it is 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 insist 48upon 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.
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“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, how he could get along without one. what climbings, delightful wanderings, and general mischief presented themselves to his childish imagination! what fun he and alice would have!
“whatever bird is it?” said the nurse.
“our blackbird,” replied willie, with an air of considerable importance.
“your blackbird!” she said; “why, whatever does the child mean? well, anyhow, the gardener will soon 50make 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 the 51world 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, a gloire 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. the newly-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 had 53been 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 except mamma blackbird, 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 down 54upon 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 at eventide, 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 the 55garden 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 voices 57could 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 attracted 58her 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 short hymn––
“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 pleased 59to 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’ of cuckoo is 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 of 61some 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 cuckoo 62actually 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.
“i do wish 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.”
“perhaps not,” said the blackbird, gazing rather 63sentimentally 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 possible 64authority 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 and on the water was even better, at least so thought willie and alice, but so did not think 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.
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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 a 67summer’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 brown 68back, 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.
