Part 21

"Why that's--why--that's a chestnut-sided warbler! and--what?--he feeds the same baby!" I gasped, interested now as much as she.

"There!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, "I wanted you to see that with your own eyes, since you scorn to look at the warblers. He has been doing that ever since I left you. I couldn't bear to let him out of my sight!"

At that moment the warbler appeared again, and the wise redstart baby, who at least knew enough to take a good thing when it offered, opened his ever-ready mouth for the bit of a worm he brought.

But lo! Madam, who had flown the moment before, returned in hot haste, and flung herself upon that small philanthropist as if he had brought poison; he vanished.

Here was indeed a queer complication! It was a redstart nest without doubt, but who owned the baby? If he were a redstart, why did Mamma refuse help in her hard work, and why did the chestnut-sided insist on helping? If he were a chestnut-sided infant, how did he come in a redstart nest, and what had the redstart to do with him?

These were the problems with which we had to grapple, and we settled ourselves to the work. We placed our seats against neighboring saplings, for backs, and we first critically examined that nest. It was surely a redstart's, though at an unusual height, perhaps twenty-five feet, as we had observed the day before when we had both noted in our books that we saw the male feeding the young. Even had the nest not been so plainly a redstart's, the air of that mother was unmistakable. She owned that nest and that baby, there could not be a doubt, and the dapper little personage with chestnut sides was an interloper.

Nearly two hours we watched every movement of the small actors in this strange drama, and in seeking food they often came within six feet of us on our own level, so that we could not mistake their identity.

The poor little mamma was in deep distress. Although her mate was absent, she resented her neighbor's efforts to help in her work, and dashed at him furiously every time she saw him come. Yet she could not stay on guard, for upon her alone devolved the duty of feeding that nestling! So she rushed frantically hither and thither in mad redstart fashion, brought her morsel and administered it, and then darted angrily after the enemy, who appeared as often as she did, every time with a tidbit for that pampered youngster.

This double duty seemed almost too much for the redstart. Her feathers were ruffled, her tail opened and shut nervously, and at every interval that she could spare from her breathless exertions she uttered in low tones the redstart song, as though calling on that missing lord of hers.

And where was that much needed personage? Had he been killed in these carefully protected and fenced woods, where no guns or collectors were allowed, and trespass notices were as plentiful as blackberries? Not by shooting we were sure; we should have heard a gun at the house. Had, then, an owl paid a twilight visit, and could a redstart be surprised? Or could, perchance, a squirrel have stolen upon him unaware? We shall never know. There's no morning paper to chronicle the tragedies in the bird world; and it would be too pitiful reading if there were.

The most curious thing about the whole performance was the behavior of the chestnut-sided. His manner was as unruffled as Madam's was excited. The most just and honorable cause in the world could not give more absolute self-possession, more dignified persistence, than was shown by this wonderful atom of a bird. He acknowledged her right to reprove him, for he vanished before her outraged motherhood every time; but the moment the chase ended he fell to collecting food, and by the time his assailant had given her bantling a morsel, he was ready with another.

What could be his motive? Was he a charity-mad personage, such as we sometimes see among bigger folk, determined to benefit his kind, whether they would or no? Had he, perchance, been bereaved of his own younglings, and felt moved to bestow his parental care upon somebody? Did he wish to experiment with some theory of his own on another's baby? Was it his aim to coax that young redstart to desert his family and follow after the traditions of the chestnut-sided?

Alas! how easy to ask; how hard to answer!

By this time I had become as absorbed in the drama as my companion. We forgot, or postponed, the blue, and gave the day to study of this case of domestic infelicity. Five long hours we sat there (morning and afternoon) before the stage on which the interesting but agitating play went on; and after tea, just before dark, we came out again. All this time the war between the two still raged, with no abatement of spirit.

Breakfast was not loitered over on the following morning, and we hurried out to our post. The situation was changed a little. The youngster had made up his mind to go out into the world. He had moved as far as the branch, a few inches from the nest, and was still fed on both sides by his zealous providers. Mamma, however, though every time repelling her unwelcome assistant, was not so nervous. Perhaps she realized that a few hours more would end the trouble. She fed, she encouraged, and pretty soon, while we looked, the infant flew to the nearest tree.

Now the chestnut-sided began to have difficulty in following up his self-imposed charge. He took to coming close upon the mother's heels to see where she went. But this course was attended with the difficulty that the instant she had fed she was ready to turn upon him, which she never failed to do.

After several short flights about the tree, the young bird, grown bolder, perhaps by over-feeding, for surely never nestling was stuffed as that one was, attempted a more ambitious flight, failed, and came fluttering to the ground, much to the dismay of his mamma, who followed him closely all the way.

This was our opportunity, the moment we had waited for; we must see that disputed baby!

My comrade dropped everything and ran to the spot. A moment's scrambling about on the ground, a few careful "grabs" among the dead leaves, and she held the exhausted little fellow in her hand. He was not frightened; but his mother was greatly disturbed at first. We were too interested in this case to heed her, and indeed after a moment's demonstration she flew away and left him in our hands.

We examined him minutely, and I noted his markings on the spot. There was no doubt about his being a redstart baby, as I had been convinced from the first. When we had settled this, the little one was placed on a branch, where he remained quite calmly, and we left him to his two attendants.

The next morning we found the mother still hard at work in the same part of the woods (we knew her by some feathers she had lost from her breast), but the gallant little warbler was nowhere to be seen.

XX.

A CLEVER CUCKOO.

"Hark, the cuckoo, weatherwise, Still hiding, farther onward woos you."

The mysterious bird, around whose name cluster some strange facts as well as absurd fancies; shy and intolerant of the human race, yet bold in protecting his treasures; devoted and tender in his family relations, yet often known in the neighborhood where he passes his days as a mere "wandering voice,"--

"No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery,"--

this bird, the cuckoo, was a stranger to me till one happy day last June, when I came upon him where he could not escape, beside his own nest.

In returning from our daily visit to the woods that morning, my fellow-student turned down a narrow footway connecting the woods with the home-fields, and I followed. She had passed through half its length, her dog close behind her, when our eyes, ever searching the trees and bushes, fell almost at the same instant upon a nest, with the sitting bird at home. It was so near me that I could have touched it, being not more than two feet from the ground, and hardly farther from the path.