Wood-Folk Talk
By J. ALLISON ATWOOD
WITHOUT doubt most persons, should we ask them where Auk might be found, would laugh at us. “Auk?” they would say; “why he’s been dead for over half a century.” This seems very likely, since he has been neither seen nor heard of for a long time. But let me whisper a word in your ear: “Auk is still alive.” But why should he hide this way? Well, there is a very good reason for it, as you will see.
To our mind Auk was badly treated. He was certainly not to blame for being unattractive: neither was it his fault that he was clumsy. He had lived on the shore of the Great South Bay for years, and supported himself comfortably by his industry. But he was kept from making friends by his awkward manners. It is easy enough for us to see the meaning of the word awkward now, even if it is spelled with a “w” instead of a “u,” but that is of little importance.
Auk was a fisherman, and all his time, when not resting, was spent on the water. Although, as we have said, he was clumsy on land, Auk was a very graceful swimmer. More than that, he could stay under the water a long time, so that few fish, indeed, escaped him. This, of course, made many birds dislike him. They feared that there would be no fish left for them. To avert this danger, the Heron family, Tern, and most of the Gulls—all, in fact, except Black-head, who was too happy to quarrel with anyone—called a council. They would get rid of Auk.
On the water, they knew, they could not harm him in the least: he was far too good a swimmer for that. But on the land he would be at their mercy. As every one knows, Auk could not fly. He had been growing too heavy of late years.
So Tern proposed that the birds wait until night, when it was Auk’s habit to go back on the shore quite a way from the water to sleep. If they attacked him there he would be an easy prey.
As soon as the sun had gone down Auk’s enemies gathered on the shore just below the long sand-bar. About dark Sandpiper at the suggestion of Night-Heron, stole quietly along the shore to learn if Auk was asleep. It took him but a few minutes to reach the spot where the great bulky fellow rested while sitting bolt upright. So excited was Sandpiper that his heart beat wildly, and he had hardly gotten half way back when he called out to his friends, “Asleep! Asleep!”
Now Auk, even when in a sound slumber, always kept his ears wide open. That’s how he happened to hear Sandpiper’s piping voice telling the other birds that he was asleep. At first he thought he had been dreaming, but when he saw the dark forms down on the sand-bar he realized the truth and knew that he was in peril.
Greatly frightened, Auk hurried to the water, as was his habit in all danger. It was well he did, for, in the next instant. Blue Heron, Tern, and a host of others came flying swiftly toward him. In another moment Auk dived headlong into the sea and swam rapidly away, while his enemies stood on the shore crying out in their disappointment.
Years passed and Auk was forgotten. Everyone supposed that he had long ago fallen prey to some enemy. Then, one night, Birdland was astonished. Night-Heron had been to the far north for some time past. Suddenly he came bursting in upon them. His eyes were wide open with wonder. All he could say was the word “Quok! Quok!” which everyone knew was his way of saying “Auk,” Night-Heron being slightly tongue-tied. After he had gotten over his excitement the birds learned of his trip to Granite Island. Whom do you suppose he found there? It was no less a person than Auk.
At first folks thought Night-Heron’s mind had been wandering. But when he became calmer, and related his discovery, they could no longer refuse to believe him. All the old anger of the fishing birds seemed to arouse itself again. For years and years they had thought Auk was dead, and now they learned that he was still living and probably laughing at their stupidity.
Quickly gathering together, they started north. This time he would not escape them. It took many days of tiresome flight, but at last they could see Granite Island in the dim distance ahead of them. As they drew near, their anger increased and their cries cut the air. Just try to imagine their feelings then, when, upon nearer approach, they found that Auk was not there.
The truth was that Black-head had flown ahead of the party and warned Auk of his danger. Now he was circling high in air, and every now and then he would break out in laughter: “Gone! Ha! ha! ha! Gone! Ha! ha! ha!”
But this defeat only hardened the purpose of the fishing birds. They still continue to hunt for Auk. Watch any of them if you will while on the sea-shore. See how tirelessly Tern is searching as he skims over wave after wave. Will he ever find Auk? At any rate, he will not give up. But then, when we think of the broad expanse of the Great North Ocean, and its many rocky islands, we cannot but feel that Auk is pretty safe after all. He has found a good hiding-place somewhere.
You who have been believing that Auk has been extinct for half a century, now know that it is not so. But where is he? There is only one whom you can ask: that is Black-head. He will tell you nothing. Try it and see. His only reply is a laugh: “Gone! Ha! ha! ha! Gone! Ha! ha! ha!”
Nay, speak no ill; a kindly wordCan never leave a sting behind;And, oh, to breathe each tale we’ve heard,Is far beneath a noble mind;For oft a better seed is sownBy choosing thus a kindlier plan;Then if but little good we’ve known,Let’s speak of all the good we can.—Anonymous.
Nay, speak no ill; a kindly wordCan never leave a sting behind;And, oh, to breathe each tale we’ve heard,Is far beneath a noble mind;For oft a better seed is sownBy choosing thus a kindlier plan;Then if but little good we’ve known,Let’s speak of all the good we can.—Anonymous.
Nay, speak no ill; a kindly wordCan never leave a sting behind;And, oh, to breathe each tale we’ve heard,Is far beneath a noble mind;For oft a better seed is sownBy choosing thus a kindlier plan;Then if but little good we’ve known,Let’s speak of all the good we can.—Anonymous.
Nay, speak no ill; a kindly word
Can never leave a sting behind;
And, oh, to breathe each tale we’ve heard,
Is far beneath a noble mind;
For oft a better seed is sown
By choosing thus a kindlier plan;
Then if but little good we’ve known,
Let’s speak of all the good we can.
—Anonymous.