CHIRP THE THIRD.summer.

That night his sleep was disturbed by very unpleasant dreams. He had visions of numbers of little boys who kept coming to look at his nest, and who pulled the bough down to the ground. Then he saw the eggs rolling out slowly one after the other on to the lawn. And then he would wake with a start to find that after all it was only a dream, and would see the bright moonlight shining on the dewy grass, and hear afar off the hoarse trill of the night-jar, or the boding screech of the great white owl.

All that night he could not help feeling nervous, and he was very glad indeed when the first streaks of dawn became visible in the far east. It was a bright spring morning, and as he and his sprightly little wife hopped nimbly about on the daisy-spangled lawn, ere the dew had disappeared from the little pink and white flowers, and as they here and there picked up a worm or an insect, he felt wonderfully refreshed, indeed by the time he had taken his morning bath, and had plumed his feathers, he was quite himself again.

The thirteen days which now followed were very important ones; for, during that time, our Blackbird’s patient young wife sat almost uninterruptedly upon38her nest. She stole away for a few moments to the neighbouring hedgerows for breakfast or dinner; but she was never happy till she was back again to her precious charge.

It was at this time that the Blackbird poured forth his very best music. He had never sung so many nor such varied songs before; now that his partner could not go about with him, he had so much to tell her of his rambles and of course he told it all in song.

He did not always perch on their own bush. He was afraid that if he did so he might attract too much attention, but from the bough of any tree close at hand he cheered her heart with his beautiful melodies.

The Robin’s Nest.

Then it was that he told his wife of the green hedgerows where the golden, star-shaped blossoms of the celandine were luxuriant, and where the shy primroses were just beginning to show their pale heads. He would sing of the blackthorn whose snowy blooms were then just peeping out, and of the hawthorn already covered with its tender green leaves. He told her, and this was a profound secret, of the nest of their good friend, the Robin, which was very cunningly concealed at the top of the ivy. It was a soft, cosy little nest,39not plastered with mud as theirs was, but lined with silky hair. The Robin had shown him five little pale eggs, white spotted with brown, at the bottom of the nest, half hidden by the soft hair.

The Blackbird had also come across a most remarkable nest, that of the golden-crested wren. “My old friend, the Rook, tells me,” said the Blackbird, “that this wren is the very smallest of our birds. He certainly is a great beauty with his crown of golden feathers. His nest is in yonder yew-tree. It seems large for a bird of his size. It is almost entirely built of moss, and, can you believe it, the wren uses spider’s webs to bind it together! It seemed to be hanging from the bough, and was so well hidden by another bough, that I did not see it until I had flown quite into the middle of the tree. The opening in the nest is so small, I don’t believe you could have got even your little head in; but I had a good peep, and saw its lining of soft warm feathers, and counted ten of the palest, tiniest eggs you can possibly imagine.”

The following day the Blackbird had other tidings for his wife. He had been to a stream in the neighbourhood,––the Brawl. Its banks were gay with40marsh marigolds, and while he was hopping and frisking about there, he had met a very curious-looking bird, a ring-ousel. This creature was rather shy and had not long arrived from the south, where he usually spent the winter. He was a pretty fellow, with black plumage and a white crescent round his throat, and his song was very sweet indeed. He had few relations in England, for he was what folks call a rare bird, and the Blackbird was sorry for it, for he thought him both pretty and attractive.

The following day the Blackbird had a long talk with the Rook. The latter was perched on an elm, whose leaves were just beginning to burst forth, and it was there that the Blackbird joined him. Rooks’ nests, made of rough-looking sticks, many of them containing one or more blue eggs, were to be seen dotted here and there along the avenue of elms, and the cawing and the gossip, to say nothing of the quarrelling, was almost deafening. The Blackbird settled on a bough close to the Rook, and as he did so he noticed some swallows skimming over the lawn far below them. They were beautiful birds, their blue-black plumage glinted in the sunshine, and now and41then a quick turn displayed their brown throats and white breasts. They were darting hither and thither, so rapidly that the eye could hardly follow them, catching the many-winged insects as they flew by. Then they would suddenly dart off to the topmost gables of the old mansion, where their compact mud nests could be plainly seen against the dark gray stones.

“I remember,” said the Blackbird, “watching those swallows a long, long time ago, when I was quite a fledgeling; but I haven’t seen one all the winter. Where can they have been all this time?”

“Oh,” replied the Rook, “the swallows are most curious and interesting creatures.When October comes they assemble from all parts of Great Britain and then start forth on a long journey across the wide seas to pass the winter in sunnier and warmer countries. When April returns they all come back again,––from the palms of Africa, over the olives of Italy and the oaks of Spain––back across the seas they come to us. It is here that they build their nests and rear their young ones, but only to fly away again in the autumn. Truly, these swallows are wonderful travellers.”

“How nice it must be to spend the winter in a warm, sunny place,” remarked the Blackbird, enviously.

“Well, I don’t know,” retorted the Rook; “think of the long, long journey! Think of the miles and miles of ocean to be crossed, think of the weary wings, think of the poor breathless birds. They often perch to rest a while on the passing ships, and they often get knocked down and killed. Then again, just think how they must suffer from the cold here in England, after the warm climates they have wintered in. No, depend upon it,” said the Rook, shaking his head wisely, “it’s far better to spend the winter here at home and get healthy and hardy. There are many nights when you and I are warm and comfortable that these unhappy swallows are crouched shivering under the eaves. In my humble opinion there’s nothing like England, dear old England, for English birds.”

You see this old Rook was very patriotic, and of course a great Tory to boot. He disliked change of every sort and kind. He, and his ancestors before him, had built in these same elm-trees, since the first gray stone of the old mansion had been laid. From these same trees, from generation to43generation, they had watched the sun rise and set during the stormy days of winter and the sunny days of summer. They had noted the seasons as they came and went, enjoying the fruits and the joys of each, and when any rook was cut off by death, it was generally old age that killed him,––unless it were that occasionally a youngster, more enterprising than prudent, would lean out of his nest to see the world around him, and what was going on there, and then a sudden rush of his small body through the air, and a thud at the foot of the tree, would tell of the premature decease of a promising rooklet. Yes, “Old England for ever!” was still the watchword of the rooks.

“Certainly it is very delightful just now,” said the Blackbird, looking round him. Delicate young leaves were bursting forth on every side; primroses, anemones, and even a few early cowslips were peering through the grass below, the sun was shining, and the woods were filled with a chorus of song.

“Yes indeed,” said the Rook solemnly “‘the stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed time, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming.’”

This conversation, and all his other talks and small adventures, were faithfully reported to the home-tied wife. His voice beguiled the many weary hours during which she patiently sat on her nest.

It was thus that matters went on until towards the end of the thirteenth day, when certain mysterious sounds were heard to proceed from the nest, faint peckings, which would cease and then begin again. One day, while his wife was taking her mid-day meal, the Blackbird hopped close to the nest, and put his head over the side, and as he watched and listened, lo and behold, through a slight crack in the blue shell of one of the eggs peeped a very tiny beak!

It was very marvellous! This beak moved backwards and forwards, and in and out, and gradually, the crack becoming larger, a small featherless head emerged. Yes, so it was; and before sunset the following day five callow little birds lay huddled together in the nest, and although they were his own sons and daughters, it must be confessed that the Blackbird could not help thinking them remarkably ugly. They had very few feathers on their poor naked little bodies, their heads appeared to be of an45enormous and disproportionate size,––and then, their mouths!

As they squatted in the nest with their five mouths opened to their widest, displaying five red throats, the Blackbird thought that never before in all his long life had he seen anything so frightful. How such enormous creatures had ever come out of those five pretty little eggs he could not imagine. However, he had no time for reflection, for what on earth did those eager little monsters mean by gaping at him like that?

At last it occurred to him that they might be hungry, and thereupon he and his wife set off to pick up small worms and insects for them. The Blackbird fancied that being so very young they would require delicate feeding, but this proved to be an entire mistake. Never before had he thought it possible that such small bodies could dispose of so much food. From morning to night, and almost from night to morning, he and his poor wife were to be seen flying backwards and forwards conveying provisions to the nest.

However, none of the brood ever seemed to be46satisfied. Five mouths always opened wide when the Blackbird returned, although he could only feed one at a time, and he never, for the life of him, could remember which he had fed last.

Worms, grubs, caterpillars, insects, all found their way to the little gaping mouths,––nothing came amiss, until the Blackbird felt that if it went on much longer there would be no insects left in the whole country, and that his young ones would certainly die of indigestion. However, the little birds flourished, and grew apace, and each night as the Blackbird drew in his wings for a few short hours of rest, he wondered when the brood would be old enough to feed themselves, for he looked forward, and with no small longing, to that time of rest.

END OF CHIRP THE SECOND.

CHIRP THE THIRD.summer.

IItis not to be supposed that our little friends Willie and Alice made but that one visit to the Blackbird’s nest. No, at some hour or other of each day the small couple stole across the lawn to peep at the mother as she sat on her nest. At first, the birds were rather alarmed by these visitations, but they soon grew accustomed to them, more especially when they found that their young friends meant no harm.

Itis not to be supposed that our little friends Willie and Alice made but that one visit to the Blackbird’s nest. No, at some hour or other of each day the small couple stole across the lawn to peep at the mother as she sat on her nest. At first, the birds were rather alarmed by these visitations, but they soon grew accustomed to them, more especially when they found that their young friends meant no harm.

One morning, on going to the nest, Willie was very much surprised to find that a wonderful change had taken place. The pretty little blue eggs had disappeared, and behold, in their place were five callow, gaping creatures! Alice was also very much interested, and it was but natural that she should insist48upon seeing what excited her brother so much. Willie, therefore, after considerable difficulty, raised her sufficiently high to let her have a good look at the funny little heads. At the sight of them, Alice kicked her little feet with joy, which caused her to slip quickly through Willie’s arms on to the grass. Her fresh white frock was a good deal tumbled in consequence, and her hat had fallen off in the scramble.

At this critical moment their nurse, Mrs. Barlow, appeared on the scene. “Master Willie! Master Willie!” she called, “how often I’ve told you not to lift Miss Alice. She’s a deal too heavy for you; and look how you’ve tumbled her clean white frock. There’ll be an accident some day, or my name’s not Barlow. I won’t have you dragging her about the country in this way; before you’ve done you’ll make a regular tom-boy of her, and, bless her heart, she’s a real delicate little lady.”

Master Willie tried to look penitent, and he secretly hoped their beloved nest would not be discovered. However, the nurse had her suspicions of their bush, so she walked straight up to it and then round it.

“Well, I do declare,” she said at last, “there’s a nest, and that’s what you’ve been after, is it? Well, of all the nasty, horrid little things that ever I saw these birds are the nastiest. Bless me, I wonder now how they get along, and no nurse to look after them.”

What fun they must have, was Willie’s secret thought. They could rove about the country at their “own sweet will,” and never think about tumbling their clothes. But then he remembered that the birds hadn’t got any clothes to speak of, and that, as yet, they couldn’t even fly. He therefore began to wonder how they did manage without a nurse, and thought he should like to try, just for a week or two, howhecould get along without one. What climbings, delightful wanderings, and general mischief presented themselves to his childish imagination!whatfun he and Alice would have!

“Whatever bird is it?” said the nurse.

“OurBlackbird,” replied Willie, with an air of considerable importance.

“YourBlackbird!” she said; “why, whatever does the child mean? Well, anyhow, the gardener will soon50make short work of the Blackbirds, nasty mischievous things!––why, they eat up all the fruit, and destroy the flowers.”

“Oh, Nanny,” cried the little boy sadly, “don’t say that, our Blackbird is so good, he sings beautifully, and we are so fond of him. The gardener mustn’t kill our Blackbird.” Tears stood in the soft brown eyes, and Nanny, who was really a kind-hearted woman, hastened to say that she didn’t at all suppose that that particular Blackbird would be killed, it was only that birds in general were such destructive creatures, that the fewer of them there were left about, the better.

Willie, however, was not altogether consoled, and he could not help feeling that Nanny was not so sympathetic as she might be about his dear Blackbird. Still he hoped for the best, and determined, at the very earliest opportunity, to entreat the gardener to spare every Blackbird, young and old, for the sake of his particular friend.

All this had happened in the spring, some months before, and it was now July. The young Blackbirds, hatched in April, had been out and abroad in the51world some weeks. They were not yet quite full grown, and still depended upon their parents for help and advice. The parent birds, however, had not a little to do, for by this time they had hatched a second brood, and, just now, these last required their constant attention, although they hoped that by the end of the month their young ones would be able to fly a little. This brood had proved more refractory than the first one, and they were continually getting into trouble and mischief. One of them tumbled into a pool of water, and was as nearly as possible drowned; another was pursued by a cat and had his leg very much hurt; while a third, alas! a poor little fellow, tumbled right out of the nest one morning, fell on the hard ground, and never breathed again.

But although the Blackbird had his troubles, and serious ones they were too, the beauty and luxuriance of the season rejoiced his heart. The country was in its richest summer garb, even the porch of the old gabled house was covered with pale pink roses. A splendid yellow rose, aGloire de Dijon, clustered round the library window, and a white rose peeped in at the drawing-room. White and yellow jasmin,52varied here and there by clusters of deep crimson roses, covered the west side of the house and the old bay window, and the garden below was gay with bright-coloured flower-beds.

Every tree was in full foliage, and the avenue of limes was sweet with small white blossoms, and musical with the murmur of myriads of contented bees, who found some of their sweetest nectar there. Thenewly-mown hay was falling on all sides, and the trees gave a very grateful shade to the tired haymakers during the noon-tide heat.

The spot, however, which most attracted the Blackbirds, was the kitchen garden. What ripe red strawberries were hidden away under the thick leaves on the long slope of the upper garden! what cool green gooseberries, and what a variety of currants, were fast ripening in the lower garden! The Blackbird would often retire with one or two of his young people to this favoured region. They would first settle themselves at the strawberry-bed, though it must be confessed that this part of the feast was attended with some peril. They felt a certain degree of nervousness, a sense of insecurity, for a horrid net had53been stretched over this particular bed, and sometimes the dark feathered heads got caught in it.

One day the Blackbird had a most terrible fright. He and his wife, and some of the young ones, had been hard at work on the ripe strawberries. They had been so busy that they did not hear stealthy footsteps approaching on the sandy gravel till they were quite close to them. Then the birds rose in the air, with shrill cries of alarm, all exceptMammaBlackbird, who somehow could not get her head from under the net. She struggled desperately; the gardener was now close upon her. The poor bird, wild with alarm, fluttered backwards and forwards, till at last by a supreme effort, she freed herself and fled away, very much scared, but rejoicing in her liberty. This affair gave all the family a fearful shock, and it was some days before they dared to re-visit the strawberry-bed.

All things considered, though, the strawberries were very good, the birds preferred the lower garden, where they could hop comfortably and securely under the gooseberry and currant bushes. There were no nets there, and the gardener could not pounce down54upon them through those stiff thorny bushes; they could feast on the small, red gooseberries, and then, for a change, pass on to the smooth yellowish ones. Their meal generally ended by a visit to a certain bush where the clusters of white currants hung conveniently near the ground.

There was one spot, however, which was perhaps the most attractive of all. On the south side of the garden flourished an old cherry-tree which bore on its wide spreading arms “white hearts” of the very finest quality and flavour. This was a secret corner to which the birds repaired ateventide, and where, curiously enough, the gardener never suspected them of trespassing.

One bright July morning the Blackbird noticed a most unusual stir at the old mansion. There was a good deal of running about, to and fro, and in and out. The dairymaid paid a great many visits to the dairy, and other maids might be seen hurrying in all directions. The small brother and sister had more than once trotted out on the lawn to look at the sky, and make sure that it was not raining.

When the Blackbird happened to fly across the55garden he was still more puzzled. Two gardeners with large baskets were stooping over the strawberry beds, hard at work, picking the last of the strawberries. Alas! there would be none left! Another gardener was walking down the rows of raspberry-bushes, filling a capacious basket with the red and white berries. A small boy was collecting currants in another bulky receptacle, while two more were pulling quantities of gooseberries. What did it all mean?

Later on in the day two large carts quite brimming over with rosy-faced girls and boys passed through the yard, and on into the hay-field hard by. The little ones were soon seated in groups on the soft, sweet hay, and then the old mansion began to pour forth its inmates.

Servant-maids appeared with their gowns tucked up, carrying large cans of hot tea, followed by men in livery with huge platters piled with plum-cake, and stacks of bread-and-butter; and last, but by no means least, the ancient housekeeper, and her special maids, with baskets of fruit and jugs of rich golden cream. Then, last of all, from under the old porch, appeared the mother and father and their two children, our Willie and Alice.56Little Alice looked so fair and pretty in her white frock, blue sash, and blue shoes; and Willie’s bright young face was flushed with excitement and delight.

Then the Blackbird began to suspect what it all meant. It was Willie’s birthday; yes, he was five years old, and he had chosen, as his treat, that all the village children should be invited to tea in the hay-field. It was a great joy to Willie to hand round the cake and fruit, and to watch the little faces aglow with happiness. Willie and Alice, and even their mamma and papa, had tea in the hay-field, and Willie thought that never before had even strawberries and cream been quite so delicious.

It was a lovely afternoon, and it was very pleasant to sit on the newly-mown hay and listen to the birds singing in the trees. Of course, the Blackbird could not resist going to see and, as far as he could, share the fun, and he and his family had a private banquet of their own: for it so happened that one plate of fruit had been put behind a little hay-cock and then overlooked and forgotten, and there, fearless of gardeners or nets, the Blackbirds devoured the last of the strawberries.

After tea games were proposed, and the merry voices57could be heard in “blindman’s buff,” and “drop the handkerchief,” until quite late into the evening. By this time the fathers and mothers had arrived to look after their children and take them home, and many were the kind words and warm thanks expressed to Willie and Alice as their graceful little figures went in and out among the groups as they said “good night.”

At last little Alice was fairly tired out, so she was borne away by Nurse Barlow, who announced it as her decided opinion that the children would “get their deaths of cold, and both be laid up the next day.”

Poor Mrs. Barlow had not enjoyed her afternoon. She had been constantly occupied in trying to find Willie and Alice, for, as there were so many children scattered over the field, they had continually escaped her searching eye. Once she had ruthlessly torn Alice away as she was standing between two rosy-cheeked, delighted village urchins, playing “drop the handkerchief.” Each of her little fair hands was clasped by the strong brown fingers of a small village neighbour, and Alice vigorously resented being thus carried off.

“The idea of her playing with them,” murmured Mrs. Barlow contemptuously as she carried her off.

Not long afterwards a shout of triumph attracted58her attention to another part of the field, where she was certain “Master Willie” would be found. “If there’s mischief going on,” she said, “he’s sure to be in it;” and when she reached the spot, there he was sure enough, in his best clothes trying to climb the well-greased pole. As may be supposed his intentions of reaching the top, and securing the prize, were quickly nipped in the bud, and he was obliged to make a more sudden descent than he had counted upon.

Notwithstanding these slight interruptions, everything went off most satisfactorily, and all were sorry enough when the time arrived to say good-bye.

The children assembled in front of the old house, and sang a shorthymn––

“We are but little children weak;”

and then they were marched off to their different homes, and Willie went to bed, his thoughts full of the happy day they had had, and the words of the children’s hymn still sounding in his ears.

The Blackbird had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. There had been no drawbacks. Although he had not been one of the invited guests, he felt somehow that he had been welcome, and he was very pleased59to have seen so much of his two young friends, and to have left them so happy.

At this summer-time, it was a great pleasure to the Blackbird during the afternoon to perch on the limb of an old fir-tree on the lawn, and watch the squirrels at their gambols. They would play long, long games of hide and seek among the dark branches, and then, tired of that, they would chase each other from bough to bough, scattering the pine-cones, which dropped with a soft sound on the grass below. Little wagtails ran nimbly about the lawn uttering their shrill “quit, quit,” and catching as they ran the gnats and other insects. The small dark heads of the swallows could be seen as they crouched and twittered beneath the gables of the old mansion, and the distant trickling of water made a soft accompaniment to these varied sounds.

One afternoon when the Blackbird was thus perched on his favourite fir-branch he saw the old Rook sailing slowly by. He had not seen his old friend for some time, so he gladly welcomed and joined him. Away they flew to a copse beyond the lake where hazels and alders grew. A bright, pebbly stream wound through this copse, babbling cheerily as it went,60and both birds alighted on an overhanging bough to watch the tiny fish as they poised and darted backwards and forwards. At a bend of the stream a little higher up, a brilliant-hued kingfisher was on the watch, and another bird of much soberer plumage was perched on a hazel bough beyond. He had yellow legs, a long tail, and ashen-coloured plumage spotted with white, which attracted the Blackbird’s attention, for he did not remember ever to have seen him before.

“Do you know that bird?” inquired the Blackbird, nodding in the direction of the stranger.

“Indeed I do,” replied the Rook, dryly; “but he’s no friend of mine I assure you. He’s one of the laziest and most unprincipled of creatures. He has only one good point about him, that’s his note, and you must know that well. His‘twofold shout’ ofcuckoois a welcome sound to every one, for it tells us that Spring is here. As I said, however, that is his only good point,––for, can you believe it?he never builds a nest!”

“Never builds a nest!” exclaimed the Blackbird in astonishment, “then where does he lay his eggs?”

“Why,” said the Rook, “the cuckoos have the impudence, the audacity, to drop them in the nest of61some other bird, any nest that takes their fancy. And that is not all. Not only does the cuckoo lay its egg in a stranger’s nest, but the unfortunate bird whose nest he has chosen has not only to sit on his egg, and hatch his great gawkey young one, but has also to feed it, and rear it till it can take care of itself. Nice job it is too,” said the Rook with disgust. “Then they are so knowing––ay, they’re clever birds! Why they never lay their eggs in the nests of any of the Finches, because they are seed-feeding birds, and the cuckoos know full well that their young ones would starve, because a seed-feeding bird wouldn’t be able to rear them. Therefore they always choose the nests of the insect-feeding birds, and they never make a mistake. I wish they would sometimes, then there would be a few less of them! Those little pied wagtails, that you were watching on the lawn just now, often have the honour thrust upon them of hatching and rearing a young cuckoo, as do also the hedge sparrow and the reed warbler. The cuckoos are such cowards too,” continued the Rook, “that they sometimes lay their eggs in the poor little nest of quite a small bird who can’t even remonstrate with, much less fight them. Last Spring a vile cuckoo62actually laid her egg in a wren’s nest, and the two poor little wrens had to hatch and rear the young monster. You may fancy what hard work it was,––it was nearly the death of them!”

The Blackbird groaned sympathetically, for he remembered his own labours in that line. After a last glance at the kingfisher, the cuckoo, and the winding stream, the two friends flew farther on, over “flowery meads” and shining woods. The hedges were purple with marshmallow and vetch, while in other places the blue heads of the succory, and the pink and white briar roses were luxuriant, not to speak of the pale bindweed which clung so affectionately round the slender stems of the hazels.

The pair of friends alighted for a moment to gaze at all this summer wealth.

“Idowish it could always be summer,” sighed the Blackbird.

“You’d soon get very tired of it if it were,” retorted the Rook, “and you would not value the sunshine and flowers half so much if you always had them.”

The Rook.

“Perhaps not,” said the Blackbird, gazing rather63sentimentally at the closing blossoms of the convolvulus, “perhaps not, but the flowers are very lovely.”

“Yes,” said the Rook, gravely; “they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet we are assured that even the great King Solomon in all his glory ‘was not arrayed like one of these.’ The great God is over all His works, friend Blackbird; nothing, however small or however insignificant it may be, is overlooked or forgotten by the Creator.”

After a few moments of silence the Blackbird said, “I must be going home; my young ones are not yet able to do without me.”

“Your young ones!” exclaimed the Rook, in a tone of surprise; and then he added, “Ah, you’ve had two broods, I suppose?”

“Yes,” replied the Blackbird, “and the last are still young. My first are now quite grown up.”

“I once knew a relation of yours,” said the Rook, “who hatched three broods in one year.”

“Dear me,” said the Blackbird in a tone of commiseration, “how exhausted he must have been by the time he had finished with his third family.”

“I have been told, and on the best possible64authority too,” said the Rook, rather mischievously, “of a pair of Blackbirds who had four families––”

“Oh, pray don’t,” said the Blackbird, as he opened out his wings as if for flight; “you make me feel quite nervous.”

The Rook gave a caw which he intended to be a sympathetic one, but there was a little falter in it, which, had he been a human being instead of a bird, might have been mistaken for a smothered laugh. The birds now rose on the wing, and together flew homewards. While passing the lake a boat and the sound of oars arrested their attention. To watch it as it went by, they settled on the lowest branch of an old beech-tree, which grew at the edge of the lake, and spread its arms over the bright waters, affording a grateful shade to boating-parties in the summer. This tree was quite an old family friend, and generation after generation had gazed at it from the old bay window––generations who had rejoiced in its first spring leaves, and regretted the fall of the last brown one in autumn. It formed a capital shelter for the birds, from whence they could see and not be seen.

Willie and Alice, their mother and father, and Mrs.65Barlow the nurse, were in the boat. The father was rowing, and Willie was occupying the proud position of steersman. They soon drew to land and moored the little craft under the shade of the beech-tree. Then out came little mugs, bread and butter, fruit and cake––they were actually going to have a pic-nic on the water!

Tea out of doors was an immense delight; but tea out of doors andon the waterwas even better, at least so thought Willie and Alice, but so didnotthink Nurse Barlow. She screamed each time the boat rolled, and assured them every few minutes that they would all be drowned. As far as she was concerned she couldn’t see “why Master Willie and Miss Alice couldn’t have had tea quietly in their own nursery. It was a deal better than coming out there on the water, and sitting under that tree, with all those nasty insects dropping down on them.”

Nurse Barlow did not love expeditions of any sort or kind. She infinitely preferred walking up and down the trim gravel paths, with a child on either side of her. She could not bear to see the little curls ruffled, and the fresh white frocks tumbled.

But these were not the sentiments of Willie and his sister, and it is to be feared that they gave Nurse Barlow many disturbed and anxious moments, as they darted away from her to hide behind the bushes, or rolled head over heels in the new-mown hay, quite regardless of clean frock or embroidered suit.

It must be confessed that on this particular evening Willie was in a specially mischievous humour, for, among other tricks, he directed the attention of many small insects to his nurse’s gown, where they remained till jerked off in horror by the discomfited Nanny.

The Rook and Blackbird watched the party with no small interest and amusement, and then as the shadows lengthened they flew away home.

It was such a lovely evening that, after seeing his wife and the young ones comfortably settled in their nest the Blackbird took another short flight before going to bed himself.

He halted on a hedgerow in a narrow lane, which bordered a deep wood. The sky was lovely sapphire colour, pierced here and there by bright stars.

It was wonderfully still, save for those indescribable sounds which ever accompany the close of a67summer’s evening, those sounds which reveal to us that the great pulse of life is still strong,––strong even at that hour of repose,––the sleepy half-notes of the woodland bird, the “droning flight” of the beetle, or the passing hum of a belated bee. Tiny lamps, the glow-worm’s “dusky light,” shone here and there from the hedgerow. No step sounded, the air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and had not yet lost the heat of a long summer day.

All at once, in the midst of the general stillness, there broke forth on the night air a song so strange, so beautiful, that the Blackbird held his breath to listen. It came suddenly; and from a tree close beside him, a sweet low murmuring song, and then it changed to a swift “jug, jug.” This was followed by a shake, clear and prolonged, and then came a “low piping sound,” which, as the song ceased, the air gave back, as if it were loth to lose the melody.

Once again the song broke forth, varied, and, if possible, more full, more beautiful than before, finishing with the same low pipe. The Blackbird gazed about him in ecstasy; who could the unseen minstrel be?

A very unpretending looking bird, with a brown68back, and a dull white breast was sitting on a beech-tree close by. Could that be the minstrel, that plain insignificant looking bird?

And then as the Blackbird reflected, he all at once called to mind who it was,––this songster of the night!

It was none other than the Nightingale, the queen of song, the glory of the woods; and the Blackbird flew back to his nest, lost in admiration of the small brown-coated singer, his heart filled with gratitude for the glorious song.

END OF CHIRP THE THIRD.

CHIRP THE FOURTH.autumn.

TThestrawberries had entirely disappeared, the raspberries and gooseberries had followed, the last of the hay had been some time gathered in, and dry grass had taken the place of flowery meadows. The corn which had been green and soft was rapidly becoming hard and golden. It was now that the Blackbird became aware that the sun was once more beginning to go earlier to bed, and yet to get up later.

Thestrawberries had entirely disappeared, the raspberries and gooseberries had followed, the last of the hay had been some time gathered in, and dry grass had taken the place of flowery meadows. The corn which had been green and soft was rapidly becoming hard and golden. It was now that the Blackbird became aware that the sun was once more beginning to go earlier to bed, and yet to get up later.

“No doubt the sun is getting tired,” thought the Blackbird, “and no wonder; he has been up and shining so many hours lately. I shall be glad when he has had a good long rest, and begins to rise early again, for the birds are not singing so sweetly as they used to do, and even the poor flowers begin to droop.”

However, the days were still beautiful, though the blue sky was now often obscured by clouds, and the evenings were getting rather chilly.

The oaks were still as fresh as ever, but many other trees had changed their bright green for the deeper and more golden tints of autumn. In some places brown and crisp leaves already formed a thick carpet, and the beeches were fast flinging their ripe nuts to the ground. For all that, it was a little hard to realise that Autumn had already begun, for many flowers yet lingered, and the white and yellow roses still enlivened the gray face of the old mansion.

However, as the Blackbird had learnt to know, there were fruits and joys for every season, and if the strawberries and cherries had gone, were there not rosy-cheeked apples and delicious pears, which had been wanting in the summer?

There was one apple-tree in the orchard which he specially remembered; he had noticed it in the spring with its wealth of pink-white blossoms. The blossoms had quickly fallen, and he recollected hopping and frisking about among the soft, rosy petals as they strewed the grass. He had regretted the fall of these71pretty leaflets, and, of course, had gone to the old Rook for consolation.

“Wait a while,” had been the Rook’s sage remark; “they have only fallen off to give place to something better.”

The old sage was right, they had been pushed off, in order that the apples of autumn might come to perfection. This tree was now covered with rosy-cheeked, tempting fruit, pippins, that were so round and plump, that their skins appeared to have a great difficulty in containing them, and the Blackbird determined that no time should be lost in conducting his young family there.

Accordingly, one fine evening found him on the wing, at the head of his summer nestlings, who were fast developing into grown-up birds. He alighted on a bough, and hopped down from thence to the grass, where the apples lay very temptingly around. Just as he was about to commence supper, he became aware of a very fierce-looking man who was standing with outstretched and threatening arms, only a few yards from the tree.

The Blackbird immediately rose in the air and flew72away with a shrill cry, and all his young ones followed him. They did not venture to stop till they reached a neighbouring field. The appearance of the man at this time was all the more singular, for the Blackbird never before remembered to have seen the gardener in the orchard, so late in the evening. However, the next morning he determined to be there betimes, and to make his breakfast off the apples, although he had lost his supper. As he flew along, followed by his young ones, he said, “Now remember, my children, always to be very careful, and never go near the orchard if the gardener happens to be about, for the hard-hearted man would think nothing of shooting every one of us, and all for the sake of his miserable apples.”

This admonition did not make the young Blackbirds feel over comfortable, and as they hopped to the grass their poor little legs trembled with alarm.

At this moment a shrill cry from their parent startled them, and again they quickly scattered, for the dreadful gardener had already arrived, and was there awaiting them, standing by the tree with his outstretched arms.

It certainly was very provoking and terrifying, and after one or two more feeble attempts upon the apples73the Blackbird determined to give up the orchard altogether, for go at what time he might, that horrible, that ugly old gardener was always there before him.

One day he happened to mention his trouble and disappointment to the Rook. You should have seen that bird’s face; his usually solemn expression of countenance suddenly gave way to one of intense amusement, as he replied, “Ah, you hav’n’t been quite so many years about the orchards as I have, or you wouldn’t have been quite so frightened. The gardener has tried that old trick upon me and mine so often that I’m quite accustomed to it. Why, it’s not a gardener at all––it’s a rickety old Scare-crow! However,” he added, as he saw the Blackbird look rather ashamed and crestfallen, “I was quite taken in myself at first; but one day I happened to be passing the orchard just as a gale of wind was blowing, and saw the Scare-crow topple over. Since that day I’ve never been afraid of scare-crows, although there’s an old farmer near here who puts most frightful-looking ones in his corn fields, worse than any I’ve ever seen anywhere else. It’s of no use, however, we don’t care a bit for them. They must find out something much more terrible than scare-crows if they want to frighten the crows or us.”

It must be confessed that the Blackbird never had the moral courage to acknowledge how completely he had been taken in, and it was only gradually that his young ones found out that after all the scare-crow was not the dreaded gardener, but only some very shabby old clothes arranged on a stupid pole or two.

It was about this time that the Blackbird haunted the neighbourhood of a certain lane, where the bramble blossoms had been succeeded by the wild-fruits of autumn. The blackberries were abundant, and it was not the Blackbird only who found this lane, with its high hedgerows, an attractive spot. Little Willie would sometimes persuade his unwilling nurse to take that lane on their way home, “just for a treat, you know;” and while the nurserymaid, followed by Mrs. Barlow, pushed Alice in her perambulator, Willie would linger far behind, making many overt attacks upon the blackberries, thereby tearing his clothes and staining his lips and fingers.

One day the Blackbird was much amused at a scene which took place in the lane between Mrs. Barlow and her young charges. The nurserymaid had been left at home, Nanny was alone with them, Willie had lagged far behind, and had stuffed his mouth, and then75with some difficulty all his pockets, full of ripe blackberries. Of course Nanny knew nothing of this; she was rather exhausted, and had stopped for a moment, perambulator in hand, to speak to a friend.

This was an opportunity not to be lost. Willie ran up with one of his small hands full of the juicy berries, they were so good hemustgive some to Alice. The delighted little girl opened wide her rosy mouth to receive the fruit. The crushed berries were hastily pushed in by Willie, leaving large purple stains on her lips and chin, and in his haste and fear of being discovered he let several fall on her pale blue pelisse.

It was just at this moment that Nurse Barlow looked round. “Master Willie! Master Willie!” she cried, darting forward and seizing him by both hands, “haven’t I often and often told you Miss Alice is not to have those nasty berries? Didn’t I only yesterday read in the newspaper of three children that were poisoned to death by eating berries out of a hedge––poor little children that had no nurse to look after them; and here you’ve given the darling those nasty, poisonous things. Just look at her mouth!” and she paused as76she turned to examine Willie’s pockets. “I do declare if you haven’t gone and put them into the pockets of your new clothes! Well,” said she, appealing to her friend, “did you ever see the like? That’s his new suit, on yesterday for the first time,––and just look!” she continued, as one after the other she slowly turned the pockets inside out, “just look!”

The pockets were purple, as were also the lips and hands of the delinquent, and he really looked as penitent as he felt, though, as Nurse Barlow said, “where’s the use of being sorry when the mischief’s done?” Willie promised that he really would behave better another time, and that he had not meant to do any harm. In the meanwhile little Alice had mightily enjoyed the taste of these her first blackberries, but she and Willie did not forget in a hurry the terrible scolding, and the much more terrible washing, which succeeded that famous day’s blackberrying in the lane.

The Blackbird congratulated himself that he had no blue suit of clothes to spoil, and that his coat was of such a colour that the berries could not harm it.

We have already said that the Blackbird had his interests and pleasures even at this autumn time, but77it must be owned that a good deal of life and enjoyment had gone with the summer.

The woods were almost songless, and each day added to the increasing multitude of dead leaves that drove before the wind; each day, too, the bare boughs, once so well covered, flung a few more of their last leaves to the ground. About this time, too, the Blackbird did not feel quite well––he was listless, his wings would droop in spite of himself. His feathers were not so black and glossy as they had been,––the fact was, the moulting season had begun, and it was some time before he began to feel really bright and well again.

It was also about this time that the Blackbird noticed a most unusual gathering together of the swallows, and a good deal of commotion and twittering. They assembled in large flocks, and appeared to be eagerly discussing some weighty affair of State. After such discussions they would suddenly disperse, but only to re-assemble and twitter more eagerly than ever.

What could it all mean? Of course the sage and experienced Rook was referred to.

“These birds,” he said, “are about to what is calledmigrate, it is a very important event to them, and78they hold long consultations beforehand. As you may remember, I told you in the spring they do not spend above half the year in England, and now that the leaves are falling, and the winds are getting cold, they know it is high time to be off. They are wonderfully quick flyers, a few days will find them on the distant shores of Africa.”

“It must be very sunny, very delightful there,” said the Blackbird.

“I daresay it is,” replied the Rook, hopping slowly from one fir-branch to another; “but I had far rather remain at home. Dear old place!” he said, looking at the venerable gray mansion, and then at the beautiful lake and wood behind which the sun was setting. “I wouldn’t miss the winter and spring here for anything that Africa or any other place in the wide world could give me.”

The gray stones and gables were bright with the glory of the setting sun, the ruddy stems of the firs had caught the reflection and stood out in their depth of red from the dark green foliage. Some autumn flowers and a few late roses still gave colour to the garden, and the sound of far-off childish voices echoed from the more distant lime-trees.

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