"Feet!" said Nat promptly, then adding: "But this Sparrow hasn't any feet except its toes; they grow on its legs, because the rest of the horny part stands up—I've noticed that in Canaries."
"But all this horny part is the foot, not the leg," answered the Doctor, "though it does stand up, as you say. How could toes grow from legs without any feet between? They never do! There has to be a foot in every animal between the toes and the legs. Now what do you call the end of your foot which is opposite the end on which the toes grow?"
FIG. 1. Ordinary Foot of Perching Birds; 2. Foot Of Nighthawk, With a Comb on Claw of Middle Toe; 3. Climbing Foot Of Woodpecker, With Two Hind Toes; 4. Grasping Foot of Osprey, for Holding Prey.
FIG. 5. Scratching Foot of Ruffed Grouse; 6. Wading Foot Of Golden Plover, With Only Three Toes; 7. Wading Foot of Snipe, With Short Hind Toe; 8. Wading Foot of Green Heron, With Long Hind Toe; 9. Swimming Foot of Coot, With Lobed Toes; 10. Swimming Foot Of Canada Goose, With Three Toes Webbed; 11. Swimming Foot of Cormorant, With All Four Toes Webbed.
"It's the heel in people, but I should think the hind toe of a bird was its heel," said Nat doubtfully, and beginning to think he did not understand.
"You might think so," said the Doctor; "but you would be wrong. All this horny part that a bird stands up on is its foot. And the top of it, nearest to the feathers, is the heel. Don't you see, when I bend the foot so," continued the Doctor, as he bent the Sparrow's foot forward, "that the top of the horny part makes a joint that stands out backward, in the same position your heel always has? All this slender horny part of the foot, above the roots of the toes, corresponds to the instep of your foot, and of course the heel comes next. You must remember the name of it—the Wise Men call it the tarsus."
"Then hasn't a bird got any legs, Uncle Roy, only just feet?" asked Dodo.
"Oh! yes; legs too, with a knee-joint and a hip-joint, like ours. But all these parts are up closer to the body, and hidden by the feathers, so that you cannot see them."
As the Doctor said this there was a great commotion. Quick, who had been watching the mouse hole all the while, gave a sharp bark and pounced on something. There was a feeble squeak, and it was all over with a mouse which had ventured too far from its hole.
"Poor little mousey!" said the Doctor, as he took the limp body from the terrier's mouth. "It is quite dead. I am sorry, but it might have nibbled some of my birds. Besides, this is exactly what I wanted to teach you something about. Who can tell me the difference between a mouse and a Sparrow?"
"I can!" said Dodo; "it's all difference; a mouse hasn't any feathers, or any wings, and it has four feet, and a long tail and whiskers and teeth—"
"That will do, little girl, for differences; do you see anything alike between a Sparrow and a mouse, Rap?"
"I think the fur is something like feathers, Doctor," answered Rap; "and you told us how a beak was like a mouth without any teeth or lips; then a mouse has four feet and legs; but a bird has only two feet, and two wings instead of four legs and feet like a mouse."
"That is just what I want you all to think about," said the Doctor. "Now listen. If a Sparrow has a pair of feet that correspond to a mouse's hind feet, what do you think a Sparrow's wings correspond to in a mouse?"
"I should think they would be something like a mouse's fore feet," answered Rap, after thinking a moment.
"That is exactly right. Birds and beasts are alike in many respects. They have heads, necks, and bodies; they have tails; and they have limbs. Beasts have two pairs of limbs. We call them fore legs and hind legs. People have two pairs also. We call them arms and legs. So you see our arms correspond to the fore legs of beasts, though we never use them for moving about, except when we go on our hands and knees, or climb trees, or swim in the water. And as for birds—why, their fore limbs are turned into wings, to fly with, so that they walk or hop on their hind limbs only, just as we do. Animals that go on all fours are called quadrupeds. Animals that go on their two hind limbs only, like Bird People and House People, are called bipeds. A Sparrow's wings are just as much like a mouse's fore legs, as a Sparrow's feathers are like a mouse's fur."
"How funny!" said Dodo. "But how are a bird's wings like fore legs, when they haven't got any paws or toes—or fingers—or claws—only just long feathers?"
"They have fingers, and some birds' wings have claws; only you cannot see them, because they are all wrapped up in the skin and covered over with the feathers. Some day—not to-day, because you have had a long lesson already—I will show you a bird's wing with only its bones. Then you will see that it has finger-bones at the end, then hand-bones next, then bones that run from the wrist to the elbow, and then one bone that runs from the elbow to the shoulder—almost the same bones that people have in their fingers, hands, wrists, and arms. So you see wings are the same to a bird that fore legs are to a mouse or arms are to us.
"I could go through all the inside parts of birds, and show you something like the same parts in people,—stomach and bowels, to take care of the food they eat and turn it into blood to nourish them; lungs to breathe with, and keep the blood pure; heart to beat and thus pump the warm blood into all parts of the body; brain and nerves, which are what birds think and feel with, just as we do with ours; and all their bones, which together make what we call the skeleton, or framework of the body, to keep the flesh in shape and support the other organs."
"Dear me!" sighed Dodo; "there must be ever so many more things inside of birds that we can't see, than there are outside."
"Of course there are!" said the Doctor. "It won't be very hard for you to remember the outside parts, and learn the names of them all. I have told you most of them that you need to remember, to understand the stories I am going to tell you about birds. See here! What do you think of this?"
So saying, the Doctor unrolled a large sheet of drawing-paper that hung on the wall. "Here is a picture of the White-throated Sparrow, drawn so big you can see it almost across the room, with all the outside parts of which you must learn the names. You see the names are all on the picture, too; I am going to make it smaller, and put it in the book I will write for you, so you can look at it whenever you wish.
"It is almost dinner-time now, and you must be very hungry. But now I must tell you one thing more. You know there are so many, many different kinds of birds and other animals that nobody could remember them unless they were classified. To classify is to put things that are most alike closest together, then next nearest them things that are next most alike, and to keep furthest apart those things that are least alike. Now it is true that all beasts, birds, snakes, lizards, frogs, and fishes have some things alike, though each has some other things different from all the rest. If they were not all alike in some things, we could not call them all animals. One of the things in which all the animals I have named are alike is, that they all have skeletons. One of the things in which all their skeletons are alike is, that they have backbones. Backbones are the chains of bones that run along the back from the head to the tail. Backbones are called by the Wise Men vertebrae; animals that have backbones are named Vertebrates; and animals that lack backbones are named Invertebrates."
"Tell us the names of some Invertebrates, please, Doctor," said Rap.
"Well, all sorts of insects are Invertebrates, and so are lobsters and crabs, oysters and clams, worms, starfishes, jelly-fishes, corals, and even sponges. Then there are some too small to see without a microscope. But never mind about Invertebrates now. I only want you to remember that all beasts, birds, reptiles, and fishes are Vertebrates, and that there are five principal classes of them. If I should tell you as much about them as I have about the Building of a Bird, you would see that they are all built on what we call the Vertebrate plan of structure. Here is a chart of the Classes of Vertebrates—you can study it this afternoon, till you learn it by heart."
VERTEBRATES
Animals with Backbones
CLASS I. Mammals.—Warm-blooded animals which have fur or hair, bring forth their young alive, and nurse them. House People are Mammals.
CLASS II. Birds.—Warm-blooded animals which have feathers and lay eggs.
CLASS III. Reptiles.—Cold-blooded animals which have scaly skins, like lizards, snakes, and turtles.
CLASS IV. Batrachians.—Cold-blooded animals which have naked skins, like frogs, toads, and newts.
All the foregoing classes, except a few of the Batrachians, breathe air in lungs, and almost all, except snakes, have legs; none now living can fly, except bats and birds; but bats are Mammals.
CLASS V. Fishes.—Cold-blooded animals which have either scaly or naked skins, but no fur or feathers; which live in the water, breathe it with their gills, and swim in it with fins.
CITIZEN BIRD
The apple trees were in full bloom the day that the Doctor again found time to be with the children. It was exactly the kind of a day that birds like. The ground was soft enough to let the earthworms come up to breathe, so that Robins could catch them easily, and the air was full of all kinds of insects newly out from their long winter sleep in their soft cocoon beds, much to the delight of the Swallows and Flycatchers.
It was also a beautiful day for House People to watch their bird neighbors; for it was mild but not too bright, and every one knows how it hurts the eyes to look at flying birds with the sun shining in them.
Olive, Dodo, and Nat went out first and found Rap waiting. The Doctor followed, carrying something in his hand in a black leather case. When they arrived at the old tree in the orchard, he told them to look up. There was the perch arranged as it had been when he was a boy. Not a perch for birds, but for House People—narrow board seats fitted in between the largest branches and a bar fastened across some of the highest ones, so that it was quite safe to climb up and look out of the top of the tree. The branches had been trimmed away here and there, so that a good view could be had of what was happening elsewhere in the orchard. A scream of surprise and delight came from the group, in which Olive joined. Quickly as the children scrambled into the tree, the Doctor was up there first, laughing and saying that it was thirty years since he had climbed that apple tree; for after he went away to college the old seats had decayed and fallen down.
"Give me your hand and I'll help you up," called Nat to Rap, who had dropped his crutch and was looking up at the others.
"No, you needn't," said Rap. "I can climb all right. Sometimes it isn't so handy for me, but other times it's easier, for in tight places one leg doesn't take up as much room as two;" and he swung and pushed until he was up as high as the rest.
"Here's a nest with eggs in it," whispered Dodo, who had crept out on a limb, where a rather large round nest, made of grass and little sticks plastered together with mud, was saddled on the branch—in fact, a Robin's nest.
"Four lovely smooth eggs, not quite blue and not quite green! Please, can I have them? I saw them first."
"Think a minute, Dodo," said the Doctor. "A bird will come from each of those eggs. Suppose you take the eggs away from the poor Robins, you will be killing four young birds, besides hurting the feelings of their parents and making them leave the orchard, very likely. You must not take any eggs in the nesting season—not even one. I will tell you what happened once in a field where there were some birds' nests in the bushes.
"The man who owned the field was fond of birds and wished to protect them, but he was so good-natured that when his little boy came to him and said, 'I wish so much to have some birds' eggs—all the boys collect them—please let me take a few, father—only on our own land,' he did not wish to say 'No.' Sometimes, to be good-natured is as bad as to be cruel. This man said, 'You may take one egg from each nest, but only one, remember.' So the boy went out and took a few eggs, but then he carried them to school, showed them to the other boys, and told them where they came from. Then each boy said to himself, 'It will be all right if I take only one egg from each nest.' But when four or five boys had each taken one, all the nests were quite empty. So the poor birds left that man's field, where the bugs and worms grew and throve, till they ate up his hay and all the rest of his crops.
"When the nesting season is over eggs that have not hatched are often left in the various nests, that you can take without doing any harm. Of course I know it is not easy to keep your hands off such pretty things as birds' eggs; but if by doing so you can be patriotic and useful, it is an act of self-denial that you will be glad to do for the good of the country."
"What is in that black case, uncle?" asked Dodo. "Is it a pistol to shoot birds? I think it looks too fat for that."
"Not the kind of a pistol that you mean, Dodo, but the only kind that you youngsters need to bring down birds so that you can see them. It is a double-barrelled gun, but you must use your eyes for bullets, instead of leaden balls. See!"—and he took a fine pair of field-glasses from the case, moved the screw a little, and held them before Dodo's eyes—"what do you see down there in the grass?"
"Why, it's a Robin, but how big it looks! Every feather shows by itself, and it has white rings round its eyes like spectacles. I never saw them before, I'm sure."
Then, as the Doctor handed the glasses to Nat, Dodo looked in her lap, expecting to find the bird there instead of a hundred feet away.
"This is jolly!" cried Nat, taking a peep and passing the glasses to Rap, who put them to his eyes, gave a little "ah," and looked through them until the Doctor said, "That will do now. Olive shall keep the glasses, and whenever you children want them she will give them to you; but you must be careful never to scratch them or rub your fingers over the lenses at either end. With this magnifying instrument you will be able to see the shape of beaks and wings, and many color markings you would never notice otherwise. But what did I promise to tell you of to-day, children?"
"Citizen Bird, you said," replied Nat, "though I don't think I quite know what you mean."
"What does citizen mean?" asked the Doctor, smiling.
"I think it is a person who lives in a city, but birds aren't people and they don't live much in the city."
"You are right in one sense, my boy, but the word citizen has also a far wider meaning. Do you know what it is, Olive?" But Olive was not sure, and the Doctor asked her to go to his study and look for the word in the big dictionary.
In a few minutes she returned with a slip of paper from which her father read: "Citizen—a member of a nation, especially of a republic; one who owes allegiance to a government and is entitled to protection from it."
"Now, if you listen carefully I think I can prove to you that every bird you can find is such a citizen of this country, and show you why we should protect him.
"I told you the other day how the body of a bird was planned and built to fill a place no other animal could take. Thus by his habits and character every bird fills a place as a citizen of our Republic, keeping the laws and doing work for the land that House People, with all their wisdom, cannot do. Every such fellow-animal of ours, besides having eyes to see with, and a brain which, if it does not tell him as many things as our brains tell us, yet teaches him all that he need know to follow the laws that Heart of Nature has set for him, has the same feelings and affections as ourselves. Parent birds love each other and their little ones, and often lose their lives in trying to protect them. They build their homes with as much care and skill as House People use in making theirs. Then they work hard, very hard indeed, to collect food to feed their children, for bird children are, oh, so hungry! They grow very quickly, and must eat constantly from morning until night.
"With them it is breakfast, luncheon, dinner, five-o'clock tea, and supper, with a great many other meals between times that would not be wholesome for House Children. So you can see for yourselves that we may well call the bird a fellow-being."
"Yes," said Rap, his eyes beaming as if he had something to tell, "some birds work as hard as mother does. I watched a pair of Robins all one day last spring, when I was sick. They had a nest in a bush by our kitchen window, where I could see it well, and all day long either the mother or the father came about every two minutes with something for the little ones to eat. I timed them by the clock until I was nearly dizzy, and they seemed to do the same thing every day until the young ones flew away. Then they went over to the grape vines, made a new nest, and raised four more the same way"—and then Rap stopped suddenly, as if he feared that he had been talking too much.
"That is all true," said the Doctor, looking very happy at finding that one of his listeners not only saw for himself but remembered and thought about what he had seen. "If you have used your eyes so well, my lad, when we come to the bird stories I shall expect you to tell some of them yourself." And the Doctor held out his hand to the child with a look that sent him to bed to dream happy dreams for many a night.
The children gazed at Rap in surprise. It was a new idea that a poor little fellow like him should know more than they, who had both parents and nice clothes, and had been to school in a big city. That he should be able to tell stories about birds seemed wonderful. But they were not selfish, and instead of being jealous felt a great respect for Rap.
"Now," said the Doctor, "we will see what a good neighbor to House People a bird is, and how in working for himself he helps them also."
"How can birds possibly work to help people?" asked Dodo and Nat together; but Rap smiled to himself as if he knew something about the matter, and said, "They eat the bugs and worms and things that kill the gardens and fields."
"You are right again," said the Doctor heartily. "What is one thing that man and every other animal must have to keep him alive?"
"Food!" shouted Nat, and then grew very red, as the others laughed, because since he had been at Orchard Farm his appetite had grown so that though he ate twice as much as Olive and Dodo he seemed always hungry.
"Yes, food. Bread, meat, vegetables, and fruits, but bread first of all. What is bread made of?"
"Wheat, I think," said Nat.
"Rye, too—mother's rye-bread is drea'fly good," said Rap.
"Don't forget Mammy Bun's corn-bread," added Olive.
"All your answers are right, for many different kinds of bread are used in various parts of the country; but whether it is made from wheat-flour, or rye-flour, or corn-meal, it all grows from the ground, does it not?
"Now the next sort of food—meat, the flesh of animals—oxen, sheep, pigs, and poultry—what do they feed on?"
"Oxen eat grass and hay and meal," said Dodo, in great haste lest some one else should speak first.
"Sheep eat grass and hay too. I've seen them over in the pasture on the hill," said Nat.
"Pigs will eat any old sort of thing," said Rap. "Sour milk and snakes and swill and rats."
"Ugh!" shivered Dodo. "Are all those nasty things in sausages?" "No, Dodo," laughed the Doctor; "when pigs are shut up they eat a great many dirty things, but naturally they prefer clean food like other cattle— corn, acorns, apples, and so forth. Besides, those 'nasty things,' as you call them, turn into pork before they are put in sausages, for pigs know how to make pork. So you see that all the food of the animals whose flesh we eat comes out of the ground; and that is what the Bible means where it says, 'All flesh is grass.' But what other things are there that grow up out of the earth, tall and strong, each one holding a beautiful green screen to keep the sun from drawing all the moisture from the ground and making it too dry; shading the rivers that their waters may not waste away; some making cool bowers for House People to sit under, others bearing delicious fruits for them to eat, and all in good time yielding their bodies to make fires and give out heat to warm us?"
"Trees! Yes, trees of course," cried the children eagerly; "all kinds of trees, for trees grow apples and pears and plums and cherries and chestnuts and firewood too."
"Now what is there that preys upon all this vegetable life—upon every plant, from the grass to the tree, destroying them all equally?"
"Bugs and worms and all kinds of crawlers and flyers and hoppers," said Rap.
"Yes, every plant has an insect enemy which feeds upon its life juices. So a set of animals has been developed by Heart of Nature to hold the plant destroyers in check, and these animals are the birds.
"Man may do all he can to protect his gardens, his orchards, his fields and forests, but if the birds did not help him the insects that work by night and day—tapping at the root, boring inside the bark, piercing the very heart of the plant, chewing off the under side of leaves, nipping off the buds—would make the earth bare and brown instead of green and blooming. Yet House People, both young and old, forget this. They shoot and frighten away the birds, either because some few of their feathered friends take grapes or other fruits and berries by way of pay, or merely from thoughtlessness, to see how many they can hit."
"Do all birds eat bugs and such things?" asked Nat. "Olive said she used to put out grain and crumbs in winter for some kinds."
"Some birds eat animal food and some seed food, while others eat both; but almost all birds feed their babies upon insects. The nesting season is chiefly in spring, when all plants begin or renew their growth. Spring is also the season when the eggs of many insects hatch out and when others come from the cocoons in which they have slept all winter.
"Then the farmer begins his annual war upon them, and day after day he fights the Battle of the Bugs. But if he stops to think, and remembers that Heart of Nature has a use for everything, he will win this battle against the creeping, crawling, squirming regiments more easily. For above him in the trees of his forest, in the hedgerows and bushes of his pasture and garden, on the rafters of his barn, even in the chimney of his house, live the birds, willing and eager to help him. And all the wages they ask is permission to work for a living and protection from those of his fellowmen who covet the Oriole and Cardinal for their gay feathers and the Robin and Meadowlark for pot-pie."
"Singing-bird pie is wicked. I would like to pound them all," said Dodo, striking her fists together, as Nat did sometimes, not making it clear whether it was pie or people she wanted to pound. "But uncle, it is right to eat some birds—Ducks and Chickens and Geese and Turkeys."
"Yes, Dodo, they belong to another class of birds—a lower order that seem made for food—not singing nor helping the farmers; but even these should not be shot needlessly or in their nesting season. But the higher order—the perching Song Birds—should never be shot, except the common Sparrow of Europe that we call the English Sparrow. His habits are wholly bad; he meddles with the nests of useful birds and is a nuisance to his human as well as bird neighbors.
"To prevent confusion Heart of Nature has divided the habits and appetites of Birdland, so that instead of a great many families all building in one kind of tree, or eating the same sort of insects or seeds, each has its own manners and customs. Thus they divide among themselves the realms of the air, the water, the trees, and the ground. Some birds, as the Swallows and Flycatchers, skim through the air to catch winged insects. Others, like the Woodpeckers and Warblers, take the scaly insects from the bark of trees. Others that walk on the ground, like the Robin, the Thrush, Meadowlark, Crow, and Red-winged Blackbird, eat ground things, such as the fat cutworms which mow with sharp jaws the young plants of corn, cabbage, and onions."
"Please, Doctor Hunter," asked Rap, "I thought Crows and Blackbirds were wicked birds that ate up grain and corn, for the miller always puts up scarecrows to keep them away."
But before the Doctor could answer the children caught sight of Mammy Bun coming down from the house carrying a tray. Upon this was a pitcher, some glasses, and a plate full of cakes, which, when she came under the tree, they saw were delicious-looking buns, as light and brown as good yeast and careful baking could make them.
"Ah, mammy, mammy," cried Olive, Dodo, and Nat together, "how did you know that we should be hungry now, and we are simply famishing?"
"Well, honeys, I jess guessed it, I reck'n. I know'd massa was a-learnin' you'uns suffin', and it allers 'peared to me that learnin' was mighty empty work. I know'd Massa Doctor was never a one to keep his patients holler, and least his own folks!" Mammy gave a big comfortable laugh as the Doctor took the tray from her hands and the children thanked her heartily, while little Rap smiled hopefully on seeing that there were six buns on the plate—that meant one for each and two for the Doctor, he thought.
"No one can make such buns as mammy," said Olive, old as she was breaking hers in half, to find the lump of sugar soaked with lemon juice that she knew was inside. "She used to make them for me when I was a little girl; that is why I named her Mammy Bun, and we've called her that ever since."
"I thought it was a funny name," said Rap.
"One for each of us, and one for the dish," said Olive, passing the plate around. "One for the dish? What do you mean?" said Dodo.
"Mammy says it is always nice to have more food on a dish, than people are likely to eat, so that they shall see there is enough and the dish shan't feel lonely. You see, that last bun belongs to the dish."
"This time the dish will have to feel lonely," said the Doctor, who had noticed that Rap was looking at his bun, and not eating it; "for I think that Rap would like to take that one home to his mother by and by."
From that day Rap always believed that the Doctor could look into his head and see what he was thinking of.
"As we have been talking about the insect-killing that Citizen Bird does in order to pay his rent and taxes, as a good citizen should, I will tell you of the six guilds in Birdland, into which these citizens are divided in order to do their work thoroughly."
"What is a guild?" asked Rap.
"A guild is a band of people who follow the same trade or occupation, and birds are banded together according to the ways in which they work, though some may belong to several guilds. We will name each of the six guilds:
"1. Ground Gleaners.
"The birds who feed largely upon the insects which live in, on, or near the ground.
"2. Tree Trappers.
"The birds who feed on insects which lurk about the trunks and branches of trees and shrubs.
"3. Sky Sweepers.
"The birds who, while on the wing, catch flying insects.
"4. Wise Watchers.
"The large, silent birds, who sit in wait for their prey of field-mice and other little gnawing mammals, as well as insects.
"5. Seed Sowers.
"The birds who eat wild fruits and berries, and after digesting the pulp and juice, sow the seeds with their bodily wastage.
"6. Weed Warriors.
"The birds who crack seeds in their stout beaks, eat the kernels, and so destroy millions of harmful weed-seeds.
"You must write the names and definitions of these six guilds down in your books, because when you hear about each bird I will tell you to which guild he belongs, and if you know where and upon what a bird feeds it will be easier for you to find him. All the Land Birds belong to one or more of these guilds; but perhaps we shall find before we are through that some of the Water Birds have a guild of Sea Sweepers."
For a few minutes the children scribbled away in silence.
"My book will be very mussy," said Dodo, "for I can't write well when I sit all humped up on a branch."
"Of course you cannot," said the Doctor; "but by and by you can copy it out neatly in a clean book, and it will give you something to do on rainy days, for there are some things that we always remember better if we have once written them down." Presently Rap said, "It must be because you never have let any birds be killed here that there are more kinds than I ever see anywhere else—some of every guild, I think. I've often wondered how it was."
"There are four Robins' nests in this one tree," said Olive, "and the old birds have been flying to and fro while we talked, and never dreamed of being afraid."
"Yes, children, Orchard Farm always has protected its Bird Citizens, and it always will, in my time."
"And in mine, too," said Olive. "You see if each person would care for the birds on his own land, the Battle of the Bugs would soon become less terrible."
Then the children laughed to think how funny a real battle would be, with an army of little bugs drawn up on one side of a field and big House People with guns and cannons on the other.
"But even against cannon," said Olive, "the bugs would have the best of it, because they can fly or hop, and the worms can crawl into the ground."
Then the Doctor finished this lesson by saying, quite seriously: "Every time you children deny yourselves the pleasure of taking an egg from a nest, or think to spread a little food for hungry birds, when cold and snow almost force them to starve, you are adding to the food-supply of your country. To be sure, it may be only a few grains of wheat here and an ear of corn there, but it all means bread-food of some sort, and the bread of a nation is its life. So we must learn to love and protect this feathered neighbor of ours, who works for his own living as well as ours, pays his rent and taxes, and gives, besides, free concerts to the public, daily. He certainly deserves the name of Citizen Bird. His patriotism, which is simply his love of the country where he was born, leads him to return to it whenever he thinks of settling down in life and making a nest-home, no matter how far he may have wandered away at any other time; and this patriotism makes him one of the greatest travellers on the face of the earth."
THE BIRD AS A TRAVELLER
Rap went up to Orchard Farm one morning very early to take Nat for a walk through the fields, down to the river, to see some birds that had arrived in the night.
It was only five o'clock, but Dr. Hunter was walking to and fro in the garden, listening to the burst of bird-music as eagerly as if it were for the first time in his life. That is one of the best parts of our friendship with Bird People; they never weary us by talking too much, and every spring after winter's silence their music is as new as ever.
"Please, Uncle Roy, can I go with Rap?" pleaded Nat. "I will wear my rubber boots."
"You may go if you eat something first. I wonder if Rap would invite me also?" said the Doctor, leading the way to the big kitchen pantry.
"I know he would!" cried Nat joyfully. "He wished and wished you would go with us, but we didn't think you'd care to, because you have been to the river woods so many times before. But why must I eat something, uncle? I'm in such a hurry to go."
"Because, my boy, the life in us is like a fire that must be supplied with fuel to keep it burning, only instead of wood or coal we need food. Very early in the morning this life flame of ours, that is called vitality, is very low, like a fire that has burned down, and if we go out in the damp air and breathe the mists that rise from the ground our vitality has not strength to resist them. But if we put fresh fuel on our inward fire by eating something before we go out, then that bad little mischief-maker, which we call malaria, has harder work to creep into us."
"How funny! May I call Rap to tell him? Rap! Rap! come in and have milk and something to eat, to make your inside fire burn up chills and fever!"
Rap thought at first that Nat must be crazy, but very soon understood what the Doctor meant, and was overjoyed at the prospect of having him join the expedition.
"Dodo will cry when she wakes up and knows where we have gone," said Nat, who had been much more kind and thoughtful of his sister since coming to the Farm. But kindness is very catching, and at the Farm everybody was kind, from the House People to the big gray horses in the barn, which let the chickens pick up oats from between their powerful hoofs, without ever frightening them by moving.
"It is too long a walk for little sister, but you must remember everything that you see and hear, and tell her about it. Don't forget the field-glass," said the Doctor, following the boys along the road where telegraph wires made bird-perches between the high poles.
"You said a lot of birds came last night," said Nat to Rap; "but how do you know that they came last night and where did they come from?"
"I know they came last night because they were not here yesterday," answered Rap; "but I don't know where they came from, except that it must be from where it is warmer than it is here, because they went away just before it grew cold last fall. See, Doctor, there are some of them now on those fence rails and more up on the telegraph wires. The miller calls them 'Bee Martins,' and says that they eat up all the honey-bees. Have they any other name—because I have never seen them catch bees?"
Nat looked at them first with the field-glass, then without it as they drew quite near the fence, and saw a fine bird, twice as long as his middle finger. Its back and wings looked dark gray; it was white underneath, with a touch of gray on the breast, and had a black tail, with white at the end of it. As Nat looked the bird raised a little tuft of feathers on top of its head, as if angry, flew into the air, giving a shrill cry, seized an insect, and returned to its perch.
"That is the Kingbird," said the Doctor; "one of the most useful of the insect-catchers. Instead of living on honey-bees, as many people think, he eats very few of these, but kills instead thousands of the bad robber-fly, which is the honey-bee's worst enemy. This bird is really king of the air and of all fly-catching birds. See how graceful his flight is, and how easily be moves!"
"Why did he go away last fall?" asked Nat. "Does he feel the cold weather very much?
"He does not stay in the United States until the weather is cold enough to dull him; but he has to move away for another reason. The same reason that forces so many birds to leave us—he must follow his food. This food consists of insects—different kinds of flies, ants, and grasshoppers, which disappear or die as the air grows cold.
"Rap, have you ever noticed the difference between the sounds in a spring night and a night in autumn? In spring the air is humming with the calls of all sorts of insects, but in autumn it is silent, and even the crickets have stopped chirping.
"So about the last of September our Kingbirds, who live everywhere in the United States, gather in flocks, start to find a place where insects are still stirring about, and fly southward, following the sea-coast and the great rivers for paths. Those from the eastern part of the country stop in Central America or fly on to South America, and those from the western part often stop in Mexico."
"But how can they fly so far?" said Nat; "it's hundreds of miles; and how do they find the way?"
"The flight of a bird is a wonderful thing, my boy. He spreads those frail wings of his, and launches into the air, up, up, above trees and steeples, then on and on, being able to fly several hundred miles without resting. Some birds, when the wind aids them, cover more than a hundred miles in a single hour.
"As to the way, the eye of the bird is like a telescope. It magnifies and sees from very far off. Flying through the upper air the bird watches the line of coast and river, and the instinct that is placed in him says, 'Follow these.' So he follows them, remembering that by doing so he has found a place of safety in other seasons. All through the spring and all through the autumn birds take these mysterious flights—for so they always seem to House People, as flock after flock gathers and disappears. You can watch them sometimes passing by day so high in the sky that they seem like dust-motes—then perhaps you will only hear a faint call-note and see nothing. At night the sound of many voices falls from the clouds. Sometimes it will be the tinkling bell of Bobolinks, sometimes the feeble peep of Snipes, and sometimes the hoarse honk of Wild Geese."
"Why, Uncle Roy! Can you tell a bird's name without seeing it, only by one little cry?"
"Yes, my lad. When you have lived with birds as long as I have, you will know their different voices as you do those of your own family. When some one calls you in the garden, can't you tell whether it is Dodo or Olive?"
"Yes, but their voices are so very different."
"So are the voices of birds, when you know them well."
"But the young birds who have been hatched up here—how do they know about going the first time?" asked Rap.
"The young ones are led in their journeys with signals and cries by their parents; they in turn lead their own young, and so the knowledge is kept up endlessly."
"I can see why they go south," said Rap, after thinking a few moments, "but why do they come back again? Why don't they stay and build their nests down there?"
"That is a difficult question to answer," said the Doctor, "and one that we House People try to explain in different ways. I think that the love of the place where they were born is strong enough in birds to bring them back every season to build their nests. So you see that Citizen Bird is a patriot; for, though he may be in the midst of plenty in a tropical forest, when the time comes he travels hundreds of miles to his native land to make the young, that will fly from his nest, citizens like himself."
"But the birds that can eat seeds and other things do not travel so far, do they?" asked Rap.
"No, the birds who rove about the United States throughout the year are either Weed Warriors, or Seed Sowers, or those Tree Trappers who creep about tree-trunks picking the eggs and grubs of insects from the bark. Or else those great Cannibal Birds, the Wise Watchers, who eat the flesh of their smaller brothers, as well as of rats, mice, and all such vermin—the Hawks and Owls; or else they are Gulls, Terns, Fishing Ducks, and a great many other kinds of sea birds who feed on fish and pick up the scraps floating on the surface of sea, lake, and river."
"Do the Barn Swallows that are making nests in the hayloft go as far south as Kingbirds?" asked Nat.
"Yes, indeed! The Swallows' swift flight carries them far and wide, for not only do they make homes all through North America, but they are so sure of wing and confident of outstripping any cannibal birds who might try to chase them, that when they leave us they fly by day and often stop for a little visit in the West Indies on their way to South America."
"Suppose, Uncle Roy, when they are travelling, a storm comes up and it grows so foggy they can't see how to follow the rivers—don't they sometimes lose themselves?"
"Yes, very often they become confused and fly this way and that, but always toward the nearest place where they see a light, as if it meant escape for them. But this instinct is frequently their death, for they fly against the towers of great lighthouses, or the windows of tall buildings, or even electric wires, and thus break their necks or wings."
"That is why I have so often found dead birds along the turnpike under the telegraph wires," said Rap.
"Yes, Rap, the inventions of man are very wonderful, but some of them have been sad things for Bird People, and this is another reason why we should protect them whenever we can. These journeys that the birds make when they leave their nesting haunts for the winter season, and return again in spring, are called migrations. The word 'migrate' means to move from one country to another with the intention of remaining there for some time. The birds who only make little trips about the country, never staying long in one place, we call visitors.
"Birds may be divided according to their journeys into three groups, which will help you to place them:
"1. Citizens.
"Those Bird People whose families stay in or near the same place the year round, roving about somewhat according to the food-supply and weather.
"2. Summer Citizens.
"The families that, though they are with us but six or eight months of the year, make their homes here, and pay their rent and taxes by working for the common good. As they are almost all insect-eaters, they are even more useful than the stay-at-home Citizens, who are chiefly seed-eaters or cannibals.
"3. Winter Visitors.
"The birds who come down from the North in severe weather, but do not stay in one place for any particular time, arriving one day and disappearing the next. They glean for their scanty board and return to the cold countries, of which they are Citizens, before nesting-time."
"Please tell me the names of some of the birds that live here all the time," said Nat. "Have I seen any yet?"
"I think the Bluebird, the Robin, and the Song Sparrow are Citizens," said Rap, "because last winter I used to see one of two almost every day, unless the snow and ice were very thick."
"Yes," said the Doctor, "the Bluebird is a Citizen in the Middle and Southern States, and the Robin also. But in the more northerly parts they are Summer Citizens, returning early and staying late. But the Song Sparrow is a Citizen almost everywhere, and is known about every bushy garden from the east coast to the west, and from the cotton plantation to the land of snow."
"Please tell me the names of some winter visitors," said Rap. "Isn't the Great White Owl one of these?"
"Yes, the Snowy Owl is one of them; so is the Snowflake, who comes to us on the wings of the storm; the tiny Winter Wren, the Great Northern Shrike, and many others, who arrive when snow-tide is upon us in the temperate part of the country, after our song birds have flown to the warmer south. You shall hear of all these, and learn where each one lives, in the bird stories I am going to write for you. But now let us go down by the river and see what some of these newly arrived birds are doing after their long journey.
"Hark! I hear the notes of a Thrasher in those bushes, and the Red-winged Blackbirds are calling all through the marsh meadow. When I was a boy the alder bushes were always full of nests."
"They have nests there now," said Rap eagerly; "a great many nests, and they are very pretty. Ah! There is the big brown bird that you call a Thrasher, with his striped breast and long tail that spreads like a fan. I see him—he is building in that barberry bush!"
"Then the nest comes pretty soon after the up-journey," said Nat.
"Yes," answered the Doctor, as he watched the antics of the Thrasher; "right after the journey the mate, and next the nest. Do not forget the mate, Nat, for it is Mrs. Bird who usually makes the nest and always lays the eggs, besides working in the guilds with her husband, whose greatest distinction is in being the family musician."
"When do the Summer Citizens begin to come back to their nesting places?" asked Nat. "And when do they go away again?"
"The great bird procession begins the first of March with Bluebirds, Robins, Redwings, and Meadowlarks, but it is the first of June before the latest comers, the little Marsh Wrens, are settled. Then in autumn, from September until the first snows of December fall, the procession flutters back south again, one by one or in great flocks, dropping away like falling leaves in the forest, and the birds that we see later are likely to be Citizens.
"The early Robin may have a second brood and the Hummingbird eggs in her nest, before the Marsh Wrens have even been seen.
"In the Southern States the birds arrive and build sooner than in the Northern. A cold spring may delay the on-coming migration, or a warm autumn retard the return movement. But as you study birds you will soon see that each one has his own place in the procession, and usually keeps it. Year by year this vast procession goes on in the air, back and forth, night and day, like the ceaseless ebb and flow of the tides at sea. Bird-waves flow on forever, in their appointed times, and none of Nature's aspects are more regular or more unfailing. It almost seems, boys, as if birds made the seasons—as if winter in the Middle and Northern States might be called the 'songless season.'"
THE BIRD'S NEST
"I wonder why some birds build their nests so very early, when it is cold, and there are no leaves on the trees, while others wait until it is almost summer," said Rap, as they walked down a narrow lane toward the river. There were bushes lining the path on each side, and from the singing you would think that every bush had a bird on each twig. In fact, there were so many birds in sight that Nat did not know which to ask about first, and so kept looking instead of talking.
"The birds who are Citizens are usually the first to build," answered the Doctor. "They merely roved about during the winter months, and had no long journey to make before they reached the home trees again, and then the hardy seed-eating birds can return from the South much earlier than their frailer kin."
"Last year," said Rap, "when the men were chopping trees in the great wood beyond the lake, the miller went up one day to hunt coons and took me with him. It was the beginning of March and terribly cold; there were long icicles hanging on the trees, and we were glad enough to go in by the fire in the lumbermen's camp. But what do you think?—if there wasn't an Owl's nest, up in a pine tree, with two eggs in it! It was in a very lonely place, and the miller said the Owl had borrowed an old Crow's nest and fixed it up a little."
"I should think the eggs would have frozen hard and been spoiled," said Nat.
"No, the old Owl sat on them ever so tight and would hardly budge to let the miller see them. We didn't stay long, for the Owl was a savage big thing, nearly two feet high, with yellow eyes and long feathers sticking up on its head like horns."
"A Great Horned Owl," said the Doctor. "I only wonder that it let the miller go near it at all; they are generally very wild and fierce."
"This one was sort of friends with the lumbermen," continued Rap, "for they used to hang lumps of raw meat on the bushes for it, and they said it kept the rats and mice away from the camp and was good company for them. It frightened me when I heard it first; it gave an awful scream, like a hurt person. After a while another one began to bark like a dog with a cold, just like this—'who-o-o-o—hoo—hoo—hoo.' And, Doctor, one of the lumbermen told me that with Owls and Hawks the female is mostly bigger than the male. Do you think that is so? Because with singing birds the male is the largest."
"Among cannibal birds the female is usually the largest," answered the Doctor, who was pleased to see that Rap so often had a "because" for his questions. "These birds do a great deal of fighting, both in catching their living prey and holding their own against enemies; and as the female stays most at home, being the chief protector of the nest, she needs more strength."
"Some singing birds are real plucky too," said Rap. "That same year I found a Robin's nest in April, when the water-pail by the well froze every night, and a Woodcock's nest in the brushwood. It's hard to see a Woodcock on the nest, they look so like dead leaves. It snowed a little that afternoon, and the poor bird's back was all white, but there she sat. It made me feel so sorry, and I was so afraid she might freeze, that I made a little roof over her of hemlock branches. And she liked that and didn't move at all; so then I wiped the snow off her back, and she seemed real comfortable. I used to go back every day after that to see her; we grew to be quite friends before the four eggs hatched, and I've seen them do queer little tricks; but I never told anybody where she lived, though, because lots of people don't seem to understand anything about birds but shooting or teasing them."
"Some day you shall tell us about what the Woodcock did, my lad. You must tell us a great many stories, for you know what you have seen yourself. That is the best knowledge of all, and it will encourage Nat to hear you," and Dr. Hunter put his arm affectionately around the shoulders of each boy.
"Hush! Wait a moment and listen to that Thrasher," said the Doctor, stopping behind some thick bushes; "he is wooing his mate!"
"What is wooing?" whispered Nat.
"Asking her to marry him and come and build a cosy home in one of these nice bushes. Listen! See! There he is, up on the very top of that young birch, with his head thrown back, singing as if his throat would split." As the children looked up they saw a fine bird with a curved beak, rusty-brown back, and light breast streaked with black, who was clinging to a slender spray, jerking his long tail while he sang.
"It seems as if I could almost hear the words he says," said Rap.
"Birds sing in many different tones," said the Doctor. "The Thrasher's song is like some one talking cheerfully; the Meadowlark's is flute-like; the Oriole's is more like clarion notes; the Bobolink bubbles over like a babbling brook; while the dear little brown striped Song Sparrow, who is with us in hedge and garden all the year, sings pleasant home-like ballads."
"There are some birds that Olive told me can't sing a bit," said Nat, "but only call and squeak. How do they ask their mates to marry them?"
"All birds have alarm cries, and a call-note that serves the same purpose as a song, although it may not seem at all musical to us. We are naturally more interested in that order of birds whose voices are the most perfectly developed. These not only sing when they are courting, but all the time their mates are sitting upon the eggs, and until the young are ready to fly."
"Why do birds always build nests in spring?" asked Nat.
"I think because there is more for them to feed the little ones with, than when it gets to be hot and dry," said Rap, "and it gives them time to grow big and strong before winter comes, when they must go away."
"Quite right, Rap, and it also gives the parents a chance to shed the old feathers that have been worn by rubbing on the nest, grow a new, thick, warm coat for winter, and rest themselves before they set out on their autumn journey. Do you remember what I told you that rainy day in my study about this moulting or changing of feathers?"
"Yes, I do," said Rap and Nat together. "Most birds have two coats a year, and the male's is the brighter," continued Nat eagerly, proud to show that he remembered. "The one that comes out in the spring is the gayest, so that his mate shall admire him and when this coat comes he sings his very best and—"
"Stop and take breath, my boy," laughed the Doctor; "there is plenty of time. Why do we think that the male has the gayest feathers—do you remember that also?"
"No, I've forgotten," said Nat.
"I remember," cried Rap; "it is to please the female and because she sits so much on the nest that if her feathers were as bright as the male's her enemies would see her quicker, and when the little birds hatch out they are mostly in plain colors too, like their mother."
"Oh, I remember that now," said Nat. "And after the young are hatched and the old birds need new coats, they keep rather still while they shed their feathers, because they feel weak and can't fly well."
"Then when the new feathers come they are sometimes quite different from the old ones, and seldom quite so bright—why is this, Nat?" asked the Doctor. But Nat could not think, and Rap answered: "Because in the autumn when they make the long journeys the leaves are falling from the trees, and if they were very bright the cannibal birds would see them too quickly." "Have I told you about the Bluebird, and how, though he only sheds his feathers once a year, yet his winter coat is rusty and not bright clear blue as it is in spring?"
"I think not," answered Nat.
"Well, the outside edges of its feathers are blue, but a little deeper in the feather is brownish. So when they have worn the same feathers many months, and rubbed in and out of their little houses and bathed a great deal and cleaned their feathers off every day in the dust, as birds always do, the blue ends wear off and the rusty parts show. It is quite worth while to tell little people things when they have the patience to listen and the interest to remember."
"Yes, uncle, but it's the way you tell us about birds that makes us remember. You talk as if they were real people."
"Oh, oh, Nat!" laughed the Doctor, "if you flatter me so I shall have to hide my head in a bush like an Ostrich. Birds are people, though of another race from ours, and I am happy if I can make you think so. Ah! we must be near a Redwing's nest—what a commotion the colony is making!"
"Colony? I thought a colony was a lot of people who went off into a strange wild land and made a new home," said Nat.
"That is one meaning of the word, but another one is when a number of people of the same race or trade live close to each other. A bird colony is a collection of the homes of many birds of the same family. After the nesting season almost all birds live in flocks of different sizes, each particular kind flocking by itself; but during the migrations great flocks are often made up of smaller flocks of various kinds of birds. During the nesting season it is quite different; the majority of birds prefer a quiet home life, each pair being independent of any others. Certain flocks, however, keep together, and all build their nests in a particular swamp or wood, and sometimes, it is said, male birds build nests to sleep in while the females are sitting. The Redwings nest in colonies; so do the Herons, who eat frogs and nest near water, and the little brown-cloaked Bank Swallows, who live in holes that they dig for themselves in high banks."
There were some twenty pairs of birds in this Redwing colony, who seemed to be much frightened by the approach of visitors.
"Here is a nest in this alder bush," said the Doctor; "step carefully on the grass hummocks, and look at it for a moment, Nat. See how neatly it is made of the dried leaves of flags and grasses, woven in and out between three upright stalks."
"Isn't it pretty?" said Nat; "so even and deep like a cup, and not at all ragged and mussy like a Robin's nest. There are a great many different kinds of nests, aren't there, uncle?"
"Yes, the nests of birds are almost as different as their songs and other habits, and the higher the order the brood belongs to the better built is the nest. The lower orders often only make a hollow in the ground or grass, but do not collect material and build in the true sense. None such can be called architects."
"What is an architect?" asked Nat, who thought it was a pretty big name for any sort of a bird. "An architect, my boy," said the Doctor, "is anybody who knows how to build anything as it ought to be built, to look the best and be the most useful, whether it is a house or a nest."
"I wonder why nests are so different," said Rap, looking down the lane toward the river where the sun was streaming in and so many little birds were flying to and fro that they seemed like last year's leaves being blown about.
"Because, as the habits of the birds cause them to live in different places, and feed in various ways, so their homes must be suitable to their surroundings, and be built in the best way to protect the young birds from harm—to keep them safe from House People, cannibal birds, and bad weather.
"The trim Thrushes and Sparrows, who are all brownish birds, and find their insect or seed food on or near the ground, build open nests low down in trees and bushes, or on the earth itself; but the gorgeous Baltimore Oriole, with his flaming feathers, makes a long pocket-shaped nest of string and strong plant fibres, which he swings high up in an elm tree, where it cannot be reached from below, and the leaves hide this cradle while the winds rock it. He knows that it would never do to trust his brilliant feathers down by the ground.
"The frail Hummingbird has no real strength to fight enemies bigger than its tiny self, but it has been given for protection the power of flying as quick as a whizzing bullet, and courage enough to attack even a Kingbird in defence of its nest, which is a tiny circle of down, covered with lichens, and is so fastened across a branch that it looks like a knot of the limb itself. The Woodcock you saw that snowy day, Rap, knows the protection of color and draws together for a nest a few leaves of the hue of her own feathers. This nest and the bird upon it are so blended together that few eyes could separate them."
"Some birds do not make any nests, but live in holes like squirrels and coons," said Rap. "Woodpeckers and all those."
"There again the home is suited to the occupation of the bird," said the Doctor; "for Woodpeckers are Tree Trappers, who find their food by creeping about trees and picking insects and grubs from the bark. What more natural than that they should have a house close at hand in some tree whose wood is soft enough to be hollowed out? You see they have a bill like a chisel for gouging out insects, and with this same tool they make their homes."
"Bluebirds and Wrens and Martins like to live in holes and boxes, though they can't make holes for themselves," said Rap.
"Yes, the habits of many birds have changed since the country has become civilized and House People are to be found in all parts of it. Many birds, who have always been favorites with man, and have been protected by him, have gradually grown less wild, or almost tame, and now prefer living near houses and barns to building in wilder places. The Bluebird, Martin, and Wren are three very popular birds. They appreciate cosy homes and are grateful for the boxes built for them, though we know that before they had such things they must have nested in tree holes." "I wonder where the Chimney Swifts lived before there were any chimneys," said Rap, looking across the fields to where an old stone chimney stood—the only thing left standing of an old farmhouse. Above this chimney, Swifts were circling in shifting curves, now diving inside it, now disappearing afar in the air.
"We think they must have lived in hollow trees as the Tree Swallows do now," said the Doctor; "but when House People began to clear the land they naturally cut down the dead trees first, and so the birds moved to the chimneys."
"I used to call those birds Chimney 'Swallows,' but Olive says they are made more like Hummingbirds and Nighthawks than real Swallows," continued Rap.
"Nighthawks?" said Nat. "I thought Olive said Hawks were cannibal birds. How are they relations of Swallows?"
"That is a mistake a great many people make," said the Doctor; "for the Nighthawk is not a real Hawk, but a shy bird, who has a rapid hawk-like flight, though it eats nothing but beetles, moths, and other insects. Hark! Do you hear that cry high in the air?"
"As if something was saying 'shirk-shirk'?" said Nat.
"Yes; that is a Nighthawk on its way home. Look! he is over us now, and you can see two large white spots like holes in his wings. By these you can tell it from any of the real Hawks."
"Does he build high up in a tree?" asked Rap. "I have never found his nest."
"There is a good reason for that," said the Doctor. "There is no nest. Two eggs are laid on the bare ground, that is about the same color as the bird itself; and the eggs look too much like streaky pebbles to be easily seen. When the young are hatched they keep still until they are able to fly, and are colored so exactly like the place upon which they rest that it is almost impossible to see them, even if you know where they are."
"How much there is to learn!" sighed Nat. "I'm afraid you will have to make us a big book instead of a little one, Uncle Roy, to teach us all these things. Olive and Rap have such a start of us. Dodo and I don't know much of anything, and even what I thought I knew about birds isn't very true."
"Don't be discouraged, my boy; you do not need a big book—a little one will do for the present. What you need is patience, a pair of keen eyes, and a good memory. With these and a little help from Olive, Rap, and your old uncle, you can learn to know a hundred kinds of every-day birds—those that can be found easily, and have either the sweetest songs, the gayest plumage, or the most interesting habits. Some we shall find here in the lane and swamp meadow, or by the river. Others have made their home in my orchard for years. And I am going to put in the book more than a hundred beautiful pictures for you and Dodo, drawn so naturally that you can tell every one of the birds by them, and that will make it easier for you to understand what you read.
"For some of the water birds we must go up to the lake or in the summer make a trip over to the seashore. How do you like that? Yes, you too, Rap. By and by, when you know these hundred birds by name and by sight, you will be so far along on the road into Birdland that you can choose your own way, and branch off right and left on whatever path seems most attractive to you; but then you will need big books, and have to learn long hard Latin names."
"What birds will you begin with, please, Doctor Roy," said Rap, "the singers or the cannibals?"
"The singers, because they will interest Dodo and Nat the most easily, as they do you. Then we will talk about the birds that only croak and call; then the cannibal birds; next those that coo, and those that scratch for a living. Then we must leave dry land and go close to the water to find the birds that wade; and finally, we must go to the lake or sea itself for the birds that swim and dive."
"Why, here's Quick!" cried Nat, as the little fox-terrier came leaping down the lane, tracking them, nose to the ground. "How did you get out of the barn, sir?"