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[Illustration: _Mr. Stork and Miss Heron (page 178)_]




The Curious Book of Birds

By Abbie Farwell Brown

_With Illustrations_

_By E. Boyd Smith_


BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1903




_Published October, 1903._




_There are many books written nowadays which will tell you about birds
as folk of the twentieth century see them. They describe carefully the
singer's house, his habits, the number of his little wife's eggs, and
the color of every tiny feather on her pretty wings. But these books
tell you nothing at all about bird-history; about what birds have meant
to all the generations of men, women, and children since the world
began. You would think, to read the words of the bird-book men, that
they were the very first folk to see any bird, and that what they think
they have seen is the only matter worth the knowing._

_Now the interesting facts about birds we have always with us. We can
find them out for ourselves, which is a very pleasant thing to do, or we
can take the word of others, of which there is no lack. But it is the
quaint fancies about birds which are in danger of being lost. The
long-time fancies which the world's children in all lands have been
taught are quite as important as the every-day facts. They show what the
little feathered brothers have been to the children of men; how we have
come to like some and to dislike others as we do; why the poets have
called them by certain nicknames which we ought to know; and why a great
many strange things are so, in the minds of childlike people._

_Facts are not what one looks for in a Curious Book. Yet it may be that
some facts have crept in among the ancient fancies of this volume, just
as bookworms will crawl into the nicest books; but they do not belong
there, and it is for these that the Book apologizes to the children. It
has no apology to offer those grown folks who insist that facts, never
fancies, are what children need._




CONTENTS

PAGE

THE DISOBEDIENT WOODPECKER 1
(_French_)

MOTHER MAGPIE'S KINDERGARTEN 6
(_Isle of Wight_)

THE GORGEOUS GOLDFINCH 14
(_Roumanian_)

KING OF THE BIRDS 18
(_Gascon_)

HALCYONE 27
(_Greek_)

THE FORGETFUL KINGFISHER 33
(_German_)

THE WREN WHO BROUGHT FIRE 39
(_French_)

HOW THE BLUEBIRD CROSSED 45
(_Samoan_)

THE PEACOCK'S COUSIN 49
(_Arabic, Malay_)

THE MASQUERADING CROW 59
(_Russian_)

KING SOLOMON AND THE BIRDS 69
(_Arabic_)

THE PIOUS ROBIN 81
(_Breton, Basque, Greek_)

THE ROBIN WHO WAS AN INDIAN 87
(_Ojibway_)

THE INQUISITIVE WOMAN 94
(_Roumanian_)

WHY THE NIGHTINGALE WAKES 98
(_French_)

MRS. PARTRIDGE'S BABIES 105
(_Greek_)

THE EARLY GIRL 109
(_Roumanian_)

HOW THE BLACKBIRD SPOILED HIS COAT 114
(_French_)

THE BLACKBIRD AND THE FOX 124
(_French_)

THE DOVE WHO SPOKE TRUTH 127
(_Welsh_)

THE FOWLS ON PILGRIMAGE 132
(_Greek_)

THE GROUND-PIGEON 138
(_Malay_)

SISTER HEN AND THE CROCODILE 145
(_Congo Negro_)

THE THRUSH AND THE CUCKOO 153
(_Roumanian, German_)

THE OWL AND THE MOON 157
(_Malay_)

THE TUFTED CAP 164
(_Ainu, Japanese Islands_)

THE GOOD HUNTER 168
(_Iroquois_)

THE COURTSHIP OF MR. STORK AND MISS
HERON 176
(_Russian_)

THE PHOENIX 184
(_Egyptian_)

Seven of these tales appeared originally in _The Churchman_ and two in
_The Congregationalist_. They are reprinted by the courteous permission
of the publishers of those magazines.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
MR. STORK AND MISS HERON (page 178)
Frontispiece

"NEXT YOU MUST LAY A FEATHER" 10

SUCH A GORGEOUS COAT! 16

"BLESS ME!" HE EXCLAIMED, "WHOM HAVE
WE HERE?" 64

HERE ARE SOME NICE FAT WIGGLY WORMS 106

HE MANAGED TO FLUTTER OUT OF REACH 126

"O BROTHER, DON'T!" 148

PUTRI BALAN BEGAN TO LAUGH 160




The Curious Book of Birds




"Not you alone, proud truths of the world,
Not you alone, ye facts of modern science,
But myths and fables of eld, Asia's, Africa's fables."

_Whitman._




The Curious Book of Birds




THE DISOBEDIENT WOODPECKER


Long, long ago, at the beginning of things, they say that the Lord made
the world smooth and round like an apple. There were no hills nor
mountains: nor were there any hollows or valleys to hold the seas and
rivers, fountains and pools, which the world of men would need. It must,
indeed, have been a stupid and ugly earth in those days, with no chance
for swimming or sailing, rowing or fishing. But as yet there was no one
to think anything about it, no one who would long to swim, sail, row,
and fish. For this was long before men were created.

The Lord looked about Him at the flocks of newly made birds, who were
preening their wings and wondering at their own bright feathers, and
said to Himself,--

"I will make these pretty creatures useful, from the very beginning, so
that in after time men shall love them dearly. Come, my birds," He
cried, "come hither to me, and with the beaks which I have given you
hollow me out _here_, and _here_, and _here_, basins for the lakes and
pools which I intend to fill with water for men and for you, their
friends. Come, little brothers, busy yourselves as you would wish to be
happy hereafter."

Then there was a twittering and fluttering as the good birds set to work
with a will, singing happily over the work which their dear Lord had
given them to do. They pecked and they pecked with their sharp little
bills; they scratched and they scratched with their sharp little claws,
till in the proper places they had hollowed out great basins and valleys
and long river beds, and little holes in the ground.

Then the Lord sent great rains upon the earth until the hollows which
the birds had made were filled with water, and so became rivers and
lakes, little brooks and fountains, just as we see them to-day. Now it
was a beautiful, beautiful world, and the good birds sang happily and
rejoiced in the work which they had helped, and in the sparkling water
which was sweet to their taste.

All were happy except one. The Woodpecker had taken no part with the
other busy birds. She was a lazy, disobedient creature, and when she
heard the Lord's commands she had only said, "Tut tut!" and sat still on
the branch where she had perched, preening her pretty feathers and
admiring her silver stockings. "You can toil if you want to," she said
to the other birds who wondered at her, "but I shall do no such dirty
work. My clothes are too fine."

Now when the world was quite finished and the beautiful water sparkled
and glinted here and there, cool and refreshing, the Lord called the
birds to Him and thanked them for their help, praising them for their
industry and zeal. But to the Woodpecker He said,--

"As for you, O Woodpecker, I observe that your feathers are unruffled by
work and that there is no spot of soil upon your beak and claws. How did
you manage to keep so neat?"

The Woodpecker looked sulky and stood upon one leg.

"It is a good thing to be neat," said the Lord, "but not if it comes
from shirking a duty. It is good to be dainty, but not from laziness.
Have you not worked with your brothers as I commanded you?"

"It was such very dirty work," piped the Woodpecker crossly; "I was
afraid of spoiling my pretty bright coat and my silver shining hose."

"Oh, vain and lazy bird!" said the Lord sadly. "Have you nothing to do
but show off your fine clothes and give yourself airs? You are no more
beautiful than many of your brothers, yet they all obeyed me willingly.
Look at the snow-white Dove, and the gorgeous Bird of Paradise, and the
pretty Grosbeak. They have worked nobly, yet their plumage is not
injured. I fear that you must be punished for your disobedience, little
Woodpecker. Henceforth you shall wear stockings of sooty black instead
of the shining silver ones of which you are so proud. You who were too
fine to dig in the earth shall ever be pecking at dusty wood. And as you
declined to help in building the water-basins of the world, so you shall
never sip from them when you are thirsty. Never shall you thrust beak
into lake or river, little rippling brook or cool, sweet fountain.
Raindrops falling scantily from the leaves shall be your drink, and your
voice shall be heard only when other creatures are hiding themselves
from the approaching storm."

It was a sad punishment for the Woodpecker, but she certainly deserved
it. Ever since that time, whenever we hear a little tap-tapping in the
tree city, we know that it is the poor Woodpecker digging at the dusty
wood, as the Lord said she should do. And when we spy her, a dusty
little body with black stockings, clinging upright to the tree trunk, we
see that she is creeping, climbing, looking up eagerly toward the sky,
longing for the rain to fall into her thirsty beak. She is always hoping
for the storm to come, and plaintively pipes, "_Plui-plui!_ Rain, O
Rain!" until the drops begin to patter on the leaves.




MOTHER MAGPIE'S KINDERGARTEN


Did you ever notice how different are the nests which the birds build in
springtime, in tree or bush or sandy bank or hidden in the grass? Some
are wonderfully wrought, pretty little homes for birdikins. But others
are clumsy, and carelessly fastened to the bough, most unsafe cradles
for the feathered baby on the treetop. Sometimes after a heavy wind you
find on the ground under the nest poor little broken eggs which rolled
out and lost their chance of turning into birds with safe, safe wings of
their own. Now such sad things as this happen because in their youth the
lazy father and mother birds did not learn their lesson when Mother
Magpie had her class in nest-making. The clumsiest nest of all is that
which the Wood-Pigeon tries to build. Indeed, it is not a nest at all,
only the beginning of one. And there is an old story about this, which I
shall tell you.

In the early springtime of the world, when birds were first made, none
of them--except Mother Magpie--knew how to build a nest. In that lovely
garden where they lived the birds went fluttering about trying their new
wings, so interested in this wonderful game of flying that they forgot
all about preparing a home for the baby birds who were to come. When the
time came to lay their eggs the parents knew not what to do. There was
no place safe from the four-legged creatures who cannot fly, and they
began to twitter helplessly: "Oh, how I wish I had a nice warm nest for
my eggs!" "Oh, what shall we do for a home?" "Dear me! I don't know
anything about housekeeping." And the poor silly things ruffled up their
feathers and looked miserable as only a little bird can look when it is
unhappy.

All except Mother Magpie! She was not the best--oh, no!--but she was the
cleverest and wisest of all the birds; it seemed as if she knew
everything that a bird could know. Already she had found out a way, and
was busily building a famous nest for herself. She was indeed a clever
bird! She gathered turf and sticks, and with clay bound them firmly
together in a stout elm tree. About her house she built a fence of
thorns to keep away the burglar birds who had already begun mischief
among their peaceful neighbors. Thus she had a snug and cosy dwelling
finished before the others even suspected what she was doing. She popped
into her new house and sat there comfortably, peering out through the
window-slits with her sharp little eyes. And she saw the other birds
hopping about and twittering helplessly.

"What silly birds they are!" she croaked. "Ha, ha! What would they not
give for a nest like mine!"

But presently a sharp-eyed Sparrow spied Mother Magpie sitting in her
nest.

"Oho! Look there!" he cried. "Mother Magpie has found a way. Let us ask
her to teach us."

Then all the other birds chirped eagerly, "Yes, yes! Let us ask her to
teach us!"

So, in a great company, they came fluttering, hopping, twittering up to
the elm tree where Mother Magpie nestled comfortably in her new house.

"O wise Mother Magpie, dear Mother Magpie," they cried, "teach us how to
build our nests like yours, for it is growing night, and we are tired
and sleepy."

The Magpie said she would teach them if they would be a patient,
diligent, obedient class of little birds. And they all promised that
they would.

She made them perch about her in a great circle, some on the lower
branches of the trees, some on the bushes, and some on the ground among
the grass and flowers. And where each bird perched, there it was to
build its nest. Then Mother Magpie found clay and bits of twigs and moss
and grass--everything a bird could need to build a nest; and there is
scarcely anything you can think of which some bird would not find very
useful. When these things were all piled up before her she told every
bird to do just as she did. It was like a great big kindergarten of
birds playing at a new building game, with Mother Magpie for the
teacher.

She began to show them how to weave the bits of things together into
nests, as they should be made. And some of the birds, who were attentive
and careful, soon saw how it was done, and started nice homes for
themselves. You have seen what wonderful swinging baskets the Oriole
makes for his baby-cradle? Well, it was the Magpie who taught him how,
and he was the prize pupil, to be sure. But some of the birds were not
like him, nor like the patient little Wren. Some of them were lazy and
stupid and envious of Mother Magpie's cosy nest, which was already
finished, while theirs was yet to do.

As Mother Magpie worked, showing them how, it seemed so very simple that
they were ashamed not to have discovered it for themselves. So, as she
went on bit by bit, the silly things pretended that they had known all
about it from the first--which was very unpleasant for their teacher.

Mother Magpie took two sticks in her beak and began like this: "First of
all, my friends, you must lay two sticks crosswise for a foundation,
thus," and she placed them carefully on the branch before her.

"Oh yes, oh yes!" croaked old Daddy Crow, interrupting her rudely. "I
thought that was the way to begin."

Mother Magpie snapped her eyes at him and went on, "Next you must lay a
feather on a bit of moss, to start the walls."

"Certainly, of course," screamed the Jackdaw. "I knew that came next.
That is what I told the Parrot but a moment since."

Mother Magpie looked at him impatiently, but she did not say anything.
"Then, my friends, you must place on your foundation moss, hair,
feathers, sticks, and grass--whatever you choose for your house. You
must place them like _this_."

"Yes, yes," cried the Starling, "sticks and grass, every one knows how
to do that! Of course, of course! Tell us something new."

[Illustration: _"Next you must lay a feather"_]

Now Mother Magpie was very angry, but she kept on with her lesson in
spite of these rude and silly interruptions. She turned toward the
Wood-Pigeon, who was a rattle-pated young thing, and who was not having
any success with the sticks which she was trying to place.

"Here, Wood-Pigeon," said Mother Magpie, "you must place those sticks
through and across, criss-cross, criss-cross, _so_."

"Criss-cross, criss-cross, so," interrupted the Wood-Pigeon. "I know.
That will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!"

Mother Magpie hopped up and down on one leg, so angry she could hardly
croak.

"You silly Pigeon," she sputtered, "not _so_. You are spoiling your
nest. Place the sticks _so_!"

"I know, I know! That will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!" cooed the
Wood-Pigeon obstinately in her soft, foolish little voice, without
paying the least attention to Mother Magpie's directions.

"We all know that--anything more?" chirped the chorus of birds, trying
to conceal how anxious they were to know what came next, for the nests
were only half finished.

But Mother Magpie was thoroughly disgusted, and refused to go on with
the lesson which had been so rudely interrupted by her pupils.

"You are all so wise, friends," she said, "that surely you do not need
any help from me. You say you know all about it,--then go on and finish
your nests by yourselves. Much luck may you have!" And away she flew to
her own cosy nest in the elm tree, where she was soon fast asleep,
forgetting all about the matter.

But oh! What a pickle the other birds were in! The lesson was but half
finished, and most of them had not the slightest idea what to do next.
That is why to this day many of the birds have never learned to build a
perfect nest. Some do better than others, but none build like Mother
Magpie.

But the Wood-Pigeon was in the worst case of them all. For she had only
the foundation laid criss-cross as the Magpie had shown her. And so, if
you find in the woods the most shiftless, silly kind of nest that you
can imagine--just a platform of sticks laid flat across a branch, with
no railing to keep the eggs from rolling out, no roof to keep the rain
from soaking in--when you see that foolishness, you will know that it is
the nest of little Mistress Wood-Pigeon, who was too stupid to learn the
lesson which Mother Magpie was ready to teach.

And the queerest part of all is that the birds blamed the Magpie for the
whole matter, and have never liked her since. But, as you may have
found out for yourselves, that is often the fate of wise folk who make
discoveries or who do things better than others.




THE GORGEOUS GOLDFINCH


The Goldfinch who lives in Europe is one of the gaudiest of the little
feathered brothers. He is a very Joseph of birds in his coat of many
colors, and folk often wonder how he came to have feathers so much more
gorgeous than his kindred. But after you have read this tale you will
wonder no longer.

You must know that when the Father first made all the birds they were
dressed alike in plumage of sober gray. But this dull uniform pleased
Him no more than it did the birds themselves, who begged that they might
wear each the particular style which was most becoming, and by which
they could be recognized afar.

So the Father called the birds to Him, one by one, as they stood in
line, and dipping His brush in the rainbow color-box painted each
appropriately in the colors which it wears to-day. (Except, indeed, that
some had later adventures which altered their original hues, as you
shall hear in due season.)

But the Goldfinch did not come with the other birds. That tardy little
fellow was busy elsewhere on his own affairs and heeded not the Father's
command to fall in line and wait his turn for being made beautiful.

So it happened that not until the painting was finished and all the
birds had flown away to admire themselves in the water-mirrors of the
earth, did the Goldfinch present himself at the Father's feet out of
breath.

"O Father!" he panted, "I am late. But I was so busy! Pray forgive me
and permit me to have a pretty coat like the others."

"You are late indeed," said the Father reproachfully, "and all the
coloring has been done. You should have come when I bade you. Do you not
know that it is the prompt bird who fares best? My rainbow color-box has
been generously used, and I have but little of each tint left. Yet I
will paint you with the colors that I have, and if the result be ill you
have only yourself to blame."

The Father smiled gently as He took up the brush which He had laid down,
and dipped it in the first color which came to hand. This He used until
there was no more, when He began with another shade, and so continued
until the Goldfinch was completely colored from head to foot. Such a
gorgeous coat! His forehead and throat were of the most brilliant
crimson. His cap and sailor collar were black. His back was brown and
yellow, his breast white, his wings golden set off with velvet black,
and his tail was black with white-tipped feathers. Certainly there was
no danger of his being mistaken for any other bird.

When the Goldfinch looked down into a pool and saw the reflection of his
gorgeous coat, he burst out into a song of joy. "I like it, oh, I like
it!" he warbled, and his song was very sweet. "Oh, I am glad that I was
late, indeed I am, dear Father!"

But the kind Father sighed and shook His head as He put away the brush,
exclaiming, "Poor little Goldfinch! You are indeed a beautiful bird. But
I fear that the gorgeous coat which you wear, and which is the best that
I could give you, because you came so late, will cause you more sorrow
than joy. Because of it you will be chased and captured and kept in
captivity; and your life will be spent in mourning for the days when you
were a plain gray bird."

And so it happened. For to this day the Goldfinch is persecuted by human
folk who admire his wonderful plumage and his beautiful song. He is
kept captive in a cage, while his less gorgeous brothers fly freely in
the beautiful world out of doors.

[Illustration: _Such a gorgeous coat!_]




KING OF THE BIRDS


Once upon a time, when the world was very new and when the birds had
just learned from Mother Magpie how to build their nests, some one said,
"We ought to have a king. Oh, we need a king of the birds very much!"

For you see, already in the Garden of Birds trouble had begun. There
were disputes every morning as to which was the earliest bird who was
entitled to the worm. There were quarrels over the best places for
nest-building and over the fattest bug or beetle; and there was no one
to settle these difficulties. Moreover, the robber birds were growing
too bold, and there was no one to rule and punish them. There was no
doubt about it; the birds needed a king to keep them in order and peace.

So the whisper went about, "We must have a king. Whom shall we choose
for our king?"

They decided to hold a great meeting for the election. And because the
especial talent of a bird is for flying, they agreed that the bird who
could fly highest up into the blue sky, straight toward the sun, should
be their king, king of all the feathered tribes of the air.

Therefore, after breakfast one beautiful morning, the birds met in the
garden to choose their king. All the birds were there, from the largest
to the smallest, chirping, twittering, singing on every bush and tree
and bit of dry grass, till the noise was almost as great as nowadays at
an election of two-legged folk without feathers. They swooped down in
great clouds, till the sky was black with them, and they were dotted on
the grass like punctuation marks on a green page. There were so many
that not even wise Mother Magpie or old Master Owl could count them, and
they all talked at the same time, like ladies at an afternoon tea, which
was very confusing.

Little Robin Redbreast was there, hopping about and saying pleasant
things to every one, for he was a great favorite. Gorgeous Goldfinch was
there, in fine feather; and little Blackbird, who was then as white as
snow. There were the proud Peacock and the silly Ostrich, the awkward
Penguin and the Dodo, whom no man living has ever seen. Likewise there
were the Jubjub Bird and the Dinky Bird, and many other curious
varieties that one never finds described in the wise Bird Books,--which
is very strange, and sad, too, I think. Yes, all the birds were there
for the choosing of their king, both the birds who could fly, and those
who could not. (But for what were they given wings, if not to fly? How
silly an Ostrich must feel!)

Now the Eagle expected to be king. He felt sure that he could fly higher
than any one else. He sat apart on a tall pine tree, looking very
dignified and noble, as a future king should look. And the birds glanced
at one another, nodded their heads, and whispered, "He is sure to be
elected king. He can fly straight up toward the sun without winking, and
his great wings are so strong, so strong! He never grows tired. He is
sure to be king."

Thus they whispered among themselves, and the Eagle heard them, and was
pleased. But the little brown Wren heard also, and he was not pleased.
The absurd little bird! He wanted to be king himself, although he was
one of the tiniest birds there, who could never be a protector to the
others, nor stop trouble when it began. No, indeed! Fancy him stepping
as a peacemaker between a robber Hawk and a bloody Falcon. It was they
who would make pieces of him. But he was a conceited little creature,
and saw no reason why he should not make a noble sovereign.

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