Our lucky star was in the ascendant that day, for we had not been there three minutes before a small, inconspicuous bird dropped into the bushes a few feet from us. My friend"s eye followed her, and in a second fell upon the nest the little creature was lining, in a low maple about two feet from the ground.
But who was she? For it is one of the difficulties about nests, that the brightly-colored male, whom one knows so well, is very sure not to show himself in the neighborhood, and his spouse is certain to look just like everybody else. However, there is always some mark by which we may know, and as soon as the watcher secured a good look she announced in an excited whisper, "We have it! a female blue, building."
So it proved to be, and we planted our seats against trees for backs, and arranged ourselves to stay. The dog seeing this preparation, and recognizing it as somewhat permanent, with a heavy sigh laid himself out full length, and composed himself to sleep.
The work over that nest was one of the prettiest bits of bird-life I ever watched. Never was a sc.r.a.p of a warbler, a mere pinch of feathers, so perfectly delighted with anything as she with that dear little homestead of hers. It was pretty; it looked outside like the dainty hanging cradle of a vireo, but instead of being suspended from a horizontal forked twig, it was held in an upright fork made by four twigs of the sapling.
The little creature"s body seemed too small to hold her joy; she simply could not bring her mind to leave it. She rushed off a short distance and brought some infinitesimal atom of something not visible to our coa.r.s.e sight, but very important in hers. This she arranged carefully, then slipped into the nest and moulded it into place by pressing her breast against it and turning around.
Thus she worked for some time, and then seemed to feel that her task was over, at least for the moment. Yet she could not tear herself away. She flew six inches away, then instantly came back and got into the nest, trying it this way and that. Then she ran up a stem, and in a moment down again, trying that nest in a new way, from a fresh point of view.
This performance went on a long time, and we found it as impossible to leave as she did; we were as completely charmed with her ingenuous and bewitching manners as she was with her new home.
Well indeed was it that we stayed that morning and enriched ourselves with the beautiful picture of bird ways, for like many another fair promise of the summer it came to naught.
We had not startled her, she had not observed us at all, nor been in the least degree hindered in her work by our silent presence, twenty feet away and half hidden by her leafy screen. But the next day she was not there. After we had waited half an hour, my friend could no longer resist a siren voice that had lured us for days (and was never traced home, by the way). I offered to wait for the little blue while she sought her charmer.
We were near the edge of the woods, and she was obliged to pa.s.s through part of a pasture where sheep were kept. Her one terror about her big dog was that he should take to making himself disagreeable among sheep, when she knew his days would be numbered, so she told him to stay with me. He had risen when she started, and he looked a little dubious, but sat down again, and she went away.
He watched her so long as she could be seen and then turned to me for comfort. He came close and laid his big head on my lap to be petted. I patted his head and praised him a while, and then wished to be relieved.
But flattery was sweet to his ears, and the touch of a hand to his brow,--he declined to be put away; on the contrary he demanded constant repet.i.tion of the agreeable sensations. If I stopped, he laid his heavy head across my arm, in a way most uncomfortable to one not accustomed to dogs. These methods not availing, he sat up close beside me, when he came nearly to my shoulder and leaned heavily against me, his head resting against my arm in a most sentimental att.i.tude.
At last finding that I would not be coaxed or forced into devoting myself wholly to his entertainment, he rose with dignity, and walked off in the direction his mistress had gone, paying no more attention to my commands or my coaxings than if I did not exist. If I would not do what he wished, and pay the price of his society, he would not do what I asked. I was, therefore, left alone.
I was perfectly quiet. My dress was a dull woods tint, carefully selected to be inconspicuous, and I was motionless. No little dame appeared, but I soon became aware of the pleasing sound of the blue himself. It drew nearer, and suddenly ceased. Cautiously, without moving, I looked up. My eyes fell upon the little beauty peering down upon me. I scarcely breathed while he came nearer, at last directly over my head, silent, and plainly studying me. I shall always think his conclusion was unfavorable, that he decided I was dangerous; and I, who never lay a finger on an egg or a nest in use, had to suffer for the depredations of the race to which I belong. The pretty nest so doted upon by its little builder was never occupied, and the winsome song of the warbler came from another part of the wood.
We found him, indeed, so often near this particular place, a worse tangle, if possible, than the other, that we suspected they had set up their household G.o.ds here. Many times did my friend and her dog work their way through it, while I waited outside, and considered the admirable tactics of the wary warbler. The search was without result.
Weeks pa.s.sed, but though other birds interested us, and filled our days with pleasure, my comrade never ceased longing to find the elusive nest of that blue warbler, and our revenge came at last. Nests may be deserted, little brown spouses may be hidden under green leaves, homesteads may be so cunningly placed that one cannot find them, but baby birds cannot be concealed. They will speak for themselves; they will get out of the nest before they can fly; they will scramble about, careless of being seen; and such is the devotion of parents that they must and will follow all these vagaries, and thus give their precious secret to whoever has eyes to see.
One day I came alone into the woods, and as I reached a certain place, sauntering along in perfect silence, I evidently surprised somebody, for I was saluted by low "smacks" and I caught glimpses of two birds who dived into the jewel-weed and disappeared. A moment later I saw the blue take flight a little farther off, and soon his song burst out, calm and sweet as though he had never been surprised in his life.
I walked slowly on up the road, for this was one of the most enchanting spots in the woods, to birds as well as to bird-lovers. Here the cuckoo hid her brood till they could fly. In this retired corner the tawny thrush built her nest, and the hermit filled its aisles with music, while on the trespa.s.s notices hung here, the yellow-bellied woodp.e.c.k.e.r drummed and signaled. It was filled with interest and with pleasant memories, and I lingered here for some time.
Then as the road led me still farther away, I turned back. Coming quietly, again I surprised the blue family and was greeted in the same manner as before. They had slipped back in silence during my absence, and the young blues were, doubtless, at that moment running about under the weeds.
Thus we found our warbler, the head of a family, hard at work as any sparrow, feeding a beloved, but somewhat scraggy looking, youngster, the feeble likeness of himself. There, too, we found the little brown mamma, the same, as we suppose, whose nest-building we had watched with so much interest. She also had a youngster under her charge. But how was this!
a brown baby clad like herself! Could it be that the sons and daughters of this warbler family outrage all precedent by wearing their grown-up dress in the cradle? We consulted the authorities and found our conclusion was correct.
Henceforth we watched with greater interest than before. Every day that we came into the woods we saw the little party of four, always near together, scrambling about under the saplings or among the jewel-weed, or running over the tangled branches of a fallen tree, the two younger calling in sharp little voices for food, and the elders bustling about on low trees to find it.
We soon noticed that there was favoritism in the family. Papa fed only the little man, while mamma fed the little maid, though she too sometimes stuffed a morsel into the mouth of her son. Let us hope that by this arrangement both babies are equally fed, and not, as is often the case, the most greedy secures the greatest amount.
We had now reached the last of July, and the woods were full of new voices, not alone the peeps or chirps of birdlings impatient for food.
There were baffling rustles of leaves in the tree-tops, rebounds of twigs as some small form left them, flits of strange-colored wings,--migration had begun. Now, if the bird-student wishes not to go mad with problems she cannot solve, she will be wise to fold her camp-stool and return to the haunts of the squawking English sparrow and the tireless canary, the loud-voiced parrot, and the sleep-destroying mockingbird. I did.
XVIII.
A RAINY-DAY TRAMP.
Before I opened my eyes in the morning I knew something had happened, for I missed the usual charm of dawn. A robin, to be sure, made an effort to lead, as was his custom, and sang out bravely once or twice; a song sparrow, too, flitted into the evergreen beside my window, and uttered his sweet and cheery little greeting to whom it might concern.
But those were the only ones out of the fourteen voices we were accustomed to hear in the morning.
When I came out on the veranda not a note was to be heard and not a bird to be seen excepting a woodp.e.c.k.e.r, who bounded gayly up the trunk of a maple, as if sunshine were not essential to happiness, and a chipping-sparrow, who went about through the dripping gra.s.s with perfect indifference to weather, squabbling with his fellow-chippies, and picking up his breakfast as usual.
I seated myself in the big rocker, and turned toward the woods, a few rods away. The rain, which had fallen heavily for hours, light and fine now, drew a shimmering veil before the trees,--a veil like a j.a.panese bead-hanging, which hides nothing, only the rain veil was more diaphanous than anything fashioned by human hands. It did not conceal, but enhanced the charm of everything behind it, lending a glamour that turned the woods into enchanted land.
Before the house how the prospect was changed! The hills and Adirondack woods in the distance were cut sharply off, and our little world stood alone, closed in by heavy walls of mist.
My gla.s.s transported me to the edge of the side lawn, where I looked far under the trees, and rejoiced in the joy of the woods in rain. The trees were still, as if in ecstasy "too deep for smiling;" the ferns gently waved and nodded. Every tiny leaf that had thrust its head up through the mould, ambitious to be an ash or a maple or a fern, straightened itself with fullness of fresh life. The woods were never so fascinating, nor showed so plainly
"The immortal gladness of inanimate things."
A summer shower the birds, and we, have reason to expect, and even to enjoy, but a downpour of several hours, a storm that lays the deep gra.s.s flat, beats down branches, and turns every hollow into a lake, was more than they had provided for, I fear. My heart went out to the dozens of bobolink and song-sparrow babies buried under the matted gra.s.s, the little tawny thrushes wandering around cold and comfortless on the soaked ground in the woods, the warbler infants,--redstart and chestnut-sided--that I knew were sitting humped up and miserable in some watery place under the berry bushes, the young tanager only just out of the nest, and the two cuckoo babies, thrust out of their home at the untimely age of seven days, to shiver around on their weak blue legs.
My only comfort was in thinking of woodp.e.c.k.e.r little folk, the yellow-bellied family whose loud and insistent baby cries we had listened to for days, the downy and hairy, and the golden-wing. They were all warm and snug, if they could only be persuaded to stay at home.
But from what I have seen of young birds, when their hour strikes they go, be it fair or foul. To take the bitter with the sweet is their fate, and no rain, however driving, no wind, however rough, can detain them an hour when they feel the call of the inner voice which bids them go. I have seen many birdlings start out in weather that from our point of view should make the feathered folk, old or young, hug the nest or any shelter they can find.
In the afternoon the rain had ceased, and we went out. How beautiful we found the woods! More than ever I despair of
"Putting my woods in song."
Every fresh condition of light brings out new features. They are not the same in the morning and the afternoon; sunshine makes them very different from a gray sky; and heavy rain, which hangs still in drops from every leaf and twig, changes them still more.
This time the tree-trunks were the most noticeable feature. Th.o.r.eau speaks of rain waking the lichens into life, and we saw this as never before. Not only does it bring out the colors and give a brightness and richness they show at no other time, but it raises the leaves--if one may so call them--makes them stand out fresh. The beeches were marvelous with many shades of green, and of pink, from a delicate blush over the whole tree, to bright vermilion in small patches. The birches, "most shy and ladylike of trees," were intensely yellow; some lovely with dabs of green, while others looked like rugged old heroes of many battles, with great patches of black, and ragged ends of loosened bark fringing them like an Indian"s war dress, up to the branches. Every hollow under the trees had become a clear pond to reflect these beauties, and lively little brooks rippled across the path, adding to the woods the only thing they lacked,--running water.
Instinctively our feet turned up the path to the oven-bird"s nest, so narrow that we brushed a shower from every bush. There he was, singing at that moment. "Teacher! teacher! teacher!" he called, with head thrown up and wings drooped. And then while we looked he left his perch, and pa.s.sed up between the branches out of our sight, his sweet ecstatic love-song floating down to delight our souls.
Surely, we thought, all must be well in the cabin among the dead leaves, or he could not sing so. Yet life had not been all rose-colored to the little dame whom we had surprised several days before, bringing great pieces of what appeared to be lace, to line the nest she had made so wonderfully. We had watched her, breathless, for a long time, while she went back and forth carrying in old leaves, softened, bleached, and turned to lace by long exposure, arranged each one carefully and moulded it to place by pressing her breast against it, and turning round and round in the nest. Curious enough she looked as she alighted at some distance, and walked--not hopped--to her little "oven," holding the almost skeletonized leaf before her like an ap.r.o.n, so busy that she did not observe that she had visitors.
Then came a day when, on reaching our usual place, we found that an accident had happened. The dainty roof was crushed in, and the poor little egg, for which such loving preparations had been made, lay pathetically on the ground outside the door. My comrade crept carefully up, raised the tiny roof to place, and with deft fingers put a twig under as a prop to hold it, then gently laid the pretty egg in the lace-lined nest.
The next day we hurried out to see if the bird had resented our clumsy human help. But no; like the wise little creature she was, she had accepted the goods the G.o.ds had provided, and laid a second pearl beside the first. On our next visit, therefore--especially when we heard the gleeful song of her (supposed) mate--we came up with confidence to see our little oven-bird homestead. But, alas! somebody not so loving as we had been there; the two pretty eggs were gone, not a sign of them to be seen, and the nest was deserted. Yet we could not give up a hope that she would return, and day after day our steps turned of themselves to the oven-bird"s nook. This rainy day, as a dozen times before, we found the little house still empty, and as before we turned sadly away, when suddenly a new sound broke the stillness. "Wuk! wuk! wuk! wa-a-a-ah!
wa-a-a-ah!" it cried. It was the exact tone of a young baby, a naive and innocent cry. What could it be? Was some tramp mother hidden behind the bushes? Was it a new bird with this unbird-like cry? I was startled.
But my friend was smiling at my dismay. She pointed to the crotch of a tree, and there a saucy gray squirrel lay sprawled out flat, uttering his sentiments in this abominable parody on the human baby cry. I believe the first squirrel learned it from some deserted infant, and handed it down as a choice joke upon us all. At any rate this performer was not suffering as his tones would indicate; for seeing that he had an audience more interested than he desired, he pulled himself together, whisked his bushy tail in our faces, and disappeared behind the trunk, from whence, in one instant, his head was thrust on one side and his tail on the other. And so he remained as long as we were in sight.
This absurd episode changed our mood, and soon we tramped gayly back over the soft leaf-covered paths, fording the newly formed brooks, shaking showers upon ourselves from the saplings, and arriving at last, dripping but happy, on the veranda, where, after donning drier costumes, we spent the rest of the day watching the birds that came to the trees on the lawn.
XIX.
THE VAGARIES OF A WARBLER.