluttered a cloud of birds,\nwho with their wings formed a splendid canopy to shield their beloved\nlord from the sun's heat, as the Hoopoes had first done.\n\nOne day, while on such a journey, Solomon was shocked to feel a ray of\nsunlight piercing through this plumy dais which overhung his head.\nShading his eyes, the King glanced up and perceived that there was an\nopening in the canopy. One bird was missing from its post. In great\ndispleasure Solomon demanded of the Eagle the name of the truant.\nAnxiously the Eagle called the roll of all the birds in his company; and\nhe was horrified to find that it was Solomon's favorite, the Hoopoe, who\nwas missing. With terror he announced the bird's desertion to the most\nwise King.\n\n\"Soar aloft,\" commanded Solomon sternly, \"and find the Hoopoe that I may\npunish him. I will pluck off his feathers that he may feel the\nscorching heat of the sun as his carelessness has caused me to do.\"\n\nThe Eagle soared heavenward, until the earth beneath him looked like a\nbowl turned upside down. Then he poised on level wings and looked around\nin every direction to discover the truant. Soon he espied the Hoopoe\nflying swiftly from the south. The Eagle swooped down and would have\nseized the culprit roughly in his strong talons, but the Hoopoe begged\nhim for Solomon's sake to be gentle.\n\n\"For Solomon's sake!\" cried the Eagle. \"Do you dare to name the King\nwhom you have injured? He has discovered your absence and in his\nrighteous anger will punish you severely.\"\n\n\"Lead me to him,\" replied the Hoopoe. \"I know that he will forgive me\nwhen he hears where I have been and what I have to tell him.\"\n\nThe Eagle led him to the King, who with a wrathful face was sitting on\nhis throne. The Hoopoe trembled and drooped his feathers humbly, but\nwhen Solomon would have crushed him in his mighty fist the bird cried,--\n\n\"Remember, King, that one day you also must give an account of your\nsins. Let me not therefore be condemned unheard.\"\n\n\"And if I hear you, what excuse can you have to offer?\" answered\nSolomon, frowning. But this was his favorite bird and he hoped that\nthere might be some reason for sparing him.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Hoopoe, \"at Mecca I met a Hoopoe of my acquaintance who\ntold me so wonderful a tale of the marvelous Kingdom of Sheba in Arabia\nthat I could not resist the temptation to visit that country of gold and\nprecious stones. And there, indeed, I saw the most prodigious treasures;\nbut best of all, O King, more glorious than gold, more precious than\nrare jewels, I saw Queen Balkis, the most beautiful of queens.\"\n\n\"Tell me of this Queen,\" said Solomon, loosening his rough grasp upon\nthe Hoopoe. So it was, say the Mussulmans, that a bird told Solomon of\nthe great Queen whose journey to Jerusalem is described in the Bible.\n\nThe Hoopoe told of her power and glory, her riches, her wisdom, and her\nbeauty, until Solomon sighed a great sigh and said, \"It seems too good\nto be true! But we shall see.\"\n\nSo the King wrote a letter to Balkis, bidding her follow the guidance of\nfate and come to the court of the wise King. This note he sealed with\nmusk, stamped with his great signet, and gave to the Hoopoe, saying,--\n\n\"If now you have spoken truth, take this letter to Queen Balkis; then\ncome away.\"\n\nThe Hoopoe did as he was bid, darting off towards the south like an\narrow. And the next day he came to the palace of the Queen of Sheba,\nwhere she sat in all her splendor among her counselors. He hopped into\nthe hall and dropped the letter into her lap, then flew away.\n\nQueen Balkis stared and stared at the great King's seal upon the\nmysterious letter, and when she had read the brief invitation she stared\nand stared again. But she had heard the fame of Solomon and was eager to\nask him some of her clever questions to prove his wisdom. So she decided\nto accept his invitation and come to Jerusalem.\n\nShe came with a great train of attendants, with camels that bore spices\nand treasures of gold and precious stones, gifts for the most wise King.\nAnd she asked him more questions than any woman had ever asked him\nbefore, though he knew a great many ladies, and they were all\ninquisitive.\n\nBut Solomon was so wise that he answered all her questions without any\ntrouble.\n\nAnd she said to him, \"It was a true report that I heard of you in my own\nland, of your wisdom and of your glory. Only that which now I know and\nsee is greater than what I heard. Happy are thy men and happy are thy\nservants who stand continually before thee and hear thy wisdom.\"\n\nAnd she gave the King a hundred and twenty talents of gold, which was a\nvery rich treasure, besides great store of spices, and the most precious\ngifts; no one had ever seen such gifts as the Queen of Sheba gave to\nSolomon.\n\nBut he in turn was even more generous. For he gave to the fair Balkis\nall that she desired and everything she asked, because he admired so\nmuch this splendid Queen of whom the Hoopoe had first told him.\n\nAnd so, the Bible says, the Queen of Sheba turned and went to her own\ncountry, she and her servants. But the Mussulmans' tales say that in\nlater days she married Solomon and they lived happily ever after. And it\nwas all the work of that little Hoopoe with a yellow crown, whom after\nthat we may be sure Solomon loved better than ever.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PIOUS ROBIN\n\n\n    \"Art thou the bird whom man loves best,\n    The pious bird with the scarlet breast,\n         Our little English Robin?\"\n                                      WORDSWORTH.\n\nThe English Robin is not precisely like our little American friend whom\nwe call by that name, although, as the lines of poetry quoted above will\nshow, in two ways he is the same as ours: he has a red breast, and he is\nthe bird whom every one loves. Of all the little brothers of the air, in\nevery land and clime, the pretty, jolly, neighborly Robin Redbreast is\nthe favorite.\n\nThere are many stories about him: some which tell how he came by his\nscarlet breast, others which explain why he has always been best beloved\nof the birds. I have already told how he helped the Wren to bring fire\nto men. Every one knows how tenderly he covered with leaves the poor\nBabes in the Wood, when they had been deserted even by their nearest of\nkin. Some have heard about Saint Kentigern, and how he restored to life\nthe pious Robin of his master Servan,--the dear little bird who used to\nsing psalms every morning in the Saint's company. Some also know about\nthe Robin who brought the wheat-ear in his bill to the poor brothers in\nBrittany who had no grain to plant for their future harvest. All these\ntales show the Robin's generous heart, cheerful nature, and pious\ndevotion, which make him beloved by men. But perhaps you do not know why\nhe is called God's own bird.\n\n    \"The Robin and the Wren\n    Are God's cock and hen,\"\n\nsing the little English children, and they think it is very wicked to\ninjure one of the holy birds or make her unhappy by robbing her nest of\nits pretty eggs.\n\nThis is why the Robin is called the good bird, God's bird. The oldest\nstories say that the little Christ-child used to feed most tenderly the\nRobins who hopped about the door of His mother's house, for they were\ndearest of all to His baby heart. Perhaps He thus early learned to love\nthem because His mother had told Him of the service which the dear\nlittle birds had once performed for her.\n\nFor it is said that once upon a time, when Mary was a little girl, as\nshe was going along the gusty road a bit of straw blew into her eye and\npained her terribly. She sat down upon a stone and began to cry. Now a\nRobin was sitting on a branch close by, singing with all the power of\nhis little throat when the maiden passed, for she was very sweet to see\nand the Robin loved her looks. But when he saw the blessed Mary begin to\ncry and rub her eye with her chubby hand, he stopped his gay song and\nbecame very sad, wondering what he could do to help her.\n\nWhat he did was to fly away and tell his friend the Swallow all about\nit, asking her aid. After that he fluttered to a little fountain which\nbubbled up close by and brought thence in his bill a drop of water.\nThen, perching on Mary's forehead, he gently dropped this into the\nsuffering eye. At the same time the Swallow softly brushed her long\ntail-feathers under the maiden's eyelid, and the hateful straw was wiped\naway. Thus the little Mary was relieved, and when once more she could\nlook up happily with her pretty eyes she smiled upon the two kind birds\nand blessed them for their aid.\n\nOf course, if the little Christ heard His mother tell this pretty story\nHe would have been sure to love the Robin, just as she did. And so these\nlittle birds became His boyhood friends.\n\nThose were happy times. But in the after years, in the dreadful day\nwhen the Saviour was so cruelly done to death by His enemies, the little\nRobin once more proved his generous and pious heart, so the legends say.\n\nThe Saviour hung upon the cross, suffering and sad, while the world was\nveiled with darkness and all good creatures mourned. Two birds perched\nupon the cross beside His weary, drooping head. One was the faithful\nRobin, who was then a plain and dark-colored bird with the scorched\nfeathers of a fire-bringer upon his breast. The other was the Magpie,\nwho at that time was among the most gorgeous and beautiful of all the\nbirds. She had a tuft of bright feathers on her head, and her plumage\noutshone even that of the Peacock, who has the hundred gleaming eyes of\nArgus set in his fan-like tail. But the Magpie, in spite of her beauty,\nwas at heart a wicked bird. Think of it! She mocked the dying Saviour in\nHis agony and seemed to rejoice in His suffering!\n\nBut the Robin fluttered about the holy figure, timidly uttering chirps\nof sorrow and longing to help the Master who had fed him tenderly for so\nmany years. With his soft wings he wiped away the tears which flowed\nfrom the Lord's eyes, while with his beak he tugged at the cruel thorns\nwhich pierced His brow, trying to relieve Him.\n\nSuddenly a drop of blood fell from Christ's forehead upon the Robin's\nbreast and tinged with bright crimson the rusty reddish feathers.\n\n\"Blessed be thou,\" said the Lord, \"thou sharer of my suffering. Wherever\nthou goest happiness and joy shall follow thee. Blue as the heaven shall\nbe thy eggs, and from henceforth thou shalt be the Bird of God, the\nbearer of good tidings. But thou,\" He added, addressing the Magpie\nsorrowfully, \"thou art accursed. No longer shall the brilliant tuft and\nbright feathers of which thou art so proud and so unworthy adorn thee.\nThy color shall be the streaked black and white of shadows, thy life a\nhard one. And thy nest, however well builded, shall be open to the\nstorm.\"\n\nThese were almost the last words which the Saviour spoke. After that,\nwhen the Lord was laid in the sepulchre, the faithful Robin still\nwatched beside Him for those three dread days until He rose on Easter\nmorning, when the little bird rejoiced with all nature at the wondrous\nhappening. And again on Ascension Day he paid his last tribute to the\nrisen Master, joining his little song with the chorus of the angels\nthemselves in the gladdest Hosanna which the universe had ever heard.\n\nThis explains how the Magpie became a restless, noisy, black-and-white\nbird as we know her to this day, having lost all her brilliant beauty\nthrough the wickedness of her heart. But the pious Robin still wears\nupon his breast the beautiful feathers stained red with his Master's\nblood. And all that the Saviour foretold of him has come true. He is the\nblessed bird whom children everywhere love and of whom they still repeat\nthese old verses:--\n\n    \"The Robin and the Redbreast,\n       The Robin and the Wren,\n    If ye take out of the nest\n       Ye'll never thrive again.\n    The Robin and the Redbreast,\n       The Martin and the Swallow,\n    If ye touch one of their eggs\n       Bad luck is sure to follow.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROBIN WHO WAS AN INDIAN\n\n\nThe name of Robin makes us think at once of the jolliest and most\nsociable of all our little brother birds. In every land the name is a\nfavorite, and wherever he goes he brings happiness and kind feeling.\n\nThe American Robin is not the same bird as his English cousin, though\nboth have red breasts.\n\nIt was in a different manner that our little American friend came to\nhave the ruddy waistcoat which we know so well.\n\nThere was a time, so the Indians say, a very early time, long, long\nbefore Columbus discovered America,--even before histories began to be\nwritten,--when there were no Robins.\n\nIn those days in the land of the Ojibways, which is far in the north of\nthe cold country, there lived an old Indian chief who had one son, named\nIadilla. Now among the Ojibways, when a boy was almost big enough to\nbecome a warrior, before he could go out with the other braves to the\nhunt or to war, there was a great trial which he must undergo. Other\nlands and peoples have known similar customs. You remember how, in\nearly Christian times, long, long ago, Galahad and other boys had to\nfast and watch by their armor during the long night hours before they\ncould become knights, to wear spurs and shield and sword? In just the\nsame way a brown Ojibway lad had to make a long fast in order to win the\nlove of his Guardian Spirit, who would after that watch over him to make\nhim brave and strong. It was a very important event in a boy's life,\nlike graduation from school or college nowadays. For this meant the\ngraduation from boyhood into manhood, the winning of a warrior's\ndiploma.\n\nThe father of Iadilla was a brave warrior, a famous chief. But he wished\nhis son to become even better, wiser, greater than he had been. He\nresolved that the boy should fast longer and harder than ever a lad had\nfasted before. For he believed that this was the way to make him the\nnoblest of his race. Iadilla was a fine handsome lad, but he was the\nyoungest one who had ever made the trial, and there were many bigger\nboys than he who were not yet warriors. The other chiefs said that he\nwas not yet old and strong enough.\n\nBut Iadilla's father declared that it was time, and bade his son gather\ncourage and pride for the ordeal. \"For,\" he said, \"it will be no easy\nmatter, my son, to become the greatest chief of the Ojibways.\"\n\n\"My father,\" replied Iadilla, humbly, \"I will do as you wish. I will do\nwhat I can. But my strength is not the strength of the bigger boys; and\nI think it is yet early to talk of my becoming greatest of the Ojibways.\nYet make trial of me, if you wish.\"\n\nThe father of Iadilla had made a little tent of skins where the boy was\nto live during his fasting time; where he was to lie without food or\ndrink for twelve long days, waiting for a message from the Guardian\nSpirit whose love was to be the reward of such a trial.\n\nWhen the time came, the old man led Iadilla to the lodge and bade him\nlie down on the bed of skins which had been prepared for him. And\nIadilla did as he was bid, for he was a brave and obedient lad.\n\nThe days crept by, the long, long days of waiting, while Iadilla lay in\nthe lodge bearing hunger and thirst such as no Ojibway lad had ever\nbefore known. All day and all night he lay still and spoke never a word.\nBut a dreadful fear was in his heart lest he should not be able to\nendure the fast for the twelve days which his father had set.\n\nEvery morning his father came to the lodge to praise and to encourage\nhim, and to rejoice in one more day checked from the long time of\nfasting. So eight days passed, and the old man was proud and happy.\nAlready his dear son had done more than any Ojibway lad, and the whole\ntribe was praising Iadilla, saying what a great chief he would be in the\ndays to come.\n\nBut on the ninth morning, when the father peeped into the lodge to see\nhow bravely his son was faring, the boy turned his head toward the door\nand spoke for the first time in all those long days. He was very thin\nand pale, and his voice sounded weak.\n\n\"My father,\" he said, \"I have slept, and my dreams were sad. I have\nslept, and my dreams were of failure and weakness. The time does not\nplease my Guardian Spirit. It is not now that I can become a warrior. I\nam not yet strong and old enough. O my father, I cannot bear the fast\nlonger! I am so hungry, so thirsty, so faint! Let me break my fast, and\ntry again in another year.\"\n\nBut the father sternly refused, for he was ambitious. \"Nay, lad,\" he\ncried, frowningly. \"Would you fail me now? Think of the glory, think of\nbeing the greatest of Ojibways. It is but a few short days now. Courage,\nIadilla, be a man in strength and patience.\"\n\nIadilla said no more. He wrapped himself closer in his blanket and drew\nhis belt tighter about his slender waist, trying to stifle the hunger\ngnawing there. So he lay silently until the eleventh day. That morning\nhis father came to the lodge, beaming proudly.\n\n\"Bravo, my Iadilla!\" he cried. \"Only one day more, and you will be\nreleased from your fast.\" But Iadilla clasped his hands beseechingly.\n\n\"My father,\" gasped the poor boy. \"I cannot bear it another day. I am\nnot fit to be a great chief. I have failed. Give me food, or I die!\"\n\nBut again the father refused. \"It is but a day now,\" he said, \"but a few\nshort hours. Bear a little longer, Iadilla. To-morrow I myself will\nbring you the finest breakfast that ever a lad ate. Courage, boy, for\nthe few hours that remain.\"\n\nIadilla was too weak to answer. He lay motionless, with only a gentle\nheaving of his breast to show that he still lived. His father left him\nfor the last time, and went to prepare the morrow's goodly breakfast,\nwhile the tribe planned a fine festival in honor of the young hero.\n\nEarly on the morrow came Iadilla's father to the tent, proudly bearing\nthe breakfast for his brave boy, and smiling to think how gladly he\nwould be received. But he stopped outside the tent door surprised to\nhear some one talking within. Stooping to a little hole in the skin of\nthe tent he peeped in to find who the speaker might be. Imagine his\nsurprise to find Iadilla standing upright in the middle of the tent\npainting his breast a brilliant red, as Indians do in war time. And as\nhe daubed on the colors he talked to himself. He spoke softly, yet not\nwith the weak voice of a starving lad; and his face was very beautiful\nto see, despite its pale thinness.\n\n\"My father has ended my Indian life,\" he said. \"My father, too\nambitious, has put upon me more than my strength could bear. He would\nnot listen to my prayer of weakness. But I knew, I knew! And my kind\nGuardian Spirit knew also that it was more than I could bear. He has\nshown pity, seeing that I was obedient to my father and did my best to\nplease him. Now I am to be no longer an Indian boy. I must take the\nshape which the Spirit has given me, and go away.\"\n\nAt these strange words the father broke into the tent, exclaiming in\nterror,--\n\n\"My son, my dear son! Do not leave me!\"\n\nBut, even as he spoke, Iadilla changed into a beautiful Robin Redbreast\nwith soft feathers and strong, firm wings. And, fluttering up to the\nridgepole of the tent, he looked down with pity and tenderness upon the\nheart-broken chief.\n\n\"Do not grieve, father,\" he sang. \"I shall be so much happier as a bird,\nfree from human pain and sorrow. I will cheer you with my merry songs.\nOh, I have been hungry; but now I shall get my food so easily, so\npleasantly on mountains and in the fields. Oh, once I was thirsty; but\nnow the dew is mine and the little springs. Once I traced my way\npainfully by forest paths through bog and brake and tangled brier. But\nnow my pathways are in the bright, clear air, where never thorn can tear\nnor beast can follow. Farewell, dear father! I am so happy!\"\n\nHe stretched his brown wings as easily as if he had worn them all his\nlife, and, singing a sweet song, fluttered away to the neighboring\nwoods, where he built his nest, and lived happily ever after.\n\nAnd since that day the glad little Robins have lived as that first one\npromised, close by the homes of men, and have done all they could to\ncheer us and make us happy. For they remember how, once upon a time,\ntheir ancestor was a human boy.\n\n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITIVE WOMAN\n\n\nThere was once a woman who was so very inquisitive that she wished to\nknow everything. She was never happy unless she was poking her nose into\nsome mystery, and the less a matter concerned her the more curious she\nwas about it.\n\nOne day the Lord gathered together all the insects in the world, all the\nbeetles, bugs, bees, mosquitoes, ants, locusts, grasshoppers, and other\ncreatures who fly or hop or crawl, and shut them up in a huge sack well\ntied at the end. What a queer, squirming, muffled-buzzing bundle it\nmade, to be sure!\n\nThen the Lord called the woman to him and said, \"Woman, I would have you\ntake this sack and throw it into the sea. But be sure and do not untie\nthe end of it to look inside; for the sack must on no account be opened,\neven for a single minute.\"\n\nThe woman took the sack, wondering very much at the queer size and shape\nand feeling of it, and especially at the strange noises which came from\nthe inside.\n\n\"What can be in the sack?\" she said to herself. \"Oh, I wish I knew! Oh,\n_how_ I wish I knew! Oh, how very, _very_ much I wish I knew!\" Her\ncuriosity increased every minute as she went step by step towards the\nsea, until when she had gone scarcely a hundred paces she stopped short\nand said, \"I must know what is inside this sack before I go any farther.\nI will take just one tiny little peep, and He will never know it.\"\n\nVery carefully she untied the neck of the sack. Buzz! Whirr! Hum! Zim!\nShe had opened it but a tiny little crack when out crawled and hopped\nand flew the millions and swarms and colonies of all kinds of insects,\nand away they scattered in every direction. Such a noise as filled the\nair about the astonished woman's head! Such a wriggling and squirming\nand hopping in the grass about her feet!\n\n\"Oh, now I know what was in the sack!\" she cried. \"But I wish I had not\nlooked. Oh, whatever shall I do? He told me to throw the bag into the\nocean without looking in. But now the horrid creatures have escaped\neverywhere and He will know what I have done. Oh, what will He do to\npunish me?\"\n\nShe began to run hither and yon like a crazy woman, picking up the bugs\nand jumping for the fluttering insects, trying to put them back into the\nbag. They stung her and bit her and got into her eyes until she screamed\nwith pain. As fast as she caught one another escaped, and she soon saw\nthat it was a hopeless task. She could never catch the millions of\ncreatures who had scattered away to their homes in every corner of the\nworld.\n\nThen the Lord came to her and said very sternly, \"O Woman, you have\ndisobeyed me, just as did the very first woman of all. And you must be\npunished both for your disobedience and for your inquisitiveness which\nhas led you into the worse sin. Not until you have gathered up every one\nof these insects which you have permitted to escape back into the world\nshall you be happy. But I will give you wings to help you in the task.\nYou shall become a Woodpecker, and it shall be your task to hunt, hunt\nfor the insects which hide away so slyly at your approach. Not till the\nlast one of these is gobbled up from the earth shall you return to your\nown shape and be a woman once more.\"\n\nThen the Lord changed the inquisitive woman into a restless Woodpecker,\nand with a \"tut-tut!\" she darted away in pursuit of the insects which\nhad brought her into such trouble.\n\nAnd that is why to this day one sees the Woodpecker pecking so\nfrantically on the tree trunks, anxious lest a single insect should\nescape. For she is very tired of being a bird, and is longing to become\na woman once more. But it will be a very long time, I fear, before she\ngathers up all the wriggling, squirming, hopping, buzzing, stinging,\nbiting things that make life in the country so varied, exciting, and\nmusical.\n\n\n\n\nWHY THE NIGHTINGALE WAKES\n\n\nWhen the other birds are sound asleep in their nests, with their little\nheads tucked comfortably under their feathers, Sister Nightingale, they\nsay, may not rest, but still sounds the notes of her beautiful song in\ngrove and thicket.\n\nWhy does she sing thus, all night long as well as through the day? It is\nbecause she dares not go to sleep on account of the Blindworm, who is\nwaiting to catch her with her eyes closed.\n\nOnce upon a time, when the world was very new, the Blindworm was not\nquite blind, but had one good eye. Moreover, in those days the\nNightingale also had but one eye. As for the Blindworm, it mattered very\nlittle; for he was a homely creature, content to crawl about in the dark\nunderground, or under wood and leaves, where nobody saw him and nobody\ncared. But the Nightingale's case was really quite too pitiful! Fancy\nthe sweetest singer among all the birds, the favorite chorister, going\nabout with but one eye, while every one else, even the tiniest little\nHumming Bird of all, had two.\n\nThe Nightingale felt very sore about this matter, and tried to conceal\nher misfortune from the other birds. She managed to cock her head the\nother way whenever she met a friend, and she always flew past any\nstranger so fast that he never saw the empty socket where her other\npretty eye should be.\n\nBut one day there was great excitement among the birds. Miss Jenny Wren\nwas going to be married to young Cock Robin. There was to be a grand\nwedding; every one was invited, and of course the Nightingale was needed\nto lead the bridal chorus of feathered songsters. But the poor\nNightingale was set in a flutter of anxiety by the news.\n\n\"Oh, dear me!\" she said, \"I do want to go to Jenny's wedding, oh, of\ncourse I do! But how can I go? If I do, the other birds will discover\nthat I have but one eye, and then how the disagreeable creatures will\nlaugh at me. Oh dear, oh dear! What shall I do? I cannot go, no, I\nreally cannot. But what excuse can I give? Oh, it is not right that the\nsweetest singer in all Birdland should be laughed at, merely because she\nhas the misfortune to lack one poor little eye!\"\n\nThe Nightingale sat on the branch, singing so mournfully that all the\ncreatures on the ground below went sorrowfully about their daily\nbusiness. Just then the Nightingale spied a silvery gleam among the dead\nleaves. It was the Blindworm, a spotted gray streak, writhing\nnoiselessly along towards the decayed wood of a fallen tree, in which he\nloved to burrow. And the Blindworm was not sad like the others, neither\nseemed he to care in the least about the Nightingale's music. Worms\nthink little of sweet sounds. He cocked his one eye up towards the\nNightingale and winked maliciously. He alone of all creatures knew the\nNightingale's secret.\n\n\"Good-day, Sister Nightingale,\" he said. \"How is your eye this morning?\nWe have a goodly pair between us; though I think that mine is rather the\nbetter of the two.\"\n\nThen he disappeared into a tiny opening. For though the Blindworm is\nnearly a foot long he is so smooth and slippery that he can enter a hole\nwhich is almost smaller than himself.\n\nThe Nightingale was very indignant at being addressed in this familiar\nway by a miserable, crawling creature who not only could not fly, but\nwho could not sing a note, and did not know _do_ from _fa_.\nBesides, it made her angry to think that he knew her secret and talked\naloud about it so that any one might hear.\n\n\"The idea!\" she cried. \"It is bad enough that I cannot go to the wedding\nof my dear friend Jenny. But to be jeered at by this creature, it is\nmore than I can bear. Ha! I have an idea. I will punish him and help\nmyself at the same time. I will steal his one eye and wear it to Jenny\nWren's wedding; then no one will ever discover my misfortune.\"\n\nNow this was an excellent scheme, but it was not so easy to carry it out\nas the Nightingale had thought. For the Blindworm was very timid and\nkept himself carefully hidden in his burrow of soft soil, as if he half\nsuspected the Nightingale's plans. Day after day the Nightingale kept\neager watch upon his movements, and at last, on the very eve of the\nwedding, when she had almost given up hope, she spied the Blindworm\nsound asleep on the moss under a tall tree.\n\n\"Ha!\" said the Nightingale to herself very softly. \"Now is my chance!\"\nShe fluttered into the top of the oak tree, and from there hopped down\nfrom branch to branch, from twig to twig, until she was directly over\nthe sleeper's ugly head, over the one closed eye. Then _whirr_! Down\nshe pounced upon the Blindworm. And before the creature had a chance to\nknow what was happening, the Nightingale had stolen his eye, and had\npopped it into place in the empty socket on the other side of her beak.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" she sang merrily. \"Now I have two bright eyes, as good as any\none's. Now I can go to Jenny Wren's wedding as gayly as I please, and no\none shall see more of the ceremony than I. I shall be able to tell just\nexactly how the bride is dressed, how every little feather is arranged,\nand how she looks after Parson Crow has pronounced the blessing. Oh, how\nhappy I am!\"\n\nBut the poor Blindworm, blind indeed from that day forth, began to cry\nand lament, begging the Nightingale to give him back his eye.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Nightingale, \"did you not laugh at me when you saw me\nsadly sitting on the tree, mourning because I could not go to the\nwedding? Now I have stolen your eye, and I can see famously. But you\nwill never again see me sitting sadly on the tree.\"\n\nThen the Blindworm grew very angry. \"I will get the eye back!\" he cried.\n\"I will steal it from you, as you stole it from me, some time when you\nare asleep. I will climb up into your nest some night, and I will take\nboth your eyes of which you are so proud. Then you will be blind,\nwholly blind as I am now.\"\n\nAt these threatening words the Nightingale ceased to sing and became\nsilent with fear. For she knew that the Blindworm would do as he said.\nBut again a brilliant thought came to her.\n\n\"Nay!\" she trilled gladly. \"That you shall never do. I will never sleep\nagain. I will keep awake always, night and day, with my two bright eyes\never looking out for danger. Yes, yes, yes! No one shall ever catch me\nnapping.\"\n\n\"You cannot help yourself,\" said the Blindworm. \"You cannot keep awake.\nYou will drowse in spite of everything. I shall yet find you asleep some\nnight, and then beware!\"\n\n\"Nay, nay!\" warbled the Nightingale, as she flew away to make herself\nfine for the wedding. \"I shall sing, sing, sing night and day henceforth\nto keep myself awake. And thus I need not fear. Farewell-well-well!\"\n\nAnd so the Nightingale went to the wedding and sang more sweetly in the\nbridal chorus than she had ever sung before. And after that, although\nshe was weary, oh, so weary! she sang all night long, and all the next\nnight and the next. And so she has continued to sing ever since in the\nlands which are blessed by her presence. For she dares not go to sleep\neven for a single moment, knowing that the Blindworm is ever ready to\npounce upon her and take away the eyes which she is now enjoying.\n\n\n\n\nMRS. PARTRIDGE'S BABIES\n\n\nLong, long ago, when the world was very young indeed, the Birds and\nAnimals used to send their children to school, to Mother Magpie's\nkindergarten. All the morning long the babies learned their lessons\nwhich it was needful for them to know. And when the noon hour came their\nvarious mammas came to the school bringing lunches for the children. You\ncan imagine how gladly they were received by the hungry little scholars.\n\nOne day Mrs. Partridge was very busy with her house-cleaning, and when\nthe noontime came she could not leave her work to go to the school with\nher babies' lunch.\n\n\"Dear me,\" she said, looking out of the nest, \"here it is noon and the\nlittle Partridges will be so very hungry. But I really cannot leave home\nnow. What shall I do? If only some other mamma were going that way.\"\n\nShe craned her neck and looked eagerly in every direction. And finally\nshe spied Madame Tortoise plodding along towards the school, with the\nlunch for her little Turtlets.\n\n\"Oho, neighbor, oho! Stop a minute!\" cried Mrs. Partridge, waving a wing\nat Tortoise. \"Are you going schoolward, as I think? Oh, dear Madame\nTortoise, if you knew how busy I am to-day. I don't think any one was\never so busy as I am with my house-cleaning. Will you do me a favor,\nplease?\"\n\nThe Tortoise sniffed. \"Well, I am a busy woman myself,\" she said, \"but I\nam willing to oblige a neighbor. What is it you wish, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you so much!\" cried the Partridge. \"Dear Madame Tortoise, I\nshall never forget your kindness. Now, will you take this bunch of nice\nwiggly worms to my little ones for their lunch? I shall be so very\ngrateful.\"\n\n\"Don't mention it,\" snapped the Tortoise, who was rather tired of\nhearing Mrs. Partridge's shrill thanks. \"I'm perfectly willing to take\nthe lunch, since I am going to the same place. But I don't know your\nbabies. What do they look like, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Oh, that is easily told,\" cried Mrs. Partridge. \"They are the most\nbeautiful little creatures in the school. They are said greatly to\nresemble me. You will have no trouble in recognizing them. When you\ncome to the school just look around at all the children, and pick out\nthe three most beautiful of all. Those are certain to be mine. Give them\nthe wiggly worms, please, with my love. And oh, _thank_ you, Madame\nTortoise, so very much! Some time I will do as much for you. So\nneighborly! Thank you!\"\n\n[Illustration: _Here are some nice fat wiggly worms!_]\n\n\"Don't mention it!\" snapped the Tortoise again, very much bored by all\nthis chatter. She sniffed as she moved slowly along towards the school,\nwith the second lunch carried carefully on her broad shell-back. \"They\nare nice fat worms,\" she said.\n\nNow when the Tortoise came to the school it was high noon, and all the\nchildren were waiting open-mouthed for their mammas and the lunches\nwhich they expected. Such rows and rows of wide hungry mouths! Madame\nTortoise moved slowly up and down and round and round, eyeing the\nvarious children who begged for the nice wiggly worms. \"H'm!\" she said\nto herself, \"hungry children seem to look considerably alike, and none\nof them are so wondrously beautiful when their mouths are wide open\ngreedily. I wonder which are Mrs. Partridge's children. She told me to\ngive this lunch to the handsomest babies here. Well, I will, and if I\nmake a mistake it will not be my fault. Hello! Here are my dear little\nTurtlets! Bless the babies, how pretty they are! Why, I declare, I never\nrealized that they were so handsome. Certainly, they are the\nbest-looking children in the school. Then I must give them Mrs.\nPartridge's luncheon, for so I promised. Yes, my little ones, here is\nyour lunch which I brought for you. And when you have finished that,\nhere is another, some nice, fat, wiggly worms which mother collected on\nthe way,--a prize for the handsomest children in the school.\"\n\nSo the little Turtlets fared wonderfully well that day; but the poor\nlittle Partridges went hungry, and had dreadful headaches, and went home\npeeping sadly to their silly mother. And Mrs. Partridge had no more\nsense than to be angry with Madame Tortoise, which I think was very\nunfair, don't you? For the latter had only done as she was bidden by her\nsilly and conceited neighbor.\n\nBut after that the Tortoise and the Partridge never spoke to each other,\nand their children would not play together at school.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EARLY GIRL\n\n\nThere were once two girls who were very dear friends, Zaica and\nTourtourelle. One morning Zaica woke up and said, \"O Tourtourelle! Last\nnight I had such a strange dream!\"\n\n\"And so did I!\" cried Tourtourelle. \"Let us tell each other the dreams.\nBut you first, Zaica.\"\n\nZaica began to laugh. \"I dreamed I was a pretty bird with a tuft of\nfeathers on my head. I could fly, and, O Tourtourelle! it was great fun!\nBut the most amusing thing of all was that I could sing so finely, and\nmock all the birds of the forest. Nay, I could even imitate the sounds\nof animals. I cannot help laughing when I think what a jolly time I\nhad.\"\n\n\"Why, Zaica!\" cried Tourtourelle, wondering, \"I dreamed the very same\nthing. I too was a pretty little bird, and I too could imitate all kinds\nof sounds as I fluttered in the tree-tops. Surely, the dream will come\ntrue for one of us. How fine that would be!\"\n\n\"Yes, let it be for the one of us who first rises to-morrow morning,\"\nsaid Zaica. And so the two friends agreed.\n\nNow when it came night-time Zaica went to bed very early, like a wise\nlittle girl who wants to rise with the sun. But Tourtourelle said to\nherself, \"I know what I will do, I will not go to sleep. I will sit up\nall night, and then I am sure to be the first to rise.\"\n\nSo Tourtourelle perched herself on a high-backed chair and stretched her\neyes wide open. For hours and hours she sat there, growing more sleepy\nevery minute. Towards morning she began to nod; she could hardly keep\nher eyes open, though she tried to prop the lids with her finger tips.\nFinally, whether she would or no, she fell fast asleep, poor little\nTourtourelle, worn out with her long vigil.\n\nWhen the first morning sunbeam peeped into the chamber Zaica opened her\neyes, refreshed and smiling. She sat up in bed remembering the dream,\nand then jumped lightly to the floor. As she did so she glanced at her\nfeet, which felt queer. Wonderful! They were little bird claws! She\nlooked down at herself. She was covered with soft feathers. She tried to\nmove her arms, and when she did so she rose lightly from the floor and\nskimmed out of the window into the garden. Zaica had become a pretty\nlittle bird, just as she had dreamed. Oh, how happy she was! She heard a\nLark singing far up in the sky. Opening her mouth, she warbled and\ntrilled as well as he, until he dropped down quickly to the earth,\nthinking it must be his mate who sang so sweetly. She spied a Chicken\nstrayed too far from the mother Hen; and chuckling to herself\nmischievously she imitated the warning cry of a Hawk, till the Chick ran\nsquawking back to the shelter of his mother's wing. She heard a hound\nbaying afar off, and with little trouble echoed the sound so perfectly\nthat a groom came running out of the stable, whistling for the dog which\nhe feared was straying from the kennel. Zaica found that as in her dream\nshe could imitate all the sounds which she heard; and she was so pleased\nthat she sang and sang and sang, hopping from tree to tree, teasing the\nother birds with her mockery, and puzzling them, too.\n\nAs for poor Tourtourelle, when she waked it was very late. She yawned\nand rubbed her eyes languidly, for she was still sleepy. Then looking\nacross to Zaica's bed she saw that it was empty. Her heart gave a great\nthump, for she longed and longed to be a bird, but now she feared that\nshe was too late. In her white gown she ran out into the garden looking\nfor Zaica. But first she saw an old man leading his cow to the pasture.\nAnd to the cow he said, \"Coo-roo, coo-roo!\" coaxing her to hasten.\n\n\"Coo-roo, coo-roo!\" cried Tourtourelle, imitating him, she knew not why.\nAnd as she said it she wondered at the strange feeling which came over\nher. For her body felt very light and it seemed as if she could fly. She\nlooked down and saw that she was no longer covered with a little white\ngown but with soft feathers of ashy gray, while wings sprouted from her\nshoulders.\n\n\"Oh, I have become a bird!\" she tried to say, but all she uttered\nwas--\"Coo-roo, coo-roo!\" For Tourtourelle was become a beautiful\nTurtle-Dove, and that is all a Turtle-Dove can say.\n\n\"Coo-roo, coo-roo!\" mocked a voice from the tree. And cocking her little\nreddish eye Tourtourelle saw a brilliant Jay hopping in the branches,\nimitating a Dove. Then it was the song of a Wren that she heard, then a\nLark, then a Thrush, then a Sparrow-Hawk,--all these sounds coming from\nthe one little throat of the happy bird on that bough. Tourtourelle\ntried to do likewise, but all she could sing was \"Coo-roo! coo-roo!\" And\nshe said mournfully to herself:--\n\n\"It is Zaica. She was wiser than I, and earlier, and the dream came\ntrue for her. Oh dear! Oh dear!\" And to this day Turtle-Dove flies about\nsadly uttering her monotonous cry, and listening with a longing that\nwould be envy, were she not so good a little bird, to the chatter of her\nfriend the Jay.\n\nFor Zaica the Jay is always merry, hopping from tree to tree, playing\nher jokes upon the other birds whom she deceives with her wonderful\nvoice. And she leads a life so gay and exciting that she never finds\ntime to be sad, even over the disappointment of her dear friend, poor\nlittle Tourtourelle.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE BLACKBIRD SPOILED HIS COAT\n\n\nOnce upon a time, our friend Blackbird, who comes first of the feathered\nbrothers in the spring, was not black at all. No, indeed; he was\nwhite--white as feather-snow new fallen in the meadow. There are very\nfew birds who have been thought worthy to dress all in beautiful white,\nfor that is the greatest honor which a bird can have. So, like the Swan\nand the Dove, Master Whitebird--for that is what they called him\nthen--was very proud of his spotless coat.\n\nHe was very proud and happy, and he sang all day long, the jolliest\nsongs. But you see he did not really deserve this honor, because he was\nat heart a greedy bird; and therefore a great shame came upon him, and\nafter that he was never proud nor happy any more. I shall tell you the\nstory of how the Whitebird grew grimy and gloomy as we know him, almost\nas black and solemn as old Daddy Crow.\n\nOnce upon a time, then, Master Whitebird was teetering on a rose-bush,\nruffling his beautiful white feathers and singing little bits of poetry\nabout himself to any one who would listen.\n\n    \"Ho-ho, ho-hee,\n    Just look at me!\"\n\nhe piped, and cocked his little eyes about in every direction, to see\nwho might be admiring his wondrous whiteness.\n\nBut all on a sudden his song gurgled down into his throat and choked\nitself still, and his eyes fixed themselves upon a tree close by. It was\na dead old tree, and there was a hole in the trunk halfway up to the\nlowest limb, a round little hole about as big as your two fists.\n\nWhitebird had seen something black pop into that hole in a sly and\nsecret way, and he began to wonder; for he was inquisitive, as most\nbirds are. He sat quite still on his rose-bush and watched and watched.\nPresently out of the hole popped a black head, bigger than Whitebird's,\nwith two wise little twinkling eyes.\n\n\"Oho!\" said Whitebird to himself, \"it is Mother Magpie up to her old\ntricks, hiding, hiding. Maybe she has a treasure hidden there. I will\nwatch, and perhaps I shall find out something worth knowing.\"\n\nMother Magpie was the wisest and the slyest of all the birds, and it was\nalways worth while, as Whitebird knew, to take lessons of her. So he sat\nperfectly still until she came cautiously back carrying something in her\nbeak. It was round and white and glinted like moonlight. Whitebird's\neyes stuck out greedily.\n\n\"It is a piece of silver!\" he thought, but he sat perfectly still until\nthe Magpie had stowed the coin safely in the hollow tree and had hopped\naway as if upon an unfinished errand. \"Aha! there is more then. I will\nwatch to see what comes next,\" said Whitebird. And he waited.\n\nSure enough. In a little while the Magpie returned, this time bringing\nsomething which glowed yellow like sunlight.\n\n\"It is a piece of gold!\" gasped Whitebird, and his eyes bulged out like\nthose of lobsters, he was so jealous of her luck. But he silently\nwatched her disappear into her tree-cupboard and then hastily depart as\nbefore toward the mountain. \"What comes next?\" muttered Whitebird to\nhimself. \"I am dying to peep into that hole. I cannot wait much longer.\"\n\nThen, after a while, a third time came back the Magpie to the dead tree.\nAnd lo, what she carried in her beak twinkled and trembled and shone in\nmany colors, like a drop of dew on a velvet flower-cheek. When\nWhitebird saw this sight, he nearly tumbled off his perch with\nexcitement.\n\n\"It is a diamond!\" he cried aloud; \"oh, it is a real diamond!\"\n\nAt this sudden noise from the rose-bush Mother Magpie's nerves were so\nshocked that she dropped the diamond helter-skelter into the hole. And\nin a moment she fell in after it, out of sight. She hoped that no one\nhad seen her, but little Whitebird knew the place. He hopped after her\nand, perching on the edge of the hole, peered down into the hollow tree.\nAnd there he saw a great heap of silver and gold and precious stones,\nwhich Mother Magpie was trying to cover with her wings.\n\n\"Oh, what a treasure! What a treasure!\" he piped greedily. \"Mother\nMagpie, you must tell me where you found it, that I may go and get some\nfor myself.\"\n\nBut Mother Magpie refused to tell.\n\n\"Oho!\" chirped Whitebird, angrily; \"we shall see about that! Then I will\ncall in the fierce birds, Robber Hawk and Fighting Falcon and the bloody\nButcher Bird, and they will take your treasure from you, and kill you,\ntoo, into the bargain. What do you think of that, Mother Magpie?\"\n\nThen she was afraid, for she knew those bad birds; and she saw that she\nmust trust her secret with Whitebird, since he had already discovered\nhalf the truth.\n\n\"Well, if you will promise me not to let any one else know, not even\nKing Eagle, I will tell you,\" she said. So Whitebird promised.\n\n\"Listen,\" said the Magpie. \"You must find the cave which is near the\ntallest oak on the mountain, under the flat stone. In a corner there is\na tiny hole, just big enough for you or me to pass. And this is the\nentrance to a passage which leads down into the cellars of the earth.\nAnd when you have gone down and down, farther than any one except myself\never went before, you will come to the palace of the King of Riches. It\nis full of gold and silver and precious stones like these you see here.\nEach chamber is more beautiful and more tempting than the last. But you\nmust not touch a stone or a single coin, or even a little bit of\ngold-dust, until you have seen the King. For first you must offer\nyourself to be his servant, and then he will be generous; then he will\nlet you carry away as much treasure as your beak will hold. That is all\nthere is to it. But beware, greedy Whitebird! Take my advice, and do not\ntouch a grain of treasure before you see the King, or great evil will\nbefall you.\"\n\nWhitebird promised to do as she said. And then away he flew to the blue\nmountain and its tallest oak. Close by the great oak, in a lonely spot,\nhe found the flat rock, and under it was the cave where once a bear had\nlived. Whitebird hopped in eagerly, and away back in one corner of the\ncave he found a little round hole, as the Magpie had said; a hole not\nmuch bigger than an apple. It must have been a tight squeeze for fat\nMother Magpie!\n\nWhitebird hopped through the hole and found himself in a long, narrow\npassage which led down, down, down into places where his eyes were of no\nuse at all. For he was not like Master Owl, who can see better in the\ndark than anywhere else. Blindly he hopped on and on, till he came into\na great cavern, bright with a white radiance, as if the moonlight\nfiltered in from somewhere. It was the first room of the King's palace\nof treasure; and it was all of silver, paved with silver, heaped with\nsilver, shining with silver. Whitebird's eyes glittered and he wanted to\nstop and take some for himself. But just in time he remembered the wise\nwarning of Mother Magpie; and so he hopped on over the silver pebbles\nthrough a silver door into a second room. And this was flooded with\nyellow light as of sunshine, so dazzling that for a moment Whitebird's\nyellow eyes could see nothing at all. When he could see, the place\nseemed full of yellow eyes like his own, great yellow eyes heaped up\nfrom floor to ceiling. And when he became used to this he looked again\nand saw that these were golden coins, and that this was a cavern all of\ngold.\n\nOh, such a wonderful sight! Oh, such a golden dream! The floor on which\nhe stood was deep with gold dust, which squished between his toes like\nyellow sand on a sea beach. And then Whitebird lost his head and went\nquite mad, forgetting the words of wise Mother Magpie.\n\n\"Gold dust, gold dust, a treasure for me!\" he sang, hopping up and down\non one leg. \"I can carry away a great beakful of the yellow seeds, and\neach one will blossom into a golden flower for me--for me--for me!\" He\nwas wholly crazy, as you see.\n\nHe thrust his bill deep into the gold dust of the floor, and greedily\nfilled it more than full, till it dropped over his white, white feathers\nand splashed his coat so that he was no longer a white bird but a yellow\nbird. Oh, the silly, greedy thing! But there are worse fates than being\na yellow bird.\n\nJust at this moment a dreadful roar echoed through the caverns till they\nrumbled like an earthquake, and into the golden chamber crashed a\nhorrible dragon-creature, the guardian of the King's treasure. His eyes\nblazed red like coals, and from his mouth came smoke and flame so that\nthe gold melted before his breath. He rushed straight upon poor little\nWhitebird to gobble him up, and as he came he roared: \"Thief, thief! who\nsteals my master's treasure? I scorch you with my eye! I burn you with\nmy breath! I swallow you into the furnace of my throat. Gr-r-r-r!\"\n\nThere seemed no chance for Whitebird to escape, the creature was so\nnear. But with a cry of terror he fluttered and hopped away as fast as\nhe could toward the narrow passage, through the gold chamber and the\nsilver chamber, leaving all the treasure behind. (Oh, don't you wish we\ncould have known how the diamond chamber looked, with its rainbow\nlight?)\n\nWhitebird hopped and fluttered, fluttered and hopped, feeling the\ndragon's hot breath close behind frizzling his feathers and blinding his\neyes with smoke. He seemed like to be roasted alive in this horrible\nunderground oven. But oh, there was the hole close before him! Pouf!\nWith a terrible roar the dragon snapped at him as Whitebird popped\nthrough the hole; but he got only a mouthful of burnt tail-feathers.\nWhitebird was safe, safe in the narrow passage where the dragon could\nnot follow. Up and up and up and up he feebly fluttered into the light\nof the dear outside world, and then he gave a chirp of joy to find that\nhe really had escaped. But oh, how tired and frightened he was!\n\nMother Magpie was sitting on a bush waiting for him, for she had guessed\nwhat would happen to the greedy bird. And when she saw him she gave a\nsquawk of laughter.\n\n\"O Whitebird,\" she chuckled, \"what a sight! what a sight! Your lovely\ncoat, your spotless feathers! Oh, you greedy, greedy _Blackbird_!\"\n\nThen he who had been Whitebird looked down at himself and saw what a\ndreadful thing had happened. And he closed his eyes and gave a hoarse,\nsad croak. For the smoke and flame of the dragon's breath had smirched\nand scorched him from top to toe, so that he was no longer white, but\nthenceforth and forever Blackbird.\n\nI think Mother Magpie must have told the story to her children,\nchuckling over the greedy fellow's failure. And they told it to the\nchildren of sunny France, from whom I got the tale for you. So now you\nknow why the Blackbird looks so solemn and so sulky in his suit of rusty\nblack; and why his nerves are so weak that if one suddenly surprises\nhim, picking up seeds in the field, he gives a terrible scream of\nfright. For he thinks one is that dreadful dragon-creature who chased\nhim and so nearly gobbled him on that unlucky day, long ago.\n\nPoor Brother Blackbird! Don't let him know I told you all this; it would\nmake him so very much ashamed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLACKBIRD AND THE FOX\n\n\nOne day Madame Fox, who was strolling along under the hedge, heard a\nBlackbird trilling on a branch. Quick as thought she jumped and seized\nthe little fellow, and was about to gobble him down then and there. But\nthe Blackbird began to chirp piteously:--\n\n\"Oh, oh, Madame Fox! What are you thinking of? Just see, I am such a\ntiny mouthful! And when I am gone--I am gone. Only let me free and I\nwill tell you something. Look! Here come some peasant women with eggs\nand cheese which they are carrying to the market at Verrieres. That\nwould be a meal worth having! Only let me go, and I will help you,\nMaster Fox.\"\n\nThe Fox saw that this might be a good plan which the bird proposed, so\nshe let him go.\n\nAnd what do you think the Blackbird did? He began to hop, hop, hop\ntoward the women, dragging his wing behind him as if it were broken,\nwhich is a trick some birds know very well.\n\n\"Look!\" cried one of the women, when she caught sight of him. \"Oh, look\nat the little Blackbird there! His wing is broken and he cannot fly. I\nshall try to catch him.\" And she ran as fast as she could, making her\nhands into a little cage to put over him. The other women, too, set down\ntheir baskets, for convenience--set them down right in the middle of the\nroad--and joined the chase after the poor little Blackbird, so lame, so\nlame! But always, as they came close to him, he managed to flutter out\nof reach.\n\nMeanwhile, Madame Fox went round about by the hedge and came all quietly\nand unseen to the place where the baskets waited in the road. And oh!\nwhat a good dinner she found there; chickens and eggs and fresh cheese\nnicely done up for the market. And the greedy old lady ate them all--all\nthe chickens and the eggs and the cheeses. My! How fat she was when all\nwas done.\n\nNow the Blackbird hopped on and on for a long, long way, until, by\ncocking his eye, he saw that Madame Fox had finished her dinner. And\nthen, houff! Up he flew, with a jolly chirp of laughter, right over the\nheads of the astonished women. What of his broken wing now? He began to\nwhistle, to sing, to chirrup like a crazy bird up there in the air. The\nwomen looked at one another sheepishly.\n\n\"Ah, the wicked Blackbird!\" they said. \"One would have thought that he\ncould not fly at all. But look at him, the sly creature! Oho, it is a\npretty trick he has played us!\"\n\nThey turned back to where they had left their baskets, intending to\nstart on for the market. But when they came there--well, well! What a\nshame!--they found the eggs, the chickens, the cheeses all gone--eaten\nup by the greedy Fox. And then they began to scold and cry.\n\n\"Oh, what misfortune!\" they wailed. \"We have lost our eggs, our\nchickens, and our cheeses, and there is nothing left to carry to market.\nWe have not even a Blackbird to show for our morning's work. Oh dear! oh\ndear! It is all the fault of that wicked, deceitful little bird.\"\n\nAnd, instead of going on to Verrieres, they turned about with their\nempty baskets and went back home, a sorry party, scolding and crying all\nthe way. But long before they reached their homes and their angry\nhusbands Madame Fox was comfortably snoozing her after-dinner nap under\nthe hedge; while the happy Blackbird picked up juicy bugs in the\nneighboring meadow, with one eye cocked to guard against being surprised\na second time by any bushy-tailed rogue.\n\n[Illustration: _He managed to flutter out of reach_]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOVE WHO SPOKE TRUTH\n\n\nThe Dove and the wrinkled little Bat once went on a journey together.\nWhen it came towards night a storm arose, and the two companions sought\neverywhere for a shelter. But all the birds were sound asleep in their\nnests and the animals in their holes and dens. They could find no\nwelcome anywhere until they came to the hollow tree where old Master Owl\nlived, wide awake in the dark.\n\n\"Let us knock here,\" said the shrewd Bat, \"I know the old fellow is not\nasleep. This is his prowling hour, and but that it is a stormy night he\nwould be abroad hunting.--What ho, Master Owl!\" he squeaked, \"will you\nlet in two storm-tossed travelers for a night's lodging?\"\n\nGruffly the selfish old Owl bade them enter, and grudgingly invited them\nto share his supper. The poor Dove was so tired that she could scarcely\neat, but the greedy Bat's spirits rose as soon as he saw the viands\nspread before him. He was a sly fellow, and immediately began to flatter\nhis host into good humor. He praised the Owl's wisdom and his courage,\nhis gallantry and his generosity; though every one knew that however\nwise old Master Owl might be, he was neither brave nor gallant. As for\nhis generosity,--both the Dove and the Bat well remembered his\nselfishness towards the poor Wren, when the Owl alone of all the birds\nrefused to give the little fire-bringer a feather to help cover his\nscorched and shivering body.\n\nAll this flattery pleased the Owl. He puffed and ruffled himself, trying\nto look as wise, gallant, and brave as possible. He pressed the Bat to\nhelp himself more generously to the viands, which invitation the sly\nfellow was not slow to accept.\n\nDuring this time the Dove had not uttered a word. She sat quite still\nstaring at the Bat and wondering to hear such insincere speeches of\nflattery. Suddenly the Owl turned to her.\n\n\"As for you, Miss Pink-eyes,\" he said gruffly, \"you keep careful\nsilence. You are a dull table-companion. Pray, have you nothing to say\nfor yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" exclaimed the mischievous Bat, \"have you no words of praise for\nour kind host? Methinks he deserves some return for this wonderfully\ngenerous, agreeable, tasteful, well-appointed, luxurious, elegant, and\naltogether acceptable banquet. What have you to say, O little Dove?\"\n\nBut the Dove hung her head, ashamed of her companion, and said very\nsimply:--\n\n\"O Master Owl, I can only thank you with all my heart for the\nhospitality and shelter which you have given me this night. I was beaten\nby the storm, and you took me in. I was hungry, and you gave me your\nbest to eat. I cannot flatter nor make pretty speeches like the Bat. I\nnever learned such manners. But I thank you.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the Bat, pretending to be shocked. \"Is that all you have\nto say to our obliging host? Is he not the wisest, bravest, most gallant\nand generous of gentlemen? Have you no praise for his noble character as\nwell as for his goodness to us? I am ashamed of you! You do not deserve\nsuch hospitality. You do not deserve this shelter.\"\n\nThe Dove remained silent. Like Cordelia in the play, she could not speak\nuntruths even for her own happiness.\n\n\"Truly, you are an unamiable guest,\" snarled the Owl, his yellow eyes\ngrowing keen and fierce with anger and mortified pride. \"You are an\nungrateful bird, Miss, and the Bat is right. You do not deserve this\ngenerous hospitality which I have offered, this goodly shelter which you\nasked. Away with you! Leave my dwelling! Pack off into the storm and see\nwhether or not your silence will soothe the rain and the wind. Be off, I\nsay!\"\n\n\"Yes, away with her!\" echoed the Bat, flapping his leathery wings. And\nthe two heartless creatures fell upon the poor little Dove and drove her\nout into the dark and stormy night.\n\nPoor little Dove! All night she was tossed and beaten about shelterless\nin the storm, because she had been too truthful to flatter the vain old\nOwl. But when the bright morning dawned, draggled and weary as she was,\nshe flew to the court of King Eagle and told him all her trouble. Great\nwas the indignation of that noble bird.\n\n\"For his flattery and his cruelty let the Bat never presume to fly\nabroad until the sun goes down,\" he cried. \"As for the Owl, I have\nalready doomed him to this punishment for his treatment of the Wren. But\nhenceforth let no bird have anything to do with either of them, the Bat\nor the Owl. Let them be outcasts and night-prowlers, enemies to be\nattacked and punished if they appear among us, to be avoided by all in\ntheir loneliness. Flattery and inhospitality, deceit and cruelty,--what\nare more hideous than these? Let them cover themselves in darkness and\nshun the happy light of day. As for you, little Dove, let this be a\nlesson to you to shun the company of flatterers, who are sure to get you\ninto trouble. But you shall always be loved for your simplicity and\ntruth. And as a token of our affection your name shall be used by poets\nas long as the world shall last to rhyme with _love_.\"\n\nThe words of the wise King Eagle are true to this day. So now you know\nwhy a great many poems came to be written in which the rhymes _dove_ and\n_love_ have not seemed to make any particular sense.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOWLS ON PILGRIMAGE\n\n\nOnce upon a time old Lady Fox was very hungry, but she had nothing to\neat, and there was no sign of a dinner to be had anywhere.\n\n\"What shall I do, what shall I do?\" whined the Fox. \"I am so faint and\nhungry, but all the birds and all the fowls are afraid of me and will\nnot venture near enough for me to consult them about a dinner. I have so\nbad a name that no one will trust me. What can I do to win back the\nrespect of the community and earn a square meal? Ah, I have it! I will\nturn pious and go upon a pilgrimage. That ought to make me popular once\nmore.\"\n\nSo the Fox started upon the pilgrimage. She had not gone very far when\nshe met a Cock, but he knew the character of Madame Fox too well to\ntrust himself near. He flew up into a tree, and from that safe perch\ncrowed jauntily, \"Good morning, Madame Fox. Whither away so fast?\"\n\nThe Fox drew down the corners of her mouth, trying to look pious, and\nrolled up her eyes as she answered in a hollow voice, \"Oh, Master Cock,\nI am going on a pious pilgrimage. I am sorry for my wicked life, and now\nI am going to be good.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the Cock, \"I am indeed glad to hear that! Going on a\npilgrimage, are you? Well, in that case I will go with you.\"\n\n\"Do, Master Cock, do,\" answered the Fox fervently. \"It will do you good.\nCome sit upon my broad back and I will carry you.\"\n\nThe Cock thanked her and climbed upon her back, and so they proceeded on\ntheir pilgrimage together. After a while they came upon a Dove, which\nfluttered away hastily when she saw old Lady Fox, knowing too well her\nwicked tricks. But the Fox called to her in a gentle voice:--\n\n\"Do not be afraid, O Dove. I know why you start at my approach. But I\nhave repented of my former sins and have turned pilgrim. My friend, the\nCock, and I have just started upon our pious journey. Will you join us?\"\n\nWhen the innocent Dove saw the Cock upon the Fox's back she thought that\ncertainly everything must be safe, so she answered:--\n\n\"Yes, Madame Fox, I will go with you.\"\n\n\"Jump right up on my back; there is plenty of room beside the Cock,\"\nsaid the Fox cordially.\n\nA little further on they met a wild Duck, who waddled away quacking\nwildly when he saw the Fox trotting towards him. But the sly old lady\ncalled out to him, smiling:--\n\n\"Be calm, little brother. I have given up my former unkind tricks, for\nwhich I sadly repent, and now I am going on a pious pilgrimage. See,\nyour friends the Cock and the Dove are my companions.\"\n\n\"In that case I will go along, too,\" said the Duck, \"for you have a\ngoodly party.\"\n\n\"That is right,\" replied the Fox approvingly. \"I thought you would go.\nKindly take a back seat with the others.\"\n\nNow when these queer pilgrims had traveled for some time they came to a\ncave in the rocks, a deep dark cave which looked like a den. And here\nthe Fox stopped, saying:--\n\n\"Dear brothers, it is time that we paused and thought more carefully\nabout our sins. We must cross seas and rivers, and Heaven knows when we\nshall reach the end of our journey. Let us listen to one another's\nconfessions, for I am sure we have all been miserable sinners. Come, Mr.\nCock, come into the cave with me and I will hear you first.\"\n\nThe Cock followed her into the cave, saying with some surprise, \"Why,\nMadame Fox, what have I done that is wicked?\"\n\n\"Do you not know?\" answered the Fox sternly. \"Why, do you not begin to\ncrow at midnight and wake poor tired people out of their first sleep? Go\nto! You ought to be ashamed! Then again you crow at the most\ninconveniently early hour in the morning and make the caravans mistake\nthe true time, so that they start upon their journeys long before the\nproper hour and fall into the hands of robbers who prowl about before\nlight. These are dreadful sins, Mr. Cock, and you deserve to be\npunished.\" So the wicked old Fox seized the Cock and ate him all up.\n\nAfter the Fox had finished him she came to the entrance of the cave and\ncalled, \"Now you come, little Dove, and tell me what you have done that\nis naughty.\"\n\n\"But I have done nothing,\" said the innocent Dove, wondering very much;\n\"of what evil do you accuse me, Madame Fox?\"\n\n\"When the farmers sow their grain you dig up the yellow kernels and eat\nthem for your dinner. That is stealing, which is a wicked, wicked sin,\nand must be severely punished,\" cried the hungry Fox. And thereupon she\nseized the poor little Dove and ate her up.\n\nOnce more the Fox stood at the door of the cave, stealthily licking her\nchops, and she called out to the Duck, \"Come in, Mr. Duck, and I will\nhear what you have to say.\"\n\n\"Well, I have not done anything wrong,\" said the Duck positively, \"and\nyou cannot say that I have; can you now, Madame Fox?\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed and indeed!\" exclaimed the Fox. \"Have you not stolen the\nking's gold crown, and do you not wear it on your head, you wicked\ncreature?\"\n\n\"Indeed and indeed I have done no such thing. It is not true, Madame\nFox, as I can prove. Wait a bit and I will bring witnesses.\"\n\nSo the Duck went out and flew up and down in front of the cave, waiting.\nPresently along came a Hunter with a gun, who espied the Duck and aimed\nthe weapon at him.\n\n\"Don't shoot me,\" cried the Duck. \"What have you against me, O Hunter? I\ncan tell you where to find worthier game. Come with me and I will show\nyou a wicked old Fox who eats innocent birds.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Hunter, putting up his gun, \"show me the place and\nI will spare you.\"\n\nThe Duck led him softly to the entrance of the cave, and pausing there\ncried out to the Fox inside, \"Come out, Madame Fox, I have brought the\nwitness.\"\n\n\"Let him come in, let him come in!\" cried the Fox, for she had grown\nvery hungry indeed and hoped for a double meal.\n\n\"No indeed,\" answered the Duck; \"he insists that you must come out.\" So\nthe Fox crept stealthily to the door, but as soon as she popped out her\nwicked old head the Hunter was ready for her, and Bang! That was the end\nof the Fox's pilgrimage.\n\nThe Duck also had had enough of being a pilgrim. He went home with the\nHunter and became a tame Duck, and lived happily ever after on the pond\nnear the Hunter's house.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GROUND-PIGEON\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a little Malay maiden who lived in the forest\nwith her father and mother and baby sister. They dwelt very happily\ntogether, until one day Coora's father decided to clear the ground on\nthe edge of the forest and have a rice plantation, as many of his\nneighbors were doing.\n\nSo one morning early after breakfast he started out with his axe on his\nshoulder to cut down the trees and make a clearing.\n\n\"O Father, let me go with you!\" begged Coora. \"I do so want to see the\nplantation grow from the very beginning.\"\n\nBut her father said No, she must stay at home until the trees were\nfelled.\n\n\"And after that may I go with you?\" asked Coora. And her father promised\nthat it should be so.\n\nThe days went by and at last the trees were all felled in the clearing.\nWhen Coora heard this she jumped up and down on her little bare brown\nfeet until her anklets tinkled, and cried, \"O Father! Now I may go with\nyou to the clearing, may I not? For so you promised.\"\n\nBut again her father shook his head and said, \"No, Coora, not yet. You\nmust wait until the fallen timber has been burned off. Then you shall go\nwith your mother and me to the planting of the rice.\"\n\nCoora was very much disappointed, and the big tears stood in her eyes.\nBut she only said, \"Do you promise that I may help plant the rice,\nreally and truly?\"\n\nAnd he called back over his shoulder, \"I promise!\"\n\nAt last the fallen timber was burned away, and the ground was ready for\nplanting. One morning Coora saw her father and mother making ready to go\nout together. \"Oh, where are you going, Father and Mother?\" she asked.\n\n\"We go to the planting of the rice,\" answered her father, slinging a big\nbag over his shoulder.\n\n\"But you promised that I should go with you when that time came?\" cried\nCoora wistfully. \"Please, please may I not be your little helper?\"\n\n\"No, no, Coora,\" answered her mother impatiently. \"Do not tease us so.\nYou must stay at home to take care of your little sister. Be a good\ngirl this time, and when the rice is well grown we will all go together\nand harvest it. That will be great fun!\"\n\n\"Shall I really go? Do you promise, Mother?\" asked poor Coora hopefully,\nfor she felt sure that her mother would not deceive her.\n\n\"I promise,\" said the mother, not looking her in the eyes; and the\nparents went away through the forest to plant the rice.\n\nTime went by until the rice had grown tall and was ready for the\nharvest. Now Coora heard her parents talking of the matter, and she was\nvery gay, for now she expected a happy, happy day. She dressed herself\nand made ready to go to the harvesting, as her parents had promised. But\nwhen she joined them, smiling joyfully, they turned upon her frowning\nand bade her return to the house and take care of everything until their\nhome-coming. Then poor little Coora burst into tears and said, \"O my\nFather and O my Mother, I have obeyed you without a word every time you\nbroke your promise to me. And still you continue to put me off from day\nto day, when this is the thing I long to do so much that it seems as if\nmy heart would break. Think of it! The clearing has been made, the\ntimber burned, the rice planted and grown, and now it is ready for the\nharvest. But I have not even seen the place where all this has\nhappened. O Father and Mother, why are you so unkind to me?\"\n\n\"There, there!\" cried her father and mother together, \"do not make a\nfuss over so small a matter. You cannot go to-day; but wait until the\nrice is gathered and it is time to tread it out. Then we will let you\nhelp us, you may be sure. We promise, Coora, that you shall really and\ntruly go.\"\n\n\"You promise!\" echoed Coora bitterly. \"You have promised me before and\nnothing came of it.\" But even while she spoke the unkind parents were\ngone.\n\nThen Coora fell to weeping most sorely, for she knew that she could not\ntrust the word of her father and mother; and that is a most terrible\nthing. At last she rose and wiped away the tears and looked about the\nlittle cottage where she had been patient through so many\ndisappointments. And she said to herself, \"I can bear it no longer. It\nis not right that I should be made to suffer like this when a little\nthing would make me so happy. I must see the rice field; I will go\nto-day.\"\n\nCoora tidied the cottage, putting everything in its place and making it\nlook as beautiful as she could. Then she took up the little sister who\nhad fallen asleep on the floor, and kissing her tenderly placed her in\nthe hammock which swung from wall to wall of the hut. Lastly Coora took\noff the golden bracelets and earrings and the tinkling anklets which she\nwore like other little Malay girls, and left them in a shining heap\nbehind the door. But she kept her necklace about her pretty little neck.\n\nNow Coora had learned a little magic from a witch, just enough magic to\nserve her turn. She went out and picked two palm leaves which she\nfastened on her shoulders and changed herself into a bird, a bright,\nbeautiful Ground-Pigeon, with many-colored metallic feathers. But the\nnecklace still made a band about her pretty little neck, as you may see\non every Ground-Pigeon to this day.\n\nCoora the Ground-Pigeon fluttered away through the forest until she came\nto the rice plantation where her parents were at work. She alighted on a\ndead tree close by them and called out, \"Mother, O Mother! I have left\nmy earrings and bracelets behind the door and have put my little sister\nin the hammock.\"\n\nAstonished at these words her mother looked up, but saw no one, only a\nGround-Pigeon perched on the tree over her head. \"Father,\" she cried to\nher husband who was at work beside her, \"did you not hear Coora's voice\njust now?\"\n\n\"Yes, I thought so,\" answered the father angrily. \"The wicked girl must\nhave disobeyed me and have followed us here after all. I will punish her\nif this is so.\" They called to her, \"Coora, Coora!\" until the forest\nreechoed. But no one appeared or answered.\n\n\"I will go home and see if she is there,\" said the mother. \"Either I\nheard Coora speak or there is some magic in the forest.\" And she\nhastened back to the cottage. There she found the baby in the hammock\nand the bracelets and earrings in a shining heap behind the door, as the\nvoice had said, but there was no Coora anywhere. Surprised and anxious,\nonce more the mother ran back to the plantation.\n\n\"Coora is gone, husband!\" she cried. \"It must have been her own voice\nwhich we heard just now. Hark! She speaks again!\"\n\nAgain from the tree they heard a sweet voice calling, \"Mother, O Mother,\nI have left my earrings and bracelets behind the door and my little\nsister in the hammock. Good-by, Coo-o-o-ra!\" As she spoke her own name\nCoora's voice warbled and crooned into the soft _coo_ of a\nGround-Pigeon's note, and her parents glancing up saw that this bird\nmust be their child, their Coora, magically changed.\n\n\"Let us cut down the tree and catch the wicked girl!\" cried the father.\nAnd seizing his axe he chopped away lustily until the tree fell with a\ncrash. But even at that moment the Pigeon fluttered away to another\ntree, crooning again the soft syllables which she has spoken ever since,\n\"Coo-ra, coo-ra, coo!\"\n\nFrom tree to tree about the rice plantation the distracted parents\npursued the Pigeon; but it was in vain to try to capture her. Ever she\nescaped them when they seemed about to lay hands upon her soft feathers.\nAfter following her flight for many miles they were obliged to return\nhome, sad and sorry and repentant. For they knew now that it was their\nown unkindness and their broken promises which had driven their daughter\naway from the cottage, never to return.\n\nThe beautiful Ground-Pigeon still lingers near the rice plantations\nwhich she had so longed to visit. Still she plaintively calls her name,\nand still she wears the necklace about her pretty little neck. And the\nlittle Malay maidens love her very dearly because she was once a girl\nlike them.\n\n\n\n\nSISTER HEN AND THE CROCODILE\n\n\nThe Crocodile is one of the hungriest bodies that ever lived. When he is\nlooking for a dinner he will eat almost anything that comes within\nreach. Sometimes the greedy fellow swallows great stones and chunks of\nwood, in his hurry mistaking them for something more digestible. And\nwhen he is smacking his great jaws over his food he makes such a greedy,\nterrible noise that the other animals steal away nervously and hide\nuntil it shall be Master Crocodile's sleepy-time. He is too lazy to\nwaddle in search of a dinner far from the river where he lives. But any\nanimal or even a man-swimmer had best be careful how he ventures into\nthe water near the Crocodile's haunts. For what seems to be a\ngreenish-brown, knobby log of wood floating on the water, has little\nbright eyes which are on the lookout for anything which moves. And below\nthe water two great jaws are ready to open and swallow in the prey of\nMr. Hungry-Mouth.\n\nBut no matter how hungry the Crocodile may be, he will not touch the\nHen, even if she should venture into his very jaws; at least, that is\nwhat the Black Men of the Congo River will tell you. And surely, as they\nare the nearest neighbors of the big reptile they ought to know if any\none does. Now this is the story which they tell to explain why the\nCrocodile will not eat the Hen.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a Hen, a common, plump, clucky mother Hen,\nwho used every day to go down to the river and pick up bits of food on\nthe moist banks, where luscious insects were many. She did not know that\nthis Congo River was the home of the Crocodile, the biggest, fiercest,\nscaliest, hungriest Crocodile in all Africa. But one day when she went\ndown to the water as usual she hopped out onto what looked like a mossy\nlog, saying to herself:--\n\n\"Aha! This is a fine old timber-house. It is full of juicy bugs, I know.\nI shall have a great feast!\"\n\nTap-tap! Pick-pick! The Hen began to scratch and peck upon the rough\nbark of the log, but Oh dear me! suddenly she began to feel very\nseasick. The log was rolling over! The log was teetering up on end like\na boat in a storm! And before she knew what was really happening the\npoor Hen found herself floundering in the water in the very jaws of the\nterrible Crocodile.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" cried the Crocodile in his harsh voice. \"You took me for a\nlog, just as the other silly creatures do. But I am no log, Mrs. Hen, as\nyou shall soon see. I am Hungry Crocodile, and you will make the fifth\ndinner which I have had this evening.\"\n\nThe Hen was frightened almost to death, but she kept her presence of\nmind and gasped frantically as she saw the great jaws opening to swallow\nher:--\n\n\"O _Brother_, don't!\"\n\nNow the Crocodile was so surprised at hearing the Hen call him Brother\nthat he kept his jaws wide open and forgot to swallow his dinner. He\nkept them open for some time, gaping foolishly, wondering what the Hen\ncould mean, and how he could possibly be her brother. And by the time he\nhad remembered how hungry he was, there was nothing for him to eat. For\nthe Hen had skipped away just as fast as her feet would take her.\n\n\"Pouf!\" snorted the Crocodile. \"Her brother, indeed! I am not her\nbrother, and she knows it very well. What a fool I was to be caught by\nsuch a word! Just wait till I catch her again and we will see. I will\n_brother_ her!\" And he swam sulkily away to hide his mortification in\nthe Congo mud, with only the end of his long nose poking out as a\nventilator for his breathing.\n\nNow, though the Hen had had so narrow an escape, it had not sufficiently\ntaught her a lesson. A few days afterwards once more she went down to\nthe river, for she could not resist the temptation of the bug-dinner\nwhich she knew she should find there. But she kept her eyes open sharply\nfor any greeny log which might be floating on the water, saying to\nherself, \"Old Hungry-Mouth shall not catch me napping this time. I know\nhis wicked tricks!\"\n\nBut this time the Crocodile was not floating on the water like a greeny\nlog. He was lying still as still, sunning himself on the river bank\nbehind some tall reeds. Mrs. Hen came trotting down to the water, a\nplump and tempting sight, cocking her head knowingly on one side as she\nspied a real log floating out beyond, which she took to be her enemy.\nAnd as she scratched in the soft mud, chuckling to think how sly she\nwas, with a rush and a rustle down pounced the Crocodile upon her, and\nonce more, before she knew it, she found herself in the horrid gateway\nof his jaws, threatened by the double rows of long, white teeth.\n\n[Illustration: \"_O Brother, don't!_\"]\n\n\"Oho!\" snapped the Crocodile. \"You shall not escape me this time. I\nam a log, am I? Look at me again, Mrs. Hen. Am I a log?\" And he came at\nher to swallow her at once.\n\nBut again the Hen squawked, \"O _Brother_, don't!\"\n\nAgain the Crocodile paused, thunderstruck by this extraordinary word.\n\"Oh, bother the Hen!\" he cried, \"what can she mean, really? How can I be\nher brother? She lives in a town on the land, and I live in my kingdom\nof mud and water. How could two creatures possibly be more unlike?\nHow\"--but while he had been thinking of these hows, once more the Hen\nhad managed to escape, and was pelting back to her barnyard as fast as\nshe could go.\n\nThen indeed the Crocodile was angry. He determined to go and see Nzambi,\nthe wise witch princess, about the matter. She would tell him what it\nall meant. But it was a long journey to her palace and he was awkward\nand slow in traveling upon land. Before he had gone very far he was\ntired and out of breath, and stopped to rest under a banana tree.\n\nAs he lay panting in the shade he saw his friend Mbambi, the great\nLizard, hurrying past through the jungle.\n\n\"Oh, Mbambi!\" cried old Hungry-Mouth, \"stop a moment. I want to speak\nwith you. I am in great trouble.\"\n\nSo the Lizard drew near, wagging her head wisely, for it pleased her to\nbe consulted by the big Crocodile. \"What can it be, dear friend, that is\ntroubling you this day?\" she said amiably. \"Surely, no one would be so\nrude or rash as to offend the King of Congo River. But tell me your\ntrouble and perhaps I can advise you.\"\n\n\"Listen to me, then,\" said the Crocodile. \"Almost every day a nice fat\nHen,--Oh, Mbambi! so delightfully fat and tempting!--comes to my river\nto feed. Well, why don't I make her my dinner? you ask. Now hearken:\neach time, just as I am about to catch her and carry her to my home she\nstartles me by calling me '_Brother_.' Did you ever hear of anything so\nmaddening? Twice I have let her escape because of the word. But I can\nstand it no longer, and I am on the way to Princess Nzambi to hold a\npalaver about it.\" (By \"palaver\" the slangy Crocodile meant a long,\nserious talk.)\n\n\"Silly idiot!\" cried the Mbambi, not very politely. \"Do nothing of the\nkind. You will only get the worst of the palaver and show your ignorance\nbefore the wise Nzambi. Now listen to me. Don't you know, dear\nCrocodile, that the Duck lives on the water, though she is neither a\nfish nor a reptile? And the Duck lays eggs. The Turtle does the same,\nthough she is no bird. The Hen lays eggs, just as I do; and I am Mbambi,\nthe great Lizard. As for you, dear old Hungry-Mouth, you know that at\nthis moment\"--here she whispered discreetly, looking around to see that\nno one was listening,--\"at this moment in a snug nest dug out of the\nsand on the banks of the Congo, Mrs. Crocodile has covered with leaves\nto hide them from your enemies sixty smooth white eggs. And in a few\nweeks out of these will scamper sixty little wiggly Crocodiles, your\ndear, homely, scaly, hungry-mouthed children. Yes, we all lay eggs, my\nsilly friend, and so in a sense we are all brothers, as the Hen has\nsaid.\"\n\n\"Sh!\" whispered the Crocodile, nervously. \"Don't mention those eggs of\nmine, I beg of you. Some one might overhear. What you say is undoubtedly\ntrue,\" he added pensively, after thinking a few moments. \"Then I suppose\nI must give up my tempting dinner of Hen. I cannot eat my Sister, can\nI?\"\n\n\"Of course you cannot,\" said the Mbambi, as he rustled away through the\njungle. \"We can't have everything we want in this world.\"\n\n\"No, I see we cannot,\" sighed the Crocodile, as he waddled back towards\nthe banks of the Congo. Now in the same old spot he found the Hen, who\nhad been improving his absence by greedily stuffing herself on\nbeetle-bugs, flies, and mosquitoes until she was so fat that she could\nnot run away at the Crocodile's approach. She could only stand and\nsquawk feebly, fluttering her ridiculous wings.\n\nBut the Crocodile only said, \"Good evening, Sister,\" very politely, and\npassing her by with a wag of his enormous tail sank with a plop into the\nwaters of the Congo.\n\nAnd ever since that time the Hen has eaten her dinner in tranquil peace,\nundisturbed by the sight of floating log or basking shape of knobby\ngreen. For she knows that old Hungry-Mouth will not eat his Sister, the\nHen.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THRUSH AND THE CUCKOO\n\n\nIn the wonderful days of old it is said that Christ and Saint Peter went\ntogether upon a journey. It was a beautiful day in March, and the earth\nwas just beginning to put on her summer gorgeousness. As the two\ntravelers were passing near a great forest they spied a Thrush sitting\non a tree singing and singing as hard as he could. And he cocked his\nhead as if he was very proud of something.\n\nSaint Peter stopped at the foot of the tree and said, \"I wish you a good\nday, Thrush!\"\n\n\"I have no time to thank you,\" chirped the Thrush pertly.\n\n\"Why not, pretty Thrush?\" asked Saint Peter in surprise. \"You have all\nthe time in the world and nothing to do but sing.\"\n\n\"You mistake,\" cried the Thrush. \"I am making the summer! It is I, I, I\nwho make the green grass grow and the flowers bud. Look, how even now\nthe world is growing beautiful in answer to my song.\" And the conceited\nlittle bird continued to warble as hard as he could,--\n\n    \"To-day I shall marry, I and no other!\n    To-morrow my brother.\"\n\nChrist and Saint Peter looked at each other and smiled, then went upon\ntheir way without another word, leaving the Thrush to continue his task\nof making the summer.\n\nThis was in the morning. But before midday the clouds gathered and the\nsky darkened, and at noon a cold rain began to drip. The poor Thrush\nceased his jubilant song and began to shiver in the March wind. By night\nthe snow was felling thick and fast, and where there had been a green\ncarpet on the earth was now spread a coverlet of snowy white. Shivering\nand like to die of cold the Thrush took refuge under the tree in the\nmoss and dead leaves. He thought no more of his marriage, nor of his\nbrother's, but only of the danger which threatened him, and of the\ndiscomfort.\n\nThe next morning Christ and Saint Peter, plodding through the\nsnow-drifts, came upon him again, and Saint Peter said as before, \"I\nwish you good day, Thrush.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" answered the Thrush humbly, and his voice was shaky with\ncold and sorrow.\n\n\"What do you here on the cold ground, O Thrush-who-make-the-summer, and\nwhy are you so sad?\" asked Saint Peter. And the Thrush piped feebly,--\n\n    \"To-day I must die, I and no other!\n    To-morrow my brother.\"\n\n\"O foolish little bird,\" said Saint Peter. \"You boasted that you made\nthe summer. But see! The Lord's will has sent us back to the middle of\nwinter, to punish your boasting. You shall not die, he will send the sun\nagain to warm you. But hereafter beware how you take too much credit for\nyour little efforts.\"\n\nSince that time March has ever been a treacherous and a changeful month.\nThen the Thrush thinks not of marriage, but of his lesson learned in\npast days, and wraps himself in his warmest feathers, waiting for the\nLord's will to be done. He is no longer boastful in his song, but sings\nit humbly and sweetly to the Lord's glory, thanking him for the summer\nwhich his goodness sends every year to happy bird and beast and child of\nman.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow after this adventure with the Thrush, Christ and Saint Peter went\nupon their journey for many miles. At last, weary and hungry, they\npassed a Baker's shop. From the window came the smell of new warm bread\nbaking in the oven, and Christ sent Saint Peter to ask the Baker for a\nloaf. But the Baker, who was a stingy fellow, refused.\n\n\"Go away with you!\" he cried. \"I give no bread to lazy beggars!\"\n\n\"I ask it for my Master, who has traveled many miles and is most faint\nand weary,\" said Saint Peter. But the Baker frowned and shook his head,\nthen strode into the inner shop, banging the door after him.\n\nThe Baker's wife and six daughters were standing at one side when these\nthings happened, and they heard all that took place. They were generous\nand kind-hearted bodies, and tears stood in their eyes at the Baker's\nrough words. As soon as he had gone out they wrapped up the loaf and\ngave it stealthily to Saint Peter saying,--\n\n\"Take the loaf for your Master, good man, and may he be refreshed by\nit.\"\n\nSaint Peter thanked and blessed them and took the loaf to Christ. And\nfor their charity the Lord set these good women in the sky as the Seven\nStars,--you may see them to this day shining in love upon the sleeping\nworld. But the wicked Baker he changed into a Cuckoo; and as long as he\nsings his dreary song, \"Coo-coo! Coo-coo!\" in the spring, so long the\nSeven Stars are visible in the heaven, so folk say.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OWL AND THE MOON\n\n\nWhen the moon is round and full, if you look very carefully at the\ngolden disk you can see in shadowy outline the profile of a beautiful\nlady. She is leaning forward as if looking down upon our earth, and\nthere is a little smile upon her sweet lips. This fair dame is Putri\nBalan, the Princess of the Moon, and she smiles because she remembers\nhow once upon a time she cheated old Mr. Owl, her tiresome lover.\n\nPutri Balan, so they tell you in Malay, was always very, very beautiful,\nas we see her now. Like all the Malay women, Putri Balan loved to chew\nthe spicy betel-nut which turns one's lips a bright scarlet. It is\nbetter, so they say, than any kind of candy, and it is considered much\nnicer and more respectable than chewing-gum. So Putri Balan was not\nunladylike, although she chewed her betel-nut all night long.\n\nNow, ever since the day when Mr. Owl carelessly let the naughty little\nWren escape from prison, the shamed and sorry old fellow had never\ndared to show his face abroad in daylight. Gradually his eyes grew\nblurred and blinky, till now he could not see anything by day, even if\nhe were to try.\n\nSo it happens that there are many delightful things about which old Mr.\nOwl does not know,--things which take place while the beautiful sun is\nshining. But also there are marvelous sights, unknown to early-sleeping\nbirds, which he enjoys all by himself. For at night his queer eyes are\nwonderfully strong and bright. All day long he sits in his hollow tree,\nbut when the other feathered folk are drowsing upon their roosts, or are\nsnugly rolled up in their little nests, with their heads tucked under\ntheir downy wings, old Mr. Owl puts on his round spectacles and goes\na-prowling up and down the world through the woods and meadows (like\nHaroun-al-Rashid in the streets of Bagdad), spying all sorts of queer\ndoings.\n\nAnd this is how old Mr. Owl happened to see the fair Princess Putri\nBalan, smiling down from her moon upon the sleeping world of birds who\nhad never seen her and never would see her in all her loveliness.\n\nHow beautiful she was! How bright and wonderful! Old Mr. Owl stared up\nin wide-eyed astonishment, and then and there fell in love with her,\nand resolved to ask her to be his wife.\n\nCramming on his spectacles more tightly and ruffling the feathers about\nhis neck, he flew up and up and up, as high as ever he dared to go,\nuntil he was within hailing distance of the moon. Then he called out in\nhis softest tones,--which were harsh enough to any ears,--\n\n\"O fair Moon-Maiden, O beautiful Princess, will you marry me? For I love\nyou very dearly.\"\n\nThe Princess Putri Balan stopped chewing her betel-nut for a moment and\nlooked down to see what daring creature might thus be addressing her.\nSoon she spied Mr. Owl with his goggle-eyes looking up at her adoringly.\nHe was such a ridiculous old creature, and his spectacles glinted so\nqueerly in the moonlight, that Putri Balan began to laugh and answered\nhim not at all. She laughed so hard that she almost swallowed her\nbetel-nut, which might have been a serious matter.\n\nMr. Owl continued to stare, for he saw nothing funny in the situation.\nAgain he repeated in his hoarse voice, \"O fair Moon-Maiden, O beautiful\nPrincess, will you marry me? For I love you very dearly.\"\n\nAgain the Princess laughed, for she thought it a tremendous joke; and\nagain she nearly choked. Mr. Owl waited, but she made him no other\nanswer. However, he was a persistent lover. All night long he went on\nasking the same question, over and over again, until the Princess Putri\nBalan was quite worn out trying not to choke with laughter while she\nchewed the betel-nut. At last she said impatiently,--\n\n\"O Mr. Goggle-Eyes! Do give me a moment's peace! You make me laugh so\nthat I cannot chew my betel-nut. Yes, I will say _yes_, if you will only\nleave me to finish my betel-nut undisturbed. I will marry you. But you\nmust go away until I have quite done.\"\n\nThen Mr. Owl was filled with joy. \"Thanks, thanks, O most gracious\nlady!\" he said. \"I will go away and leave you to finish your betel-nut\nundisturbed. But I shall come again to-morrow night, and by that time\nyou will have done with it, and then you will be mine!\"\n\nMr. Owl flew back to his home in the hollow tree, for it was almost\nmorning, and already he was growing so blind that he could hardly find\nthe way. But the Princess Putri Balan went on chewing the betel-nut, and\nto herself she said,--\n\n[Illustration: _Putri Balan began to laugh_]\n\n\"How am I to rid myself of this bore? I cannot chew this little\nbetel-nut forever; there must be an end to it before long. Mr. Owl\nwill certainly come again to-morrow night, and then, according to my\npromise, I must become his wife. I cannot marry old Goggle-Eyes. Oh\ndear! What shall I do?\"\n\nAs she chewed her betel-nut the Princess Putri Balan hit upon a plan.\nShe would manage to cheat old Mr. Owl after all. She would never finish\nthe betel-nut! She took the little bit that remained,--and it was a\ndangerously little bit, for the Princess had been chewing all night\nlong, except when she was laughing,--and reaching out from the moon she\ntossed it down, down, down upon the earth. At the same time she said a\nmagic moon-charm: and when the bit of betel-nut reached the earth, it\nbecame a little bird,--the same which the Malay people call the Honey\nBird, with brilliant, beautiful plumage. And the Princess Putri Balan\ncried out to it from her golden house,--\n\n\"Fly away, pretty little bright bird! Fly as far and as fast as ever you\ncan, and keep out of Mr. Owl's way. For it is you who must save me from\nbecoming his unhappy wife.\"\n\nSo the Honey Bird flew away, a brilliant streak, through the Malay\nwoods, and hid himself in a little nest.\n\nWhen night came out stole Mr. Owl, with his spectacles in place, and up\nhe flew to his Princess, whom he now hoped to call his very own.\n\n\"Good evening, my beautiful Princess!\" he cried. \"Have you finished your\nbetel-nut at last, and are you ready to keep your promise?\"\n\nBut the Princess Putri Balan looked down at him, pretending to be sad,\nthough there was a twinkle in her beautiful eye; and she said,--\n\n\"Alas! Mr. Owl, a dreadful thing has happened. I lost my betel-nut,\nbefore it was quite finished. It fell down, down, down, until I think it\nreached the earth. And I cannot marry you, according to my promise,\nuntil it is finished.\"\n\n\"Then it must be found!\" cried Mr. Owl. \"I will find it. My eyes are\nsharp at night and nothing escapes them. Shine kindly on me, Princess,\nand I will find the betel-nut for you, and you shall yet be mine.\"\n\n\"Go then, Mr. Owl,\" said the Princess, smiling to herself. \"Go and look\nfor the betel-nut which I must finish before I marry you. Search\ncarefully and you may find it soon.\"\n\nPoor Mr. Owl searched carefully, but he could not find the bit of\nbetel-nut. Of course he could not find it, when it had changed and flown\naway as a beautiful, many-colored bird! All that night he sought, till\nthe sun sent him blinking to his tree. And all the next night he\nsought, and the next, and the next. And he kept on seeking for days and\nmonths and years, while the Princess Putri Balan smiled down upon him\nand was happy at heart because of her clever scheme.\n\nOld Mr. Owl never found out the trick, nor suspected the innocent little\nHoney Bird, whom indeed he scarcely ever saw, because it was a\nsunset-sleeping bird, while he was a wistful, lonely, sad night-prowler.\nUp and down, up and down the world he goes, still looking for the\nbetel-nut of the Princess Putri Balan, which he will never find. And as\nhe flies in the moonlight he glances ever longingly at the beautiful\nlady in the moon, and sobs \"Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!\" in grief and despair. For\nafter all these centuries he begins to fear that she will never be his\nwife.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TUFTED CAP\n\n\nOne dark night Master Owl left his hollow tree and went prowling about\nthe world as usual upon his hopeless hunt for the Princess's betel-nut.\nAs soon as he was out of hearing a long, lean, hungry Rat crept to the\nhouse and stole the dainties which the lonely old bachelor had stored\naway for the morrow's dinner. The thief dragged them away to his own\nhole and had a splendid feast with his wife and little ones. But the Owl\nreturned sooner than the Rat had expected, and by the crumbs which he\nhad dropped upon the way tracked him to the hole.\n\n\"Come out, thief!\" cried the Owl, \"or I will surely kill you. Come out\nand return to me my morrow's dinner.\" The Rat trembled with fear at\nthese threatening words.\n\n\"Alas!\" he squeaked, \"I cannot do that, for already the dinner is eaten.\nMy wife and hungry little ones have eaten it. Pity us, for we were\nstarving!\"\n\n\"Bah!\" screamed the Owl, \"I care little for that. It is for my dinner\nalone that I care. Since you have eaten it you shall certainly die,\" and\nhe began to scratch fiercely at the mouth of the hole. The Rat trembled\nmore than ever. But suddenly he had an idea which made his whiskers\ntwitch.\n\n\"Hold!\" he cried. \"Dear, good Master Owl, permit me to live and I will\ngive you something which is worth many dinners, something that\nmen-creatures value very highly, and which with great labor and pain I\nbrought away from one of their dens.\"\n\n\"Umph!\" grumbled the Owl. \"Let us see what it is.\"\n\nThe Rat crawled timidly out of his hole with the peace-offering; and\nwhat do you think it was? Why, a gimlet! Just a plain, ordinary,\nwell-sharpened gimlet for boring holes.\n\n\"Hoo!\" cried the Owl. \"I don't think much of _that_. What is it good\nfor?\" Now the Rat had not the faintest idea as to what the gimlet really\nwas, but he had another idea instead.\n\n\"That? Why--that--oh, _that_! That is a very valuable thing. It is able\nto give you the keenest delight. I will show you how it works. But you\nmust do just as I say, or it will be of no use.\"\n\n\"Hoo!\" cried the Owl. \"Continue with the directions.\"\n\n\"Well, first you must stick the thing point upwards in the ground at the\nfoot of this tree.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said the Owl, doing as was suggested, and waiting\nexpectantly for the next move.\n\n\"Now you must mount to the top of the tree and slide down the trunk,\"\nsaid the Rat solemnly. Old Master Owl was certainly very far from wise\nthat night, for he obeyed the Rat's word without a suspicion. He flew to\nthe top of the tree, and then, sitting back and giving a warning cry of\n\"Hoo-hoo!\" coasted down the trunk with the speed of lightning. But\nmidway down he struck a knot in the tree and rolled heels over head. And\nwhen he reached the ground of course he landed fast upon the sharp point\nof the gimlet, just as the Rat had planned.\n\nWith bloody head, and hooting with pain, the Owl started off in pursuit\nof the Rat, resolved this time to kill him without fail. The Rat was\nnimble, and his fear added to his speed, but at last the Owl caught him.\nRuffled and ferocious, the great bird was about to tear him in pieces,\nwhen the Rat once more begged his life.\n\n\"It was only a joke,\" he cried. \"Only a silly joke. Spare me this once,\ndear Master Owl, and I will give you something that you really need.\nLook at your bleeding head. You cannot go about the world with that\nexposed. Spare my life, and I will give you a lovely cap of tufted\nfeathers to hide the bite of the wicked sharp-thing-made-by-man. Pray,\nlet me go, dear Master Owl.\"\n\nThe Owl considered for a moment, and then decided to accept the bargain.\nFor he thought of Putri Balan, the Princess of the Moon, and knew that\nhe should lose his last chance to win her if she happened to see him\nwith this ridiculous wound in his head.\n\nSo the Rat gave him a nice cap of tufted feathers, which he wears to\nthis day; and the Owl let the thief go free. But after that there was a\ncoolness between them, as you may well imagine.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOOD HUNTER\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was an Indian who was a famous hunter. But he did\nnot hunt for fun; he took no pleasure in killing the little wild\ncreatures, birds and beasts and fishes, and did so only when it was\nnecessary for him to have food or skins for his clothing. He was a very\nkind and generous man, and loved all the wood-creatures dearly, often\nfeeding them from his own larder, and protecting them from their\nenemies. So the animals and birds loved him as their best friend, and he\nwas known as the Good Hunter.\n\nThe Good Hunter was very brave, and often went to war with the fierce\nsavages who were the enemies of his tribe. One sad day he set forth with\na war party, and they had a terrible battle, in which the Good Hunter\nwas slain, and his enemies took away his scalp, leaving him lying dead\nin the forest.\n\nThe Good Hunter had not remained long cold and lifeless in the shadowy\nstillness, when the Fox came trotting through the woods. \"Alack and\nalas!\" cried the Fox, spying the body stretched on the leaves. \"Here is\nour dear friend, the Good Hunter, slain! Alack and alas! what shall we\ndo now that our dear friend and protector is gone?\"\n\nThe Fox ran out into the forest crying the death lament, which was the\nsignal to all the beasts that something most sorrowful had happened.\nSoon they came flocking to the spot, all the animals of the forest. By\nhundreds they came, and surrounding the body of their friend raised the\nmost doleful howls. For, though they rubbed him with their warm noses,\nand licked him with their warm tongues, and nestled against him with\ntheir warm fur, they could not bring him back to warm life.\n\nThey called upon Brother Bear to speak and tell them what to do; for he\nwas the nearest relative to man. The Bear sat up on his haunches and\nspoke to the sad assembly with tears in his eyes, begging each animal to\nlook carefully through his medicine-box and see whether there might not\nbe some balm which would restore the Good Hunter to life. Then each\nanimal looked carefully through his medicine-box of herbs and healing\nroots, bark and magic leaves, and they tried every remedy that they\nknew. But nothing brought the color to their friend's pale cheeks, nor\nlight into his eyes. He who had helped them so often was helpless now,\nand they could not aid him. Again the kind beasts sank back on their\nhaunches and raised a mighty howl, a requiem for the dead.\n\nWild and piercing and long-drawn, the sound swept through the forest,\nsuch a sound of sorrow as had never been heard before. The Oriole, who\nwas flying overhead, heard and was surprised. Soon his brightness came\nflashing down through the leafy boughs like a ray of sunlight into the\ngloom and darkness of the forest.\n\n\"What has happened, O four-footed friends,\" he asked, \"that you mourn so\nmightily?\" Then they showed him the body of the Good Hunter lying in the\nmidst of their sad company, and the Oriole joined his voice of sorrow to\ntheirs.\n\n\"O friend of the birds,\" he cried, \"is there no bird who can aid you\nnow, you who have fed us so many times from the door of your generous\nwigwam? I will call all the feathered tribes, and we will do our best.\"\n\nSo the Oriole went forth and summoned the birds to the forest council.\nThere was a great flapping of wings, a great twittering and chirping,\nquestioning and exclamation when the birds assembled to hear the sad\nnews. Every one was there, from the tiny Humming Bird to the great\nEagle of the Iroquois, who left his lonely eyrie to pay his respects to\nthe Good Hunter's memory. The poor little birds tried everything in\ntheir power to bring back to life their dear friend. With beak and claw\nand tender wing they strove, but all their efforts were in vain. Their\nGood Hunter was dead, and his scalp was gone.\n\nThen the great Eagle, whose head was white with years of wisdom and\nexperience, spoke to the despairing assemblage of creatures. From his\nlofty perch above the world the Eagle had looked down upon centuries of\nchange and decay. He knew every force of nature and all the strange\nthings of life. The hoary-headed sage said that the Good Hunter could\nnot be restored until his scalp was found. Then all the animals clamored\nthat they might be allowed to go and seek for the missing scalp. But to\nthe Fox was given this honor, because he had first found the body of the\nGood Hunter in the forest. The Fox set out upon his search, in his foxy\nway. He visited every hen-roost and every bird's-nest, but no scalp did\nhe find. \"Of course not!\" screamed the birds when he returned from his\nfruitless quest, \"Of course no bird has taken the Good Hunter's scalp.\nYou should have known better than that, Master Fox.\"\n\nSo the next time a bird was sent upon the search. The Pigeon Hawk went\nforth, confident that she should be successful. But she was in such a\nhurry and flew so fast that she saw nothing, and she too returned\nwithout that for which she sought. Then the White Heron begged that he\nmight be allowed to try. \"For,\" said he, \"you all know how slowly I fly,\nand how careful I am to see everything.\"\n\n\"Yes, especially if it be something good to eat,\" chirped the saucy Jay,\n\"do not trust him, birds, he is too greedy.\"\n\nYet the Heron was allowed to go. He flapped away, slowly and sedately,\nand the Council sat down to await his return. But the Heron had not gone\nfar when he came to a field of luscious wild beans; and he stopped to\ntake a mouthful or two. He ate, and he ate, and he ate, the greedy\nfellow! until he could eat no more. And then he was sleepy, so that he\nslept and slept and slept. And when he awoke he was so hungry that he\nfell to eating again, while the Council waited and wondered and waited.\nAt last they grew impatient and began to suspect that the Jay had been\nright, which was indeed the case. They decided to wait no longer for the\nHeron, who did not return. Then the Crow stepped forward and said, \"Let\nme go, I pray you, for I think I know where the scalp may be found; not\nin the nest of a bird, not in the den of any animal, not in the watery\nhaunt of a fish. For all the creatures of earth, air, and water are\nfriends of the Good Hunter. It is men who are most cruel to men:\ntherefore in the tents of men must we look for the missing scalp. Let me\ngo to seek it there, for men are used to see me flying near and will not\nsuspect why I come.\"\n\nThe Crow flew forth upon his errand, and before long came to the wigwam\nwhere lived the warrior who had slain the Good Hunter. And sure enough,\nthere, outside the tent, was the scalp of the Good Hunter, stretched on\na pole to dry. The Crow flew near, and the warrior saw him, but thought\nnothing of it, for he was used to seeing crows about the camp. Presently\nwhen no one was looking the skillful thief managed to steal the scalp,\nand away he flew with it to the Council in the forest. Great was the\nrejoicing of the birds and beasts when they saw that the Crow had been\nsuccessful, and they said more kind things to him than he had heard for\nmany moons. At once they put the scalp upon the Good Hunter's head, but\nit had grown so dry in the smoke of the warrior's wigwam that it would\nnot fit. Here was a new trouble. What was to be done to make the scalp\nsoft and flexible once more? The animals did their best, but their\nefforts were of no avail.\n\nOnce more the great Eagle came forward and bade them listen.\n\n\"My children,\" he said, \"my wings are never furled. Night and day for\nhundreds of years the dews of heaven have been collecting upon my back\nas I sit on my throne above the clouds. Perhaps this dew may have a\nhealing power such as no earthly fountain holds. We will see.\"\n\nGravely the Eagle plucked a long feather, and dipping it in the dew\nwhich moistened his plumage, applied it to the stiffened scalp.\nImmediately it became soft, and could be fitted to the head of the Good\nHunter closely as when it had first grown there. The birds and animals\nhurried away and brought leaves and flowers, bark and berries and roots,\nwhich they made into a mighty healing balsam to bathe the poor head\nwhich had been so cruelly treated. And presently great was their joy to\nsee a soft color come into the pale cheeks of the Good Hunter, and light\ninto his eyes. He breathed, he stirred, he sat up and looked around him\nin surprise.\n\n\"Where am I? What has happened?\" he asked.\n\n\"You slept and your friends have wakened you,\" said the great Eagle\ntenderly. \"Stand up, Good Hunter, that they may see you walk once more.\"\n\nThe Good Hunter stood up and walked, rather unsteadily at first, back to\nhis own wigwam, followed by a great company of happy forest creatures,\nwho made the sky ring with their noises of rejoicing. And long, long\nafter that, the Good Hunter lived to love and protect them.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COURTSHIP OF MR. STORK AND MISS HERON\n\n\nThis is a very good story to read at night just before going to sleep.\nAnd if you ask why, I must only tell you that you will find out before\nyou reach the end of the tale.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was once a Heron, a pretty, long-legged, slender lady Heron, who\nlived in the mushy-squshy, wady-shady swamp. The lady Heron lived in her\nswamp all alone, earning her living by catching little fish; and she was\nvery happy, never dreaming that she was lonesome, for no one had told\nher what lonesome was. She loved to go wading in the cool waters; she\nloved to catch the little fish who swam by unsuspectingly while she\nstood still upon one leg pretending to think about something a thousand\nmiles away. And she loved to look at her slender, long-legged blue\nreflection in the water; for the lady Heron was just a little bit vain.\n\nNow one day Mr. Stork came flying over the mushy-squshy, wady-shady\nswamp where the Heron lived, and he too saw the reflection in the water.\nAnd he said to himself, \"My! How pretty she is! I wonder I never noticed\nher before. And how lonesome she must be there all by herself in such a\nnasty, moist, mushy-squshy old swamp! I will invite her to come and\nshare my nice, warm, dry nest on the chimney-top. For to tell the truth,\nI am growing lonely up there all by myself. Why should we not make a\nmatch of it, we two long-legged creatures?\"\n\nMr. Stork went home to his house, which he set prettily in order: for he\nnever dreamed but that the lady Heron would accept his offer at the very\nfirst croak. He preened his feathers and made himself as lovely as he\ncould, and forthwith off he flew with his long legs dangling, straight\nto the wady-shady swamp where Miss Heron was standing on one leg waiting\nfor her supper to get itself caught.\n\n\"Ahem!\" croaked Mr. Stork, waving his wing politely. \"Good evening, Miss\nHeron. Fine weather we are having, eh? But how horribly moist it is down\nhere! I should think that your nice straight legs would grow crooked\nwith rheumatism. Now I have a comfortable, dry house on the roof.\"\n\n\"Pouf!\" grunted Miss Heron disdainfully.\n\nBut Mr. Stork pretended not to hear, and went on with his remarks,--\"a\nnice dry house which I should be glad to have you share with me. Come,\nMiss Heron! Here I am a lonely old bachelor, and here are you a lonely\nold maid\"--\n\n\"Lonely old maid, indeed!\" screamed the Heron interrupting him. \"I don't\nknow what it is to be lonely. Go along with you!\" and she splashed water\non him with her wings, she was so indignant.\n\nPoor Mr. Stork felt very crestfallen at this reception of his\nwell-meaning invitation. He turned about and stalked away towards his\nnest upon the roof, without so much as saying good-by to the lady.\n\nBut no sooner was he out of sight than Miss Heron began to think. He had\nsaid that she was lonely; was she lonely? Well, perhaps he ought to know\nbetter than she, for he was a very wise bird. Perhaps she was lonely,\nnow that she came to think of it. However, there was no reason why she\nshould go to live in that stupid, dry, old nest on the house-top. Why\ncould he not come to dwell in her lovely, mushy-squshy, wady-shady\nswamp? That would be very pleasant, for he was a good sort of fellow\nwith nice long legs; and there were fish enough in the water for two.\nBesides, he could then do the fishing for the family; and, moreover,\nthere would then be two to admire her reflection in the water. Yes; her\nmind was made up. She would invite him. She glanced down at her\nreflection and settled some of the feathers which her fit of temper had\nruffled out of order. Then off she started in pursuit of Mr. Stork.\n\nMr. Stork had not gone very far, for a sad, rejected lover is a dawdling\ncreature. And so she came up with him long before he was in sight of his\nnest.\n\n\"Good evening, Mr. Stork,\" said the lady nervously. \"I--I have been\nthinking over what you said to me just now, and I have concluded that\nperhaps I was a bit hasty. To tell you the truth, sir, I _am_ a trifle\nlonely, now that you suggest the thought to me. And it would be very\nagreeable to have pleasant company. I am ready, sir, to agree to your\nproposal. But of course I cannot think of changing my abode. My swamp is\nthe most beautiful home that a maiden ever knew, and I could not give it\nup for any one. As for your ugly old nest on the chimney-top, bah! I\ncannot endure the idea with patience.\"\n\nMr. Stork was gradually stiffening into an angry attitude, but she did\nnot notice. \"Now you can come and live in my swamp,\" Miss Heron went on\nwarmly, \"and you will be very welcome to catch fish for me, and to look\nin my mirror. It will be very nice indeed!\"\n\n\"Nice!\" croaked the Stork, \"I should say as much! What can you be\nthinking of, Miss? I to give up my comfortable home on the house-top,\nclose by the warm chimney, and go to live in that disgusting\nmushy-squshy bog of yours! Ha-ha! That is really too ridiculous! I bid\nyou good morning.\" And with an elaborate bow he turned his back and flew\naway.\n\nMiss Heron flounced back to her swamp, mortified because she had left it\nto propose terms to so ungallant a fellow. But hardly had she begun her\ntardy supper when once more Mr. Stork's shadow darkened the mirror\nbefore her, and once more she heard his apologetic croak.\n\n\"Ahem, ahem!\" he began. \"I hope I find you well, Miss Heron? I have\nbeen--ha hum!--considering your last most condescending words, and I\nfind that I have been hasty. You are so good as to express a belief that\nI should make a pleasant companion. So I should! so I should! And as for\nyou,\" he bowed gallantly, \"one can readily imagine the charm of your\nsociety. Come, then, Miss Heron, why should we not make a happy couple,\nif we can only arrange this one little foolish matter? Be my wife: come\nlive with me in my lovely nest.\"\n\nBut at this word Miss Heron uttered a little scream and cried, \"Be off\nwith you, you villain! Leave my premises instantly!\" and she waved her\nwings so fiercely that once more Mr. Stork took to his and flapped away\nto his home.\n\nNow when he had gone Miss Heron found that she had been bad-tempered,\nand she thought how pleasantly they might have arranged the matter if\nonly she had been more moderate. So she spread her beautiful blue wings\nand flew to the housetop where Mr. Stork lived, and, perching on the\nchimney, she said,--\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Stork, I was bad-tempered and impolite, and I beg your pardon.\nLet us be friends once more. Leave this hot old stupid house-top and\ncome live in my cool, moist, wady-shady swamp, and I will be your very\nloving little wife.\"\n\nBut the Stork arose in his nest, flapping his wings crossly, and cried,\n\"Be off, you baggage! Don't come here to insult my beautiful house. Be\noff, I say, to your mushy-squshy, rheumaticky bog. I want no more of\nyou!\"\n\nSo the Heron flew back disconsolately to the watery swamp, where she\nbegan to feel very lonely indeed. And the Stork, too, began to feel very\nlonely indeed; and he was sorry that he had been rude to a lady.\nPresently, once more he came flapping to the mushy-squshy marsh, where\nhe found Miss Heron just ready to go to sleep.\n\n\"Oh, dear Miss Heron!\" he cried. \"I made a great mistake, and said\nthings for which I am truly sorry. Do come to be my loving wife, as you\npromised, and we will live happily ever after on the chimney-top, far\nabove the other birds. And I will never be cross again.\"\n\nBut the Heron answered, \"Away with you! I want to go to sleep. I am\ntired of your croaking voice. Leave me alone!\" So the Stork flew away in\na huff.\n\nBut the Heron could not sleep, she was so lonely. So she rose, and,\nflying through the still night air, came again to the Stork's high-built\nnest.\n\n\"Come, Storkie dear,\" she said in her sweetest tone, \"come home to your\ndear wife's house in the wady-shady, mushy-squshy marsh, and I will be\ngood.\"\n\nBut the Stork pretended to be asleep, and only snored in reply. So the\nHeron flew home in a huff. But the Stork could not truly sleep, he was\nso lonely. So he rose, and, flying through the still night air, came\nagain to the Heron's home in the marsh.\n\n\"Come, my dear,\" he said. \"Come home to your dear husband's house, and I\nwill be good.\"\n\nBut the Heron made no answer, pretending to be asleep. So the Stork flew\nhome in a huff. But the Heron could not truly sleep, she was so lonely.\nSo she rose at break of day, and, flying through the cool morning air,\ncame again to the Stork's nest.\n\n\"Come, Storkie dear,\" she said, \"come home to your dear wife's house,\nand I will be good.\"\n\nBut the Stork did not answer, he was so angry. So the Heron flew home in\na huff.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd if you are not asleep when you get as far as this, you may go on\nwith the story by yourself, perfectly well. You may go on just as long\nas you can keep awake. For the tale has no end, no end at all. It is\nstill going on to this very day. The Stork still lives lonely on his\nhouse-top, and the Heron still lives lonely in her marsh, growing\nlonelier and lonelier, both of them. But because they have no tact, they\nare never able to agree to the same thing at the same time. And they\nkeep flying back and forth, saying the same things over, and over, and\nover, and over....\n\n\n\n\nTHE PHOENIX\n\n\nOn the top of a palm tree, in an oasis of the Arabian desert, sat the\nPhoenix, glowering moodily upon the world below. He was alone, quite\nalone, in his old age, as he had been alone in his youth, and in his\nmiddle years; for the Phoenix has neither mate nor children, and there\nis never but one of his kind upon the earth.\n\nOnce he had been proud of his solitariness and of his unusual beauty,\nwhich caused such wonder when he went abroad. But now he was old and\nweak and weary, and he was lonely, oh! so lonely! He had lived too long,\nhe thought.\n\nFor years and years and years, afar and apart, he had watched the coming\nand going of things in the world. He had seen the other birds created,\nand had watched them undergo strange changes in form and color until\nthey became as they are to-day. He had seen the hundred bright eyes of\nArgus, the watchman, set in the Peacock's tail. He had seen the flaming\nheart of the volcano tamed and quieted until it became the flaming\nlittle Humming-Bird. He had seen the Crow turn black and the Goldfinch\nbecome a gaudy bird, and he knew how and why all these things had come\nto pass. For centuries, how many he knew not, he had watched the birds\nhatch out of their little eggs, flutter their feeble little wings, fly\naway to build nests for their little mates, and finally die and\ndisappear as birds do, leaving no trace behind.\n\nBut the Phoenix did not die. He was of different clay from these\nordinary feathered creatures. He was the glorious bird of the Sun, the\nonly one, the gold-and-crimson one, who when he went abroad filled all\ncreatures with awe of his beauty and wisdom and mystery, so that they\ndared not come near, but followed him afar off, hushing their song and\nadoring silently. The Phoenix fed not on flowers or fruit or\ndisgusting insect-fry, but on precious frankincense and myrrh and\nodoriferous gums. And the Sun himself loved to caress his plumage of\ngold and crimson.\n\nAs for men, they also had adored him in time past, and had built temples\nin his honor. They also were puny mortals, scarcely longer of life than\nthe birds themselves. The Phoenix had seen many generations of men\ngrow up, do good or evil deeds, and die, sometimes leaving grand\nmonuments upon the earth, sometimes disappearing from knowledge like\nthe very birds, leaving scarcely a trace behind.\n\nIn his time great kings had lived and reigned and turned to dust.\nProphets had grown hoary, said their word, and passed away, leaving no\necho. Poets had sung and had died singing. But the Phoenix, looking\ndown from the palms of his desert, saw it all and did not die.\n\nAll this had been his pride and honor. How he had enjoyed his strength,\nhis beauty, his wisdom, and the knowledge that he was honored and adored\nby thousands who had never even seen his glory! But now, now all was\nchanged. He was grown old and tired. He felt his loneliness and he\nlonged to die.\n\nHis wings were feeble. Of late he had not dared to venture far from the\ndesert. He dreaded the curious gaze of the other birds, who would find\nhis beauty dimmed, and would scorn, perchance, the faded glory which\nthey had once held in awe. For years he had not ventured within sight of\nmen, and he knew that most of them had forgotten his existence, nay,\neven denied that he had ever lived. He feared that there might not be a\nsingle heart in all the world that thrilled to his name.\n\nThinking thus mournfully, the Phoenix sat upon the top of the tallest\npalm. His plumage of crimson and gold glowed in the last rays of the\nsetting sun. His head was drooping, and his eye lustreless. The joy of\nlife was gone. Slowly the Sun sank towards the horizon, a red eye fixed\nupon the Phoenix steadily. Suddenly across the gray waste of sand\ndotted a beam of light, intensely bright. A single ray from that\nwatchful Eye seemed to flame as it reached the palm tree and pierced to\nthe very heart of the Phoenix. A thrill ran through his body. He drew\nhimself together, and his eye gleamed with new lustre as he fixed it\nsteadily upon the dazzling disk just touching the horizon. Dark stood\nthe palm against the desert, but the Phoenix was bathed in sudden\nlight. It was the signal, the signal for which he had been waiting,\nthough he knew it not. The five hundred years were ended. The mystery of\nhis life was about to be solved.\n\nAs the sun sank below the horizon, eagerly the Phoenix set about the\ntask which was before him. At last he might build the nest which till\nnow he had never known. On the top of the highest palm he would build\nit, that it might receive from the blessed East the first beam of the\nmorning sun. Marvelously strengthened for the task, back and forth to\nthe ends of the earth his wings of crimson and gold bore the Phoenix\nthat night. For this was to be no nest of sticks and straw. Of precious\nthings must it be made, and well he knew where such were to be found. Of\nsilky leaves and grass interwoven with splinters of sandal-wood were the\nwalls. Then on the bottom of the nest he laid, bit by bit, a pile of\nsweet-smelling gums, cinnamon and spice, spikenard, myrrh, camphor,\nambergris, and frankincense, with no meaner choice.\n\nAll night he labored, beak and talon, until the nest was ready. And as\nthe first tints of dawn began to streak the east, the Phoenix rose\nonce, high into the air, gazing with wistful eyes over the world which\nhe had loved; then, slowly sinking to the palm, he poised his gorgeous\nbody upon the fragrant nest. With wings spread wide, and eyes fixed\neagerly upon the spot where the Sun was sure to rise, he waited, waited.\n\nAt last the golden Eye appeared. As on the night before, one radiant\nbeam seemed to single out the lonely palm. One shaft of flame pierced to\nthe nest whereon the Phoenix sat. It was the final signal to the Bird\nof the Sun. Immediately the great bird began to fan the sweet-smelling\nmass with his wings. The burning ray grew brighter,--a pungent,\nwonderful aroma of mingled fragrances filled the air. Gradually the Sun\nrose, great and glorious, and as it advanced into the heaven a thin\ncloud of smoke floated from the palm tree, and wound away across the\ndesert towards the east. Faster and faster fanned the great wings of the\nPhoenix, until when the Sun shone full down through the palm tree top,\nthe whole mass burst into flame, in the midst of which the Phoenix\nblended crimson and gold. High in the air rose the fire, diffusing\nabroad all the sweet odors of Araby the blest. For a little while it\nglowed, then gradually sank, lower and lower, until but a pile of ashes\nremained at the bottom of the nest.\n\nBut lo! Was the Phoenix dead? What was this creature risen in youth\nand beauty from the ashes? A bird like the Eagle in shape, but nobler,\nlarger, stronger, more gracious even than the King of Birds, a brilliant\nvision of crimson and gold, rose like a flame from the nest, hung for a\nmoment above the palm, looking eagerly at the Sun, which baptized him in\nits splendor. A new Phoenix lived in the world. Once more the ancient\nglory was renewed. Once more youth, joy, and hope sprang from the\nPhoenix's ashes and rejoiced in the centuries of sunshine before him.\nDeath was indeed worth dying to make this life worth living!\n\nSlowly the young Phoenix descended to the nest which had been at once\na sepulchre and a cradle. Tenderly careful of the parent ashes which it\nheld, with lusty beak and talon he tore the nest bodily from the\nbranches, and set out upon his pious journey. He knew not where he went,\nnor why, but the Sun drew him to the East.\n\nAs he sped, through the sky, a flash of gold and crimson, the lesser\nbirds gathered to wonder and admire. Flocks of them followed at a\ndistance, a train of worshipers, chorusing the glory of the new-born\nwonder. He bore his head high with its burden, and his heart was filled\nwith pious joy. It was good to be a Phoenix, good, good!\n\nAt last he reached the place which unknowingly he sought. The Sun alone\nhad been his guide. To the city of Heliopolis in Egypt he came; to the\ngreat Temple of the Sun, brightly adorned with crimson and gold, the\nPhoenix colors.\n\nThere upon the altar he laid the precious ashes. And lo! There were folk\nwaiting to receive them,--many little children, and some elders of\nchildlike heart, who took the ashes and laid them reverently in the\nshrine. The Phoenix was not forgotten; he was never to be forgotten so\nlong as the world should last.\n\nThe new Phoenix flew back to the Arabian desert to live his five\nhundred years as each of his race had done, sacred, afar, and apart, but\nnot forgotten, though in his old age he might come to deem so. For in\nthe bright Temple of the Sun there are always folk of childlike sympathy\nwho delight to honor the eternal Phoenix of romance and mystery,--the\ndear, undying memory of a time long past.\n\n\n\n\nThe Riverside Press\n_Electrotyped and printed by H.O. Houghton & Co._\n_Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._","title":"The Curious Book of Birds","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":39345}