Part 44

“I see birds moving, but I want to go nearer.” So the party managed, by walking quietly, to reach the trees where the birds were feeding without disturbing them in the least.

“There are two kinds of birds up there,” said Sarah, presently, for it was her turn to use the opera-glasses. “They are both rather red. One is darker than the other and has no white on him. The other is lighter red and has some white on the wings and tail. Why, Gray Lady! their beaks are out of joint at the end and don’t shut tight. I wonder what can have happened to the poor things. I thought at first they might be wild parrots.”

Gray Lady and Miss Wilde both laughed, Sarah’s concern for the birds was so real.

“You are right about the bills not closing at the tip, but it is not owing to an accident. Nature developed this bill so that the bird, who is a lover of evergreen forests, might be able to wrench open the cones, the only winter food that is oftentimes to be found.

“The bird belongs to the Finch and Sparrow family, though you would never guess it, and is called the ‘Crossbill.’ The plain red one is the Red-winged Crossbill, and the lighter-coloured one, with white markings, the White-winged Crossbill. Both birds nest north of New England, but travel about the country in little flocks, sometimes going as far south as Virginia and the Gulf States.”

“Listen, I think I can hear the crackling as they tear the scales from the cones,” said Goldilocks.

“Yes, and you can see those that they have dropped lying on the fresh snow under the trees,” added Sarah.

At that moment an old-fashioned dinner-bell sounded from the direction of the farm-house in the orchard. It was Mrs. Wilde letting them know that luncheon was ready, for Gray Lady, Goldilocks, and Sarah were to lunch at “Swallow Chimney,” as Goldilocks had christened the restored home, by way of a house-warming.

As they left, the Crossbills, who had been climbing up and down, with all the adroitness of the Chickadees or the Upside-down birds themselves, suddenly took to wing, giving short, metallic-sounding cries, flew rapidly over the orchard, to alight—where do you suppose? On the birds’ Christmas tree. Here, after some inspection, they began to tear at the popcorn, their twisted beaks doing the work so well that they seemed fashioned for that purpose alone.

“Well,” said Goldilocks, her hands clasped in amazement, as they reached the farm-house, and saw what had happened, “I never knew anything quite so quick to happen outside of a story-book!”

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See Citizen Bird.

XVIII HOW THEY SPENT THEIR MONEY

At two o’clock a procession of the pupils of Foxes Corners school filed through the hall at “the General’s,” wondering what new surprise was in store. The big boys, who would not begin school until the mid-winter term, had come under the strong persuasion of Tommy and Dave. They looked rather uneasy, however, as if they were not quite sure whether the performances that the younger boys considered “bully” might not be undignified for men of their age.

As the children went through the garden, Jim Crow lurched out of a bush and walked along after them with an air of great importance, as if he were the master of ceremonies. Larry, the Starling, was not particularly fond of cold weather, and kept inside the shelter of the south porch, making little excursions here and there, prompted by curiosity, and the desire to use his wings, which were now quite strong, as food was to be had from the dish that he and Jim shared, merely for the eating.

The lunch-counter was well patronized that afternoon, for, in addition to the birds that had been in the vicinity during the morning, several Bluebirds came, together with three Robins, who simply gorged themselves upon some dried currants that Goldilocks had put out as an extra dainty. Gray Lady was trying experiments with all sorts of odds and ends at the lunch-counter, that she might see exactly what sort of food was the most acceptable, and she was very much surprised to find that though wild birds, like human beings, can adapt themselves to circumstances, a great number have such a craving for animal food that it explained why Crows, Jays, and some others become nest-robbers in the midst of summer plenty.

After they had called upon Miss Wilde at Swallow Chimney, where Eliza Clausen discovered the meaning of Sarah Barnes’ mysterious remarks about the party being held in the orchard, and yet being indoors, they went to see the birds’ Christmas tree.

Since morning many things had been added to it that were not intended for birds. Bundles, strange of shape, wrapped in green tissue-paper tied up with red ribbon and little sprigs of southern holly, hung to the lower branches, while Jacob, dressed as Father Christmas, stood by armed with a hooked stick, with which he loosened the bundles and dropped them into the waiting hands.

As it was impossible to tell from the shape of the parcels what they contained, there was a good deal of pinching and squeezing done, but beyond the feeling of sharp corners that might belong to either books or boxes, nothing could be discovered.

“It is too cold for you to stand out here to open your parcels,” said Gray Lady. “Suppose you take them in the living-room at the cottage, and while the girls open theirs you boys come for a little walk with me, for I have some work planned particularly for the boys of the Kind Hearts’ Club.

“Oh, do not look worried, I shall not keep you more than half an hour,” she said, as she saw the boys were quite as curious about untying their parcels as the girls.

So, following her lead, they trudged off up the lane, past the barn and woodpile, to where the brush on either side narrowed it to a mere path. Then, where another lane crossed it, the way grew broader again, and while one side was screened by woods, from the other you could look out upon a stretch of waste meadows and fallow fields.

There was only enough snow to crunch underfoot, and as Gray Lady walked ahead, a sprig of holly fastened at the neck of her gray chinchilla collar, and another in the close fitting hat of the same fur, her arms buried to the elbows in a great muff, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, and a rosy spot on each cheek made by the keen air, the boys cast many glances of genuine admiration at her. The big boys, especially, felt that she understood the situation exactly, by taking them to walk without the girls, giving them her confidence, and planning something for them to do that would be different from girls’ work, or, at least, apart from it.

“Perhaps some of the others have told you,” Gray Lady said to the big boys as they walked, “that I am very anxious not only to feed the small tree birds, that they may stay with us in winter, but to try and help the Grouse and Quail, so that, instead of those that have escaped the dangers of the hunting season being driven out by hunger and cold, they shall live on and increase, and become again the friends to the farmers that they were in the old days.

“You big boys all know how much complaint there is of all kinds of new bugs and worms and blights that discourage the farmers and leave but little profit in their crops? As you learn to watch wild birds and their habits, and realize the way in which they work for their living the year round, you will see that it is largely the lack of these old residents, these birds who were here before man came, that allows all the new-fangled bugs to gain such headway.

“Now, while it is quite easy for all of us to have some sort of a lunch-counter, either on a window-ledge, tree-trunk, or shed roof,—anywhere, in short, where cats will not venture,—feeding the larger game-birds is not such a simple matter, for until they thoroughly understand our motives, they will not come to us; we must take food to them.

“Birds that are hunted everywhere, for at least two months in a year, cannot be expected the day after the season closes to come boldly to our houses for food, as if they could consult a calendar, and say to one another, ‘To-day is December first, we may go and take a walk in the open road in safety.’

“Neither would they be safe, for there are always, I am sorry to say, cowards in every township who will set snares, and get by stealth what they dare not take openly. And, of the two, I think the snare a greater danger to the poor birds than the gun.”