Wood-Folk Talk
By J. ALLISON ATWOOD
WHAT does the crow say? The syllable “caw” repeated several times? I thought you would say that. A tradition is hard to break; but just listen for yourself sometime, and you will be convinced that the crow has been sadly misunderstood. It is “Hawk, Hawk, Hawk,” just as plainly as one could wish.
Of course, you wonder why one bird should spend all his time calling out the name of another. Well, that’s just what I want to tell you about.
It was a long time ago—before any white people had invaded Birdland. The year had been unusually mild and all the birds had returned from the south where they spent the winter. So great was the rejoicing because of the early season that the king had sent invitations far and wide to a spring reception.
Then what an excitement! For weeks nothing was discussed but the reception and new spring plumages.
When the day arrived, birds from tree-top and meadow came by the score—waders, climbers, perchers—in fact, all kinds under the sun. The table, which, by the way, very closely resembled the ground, was festooned and hung with arbutus. Before each guest was a relish—a dainty little worm, served upon an equally exquisite plate of shellbark. But why torment ourselves with the “bill o’ fare”? Sufficient to say that it was worthy of the occasion.
At the head of the table sat the king himself, a sturdy little fellow, nicely dressed in black and white, and wearing a concealed crown of gold on his head. One of the remarkable things about the king was that he did not flaunt his royalty before his subjects. Whenever he wore his crown he always concealed it under a cap of feathers, and trusted that his actions would speak his worth.
Next to him sat Bob-o-link, a cheerful little dandy, but noted, nevertheless, for a good deal of courage and common sense. He was the king’s right-wing bird.
On the other side was Brown Thrasher, dressed in a long-tailed coat of brown and a beautiful spotted vest. Thrasher was liked for his wit and sauciness, but on the whole he was a good deal of an adventurer. He had several times claimed kinship to the Thrushes, but they would have none of him.
Among other celebrities were Mocking Bird, a great jester and all-around wit; Quail, the famous toastmaster, and, in fact, all civilized birds except Night Hawk and Whip-poor-will, who were ridiculously shy of all public gatherings, and Crow, who had not been invited.
Of course, it was a great pity that Crow did not receive an invitation, but, somehow, the king had taken a strong dislike to him. The reason for this, he told his subjects, was because Crow could not sing, but it was really because he was black. The king had even hesitated about inviting Blackbird in spite of his gorgeous rainbow lustre.
Well, to say the least, poor Crow’s feelings were greatly hurt. He was very sad as he sat high up in a nearby tree and looked down upon the gay tumult. Crow was a sociable fellow, and, moreover, he was very hungry. Suddenly a thought came into his cunning black head.
Just as the party was at its merriest, he stood erect and called out in his loudest tone, “Hawk, Hawk, Hawk!” Instantly there was a confusion. Thrasher, quickly gathering his coat over his new vest, scurried into the nearest thicket. Quail, greedily bolting the last of his dessert, so far forgot his manners as to run straight across the table and hide himself in the tall grass; while Bob-o-link, checked in the midst of a brilliant speech, vanished among the nearby reeds. Last of all, the king, yielding to the universal panic, took wing. In a moment there was not a bird in sight.
Then Crow, laughing to himself, flew down to the table and made short work of the feast to which he had not been invited. Just as he was finishing the last mouthful, King Bird, ashamed of his hasty flight, returned, ready to confront his deadly enemy. Instead of the expected Hawk, however, he found only Crow, just then hopping up from the table and carefully rubbing his bill against the side of a branch.
Oh, what a rage he was in when he saw the trick that had been played upon them. With a snap of his bill, he flew at Crow like an arrow, and would undoubtedly have injured him had not the rascal taken instant flight.
From that day to this, Crow has been an outcast. If you watch him carefully you will notice how warily he flies, for the smaller birds have never ceased to torment and abuse him.
King Bird in particular has never forgiven the outrage, and whenever he hears Crow’s mocking voice calling “Hawk, Hawk, Hawk,” chases madly after him, crying out, angrily, “Cheat-thief, cheat-thief.”
Sometimes Crow, as he thinks of the feast, laughs exultantly as if to say, “I got the best of you all that time.”
Whereupon Quail, first glancing proudly at his own sleek form with the air of one who has not lived in vain, mounts the top of a nearby stump, and in his clear, shrill voice answers, “Not quite! not—quite!”
Four Birds