Coming to the ground is a great misfortune to the bird, for he is easily caught and put in a cage.

Being fine singers, mockingbirds are often kept in cages. In the late summer, the bird stores in New York have hundreds of them for sale, birds so young that they still wear the speckled bibs of baby-days. Many of them die, and so every year they are growing more rare.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CATBIRD]

A lady wrote me the story of a young mockingbird, whose mother saved it from a cage. The little fellow was just out of the nest, and could not fly far, and a young man thought he would catch him and take him to his sister; but the mother bird wished to save him from such a fate.

When the man went toward the youngster on the ground, the mother flew down, seized him, lifted him up, and flew away with him. She carried him a little way and then let go. He flew as far as he could, but soon came to the ground again. Then the man started for him. Again the anxious mother flew down and lifted him into the air, and again he flew a little and fell to the ground. So it went on for some time, till the young man began to feel ashamed of himself. Then he took up the cage and went away, leaving the little one to his mother's care.

The mockingbird is one of our most knowing birds, and when one is tamed and free in a house, he is very amusing. He is as full of fun as a catbird, and as funny to watch. A true story was told in one of the papers, of a captive who had some queer tricks. One was hunting in a workbox for a paper of needles, taking it down to the floor, and working it open, then suddenly giving it a jerk that sent the needles in a shower all over the floor.

This bird was once shut up in a room alone, while the family were at table. He did not like it, for he wanted to be with them; so he amused himself unwinding all the spools of thread in the workbox. He took one end of the thread and carried it all about the room, around everything and over everything--vases on the shelf, pictures on the wall, chair-legs, sofas, and lamps. Everything in the room was tied together, so that no one could go in lest something should be thrown down. The naughty bird was delighted with his mischief. He sat there singing at the top of his voice. The only way the family could get into the room was to get scissors and cut their way in. They found empty spools all over the floor, and hundreds of yards of thread used.

The CATBIRD is dressed in plain slate-color. He is a near relative of the mockingbird, and better known in the Eastern States. He is also a fine singer, though he is not so famous. This is partly because he sings usually from the middle of a thick bush and so is not seen, and partly because he does not sing so loud. There is a great charm in the catbird's song.

The catbird is a charming fellow aside from his music. He is as knowing as the mockingbird, and not much afraid of people. He will come near to houses to nest, and if not frightened or disturbed, he will be very familiar.

Like many other birds, the catbird is kind to others in trouble. A pair had a nest near that of a pair of robins. One day the robins disappeared--killed, no doubt--and the young in the nest began to cry.

When one of the catbirds came with food for its own nestlings, the robin babies would cry to be fed too. Pretty soon the catbirds began to feed them. And at night, when bird babies need to be covered up by the warm feather-bed of their mother's breast, one of the friendly catbirds filled her place, and kept them warm all night. So it went on till both families were grown up and could fly.

One writer says: "All day long the catbird watches over the fruit-trees, and kills the insects that would destroy them or the fruit. Of course he takes his share, especially of cherries, but for every one he takes, he eats thousands of insects. Where there are no small birds, there will be no fruit." Thirty gra.s.shoppers have been found in one small catbird's stomach by the Department of Agriculture.

A story showing how much the catbird knows and understands is of one in Iowa who had a nest in some vines over a porch. A tornado tore the vines so as to uncover the nest, and the lady of the house feared some one would disturb it. So she began to draw the vines together around it to hide it. While she was doing this, one of the old birds came and began to shriek, and cry, and fly round her head, threatening to dash at her eyes. The mate came too, and acted in the same way, supposing, no doubt, that she was doing some harm to their nest. She shielded her head and finished the work, and went into the house.

The next morning she was sitting on the balcony the other side of the house. All at once a catbird flew down and perched on the railing within six feet of her, which no catbird had ever done before. She kept still, and he began jerking his body and uttering sweet little calls and twitters, turning his head this side and that, with eyes fixed on her.

He acted exactly as if he were talking to her, and after a while he broke out with a song, low and very sweet. She sat still, and after the song he began his twittering again, then sang once more. She had never heard anything so beautiful, and she was sure that he was trying to express his thanks to her, and his regrets at the way he had treated her the day before. At least, that was the way it seemed to her.

A catbird is as full of fun and pranks as a mockingbird. He may sometimes be seen to do what looks like playing jokes on others. A lady told me she saw a catbird drive a crow nearly wild by mocking his "caw."

He cawed as well as the crow himself, and the crow was furious, dashing down at his small tormentor, and in every way showing anger at what no doubt seemed a great insult.

The THRASHER, or BROWN THRUSH, is also of this family. He is reddish brown on the back, and heavily spotted on the breast, and he has a long tail which he jerks about a good deal.

He is known all over the Eastern and Southern States, and his California brother is almost exactly like him. He is a fine singer, and has been called the French mockingbird. Sometimes it is hard to tell his song from the mockingbird's.

The thrasher's nest is usually made in a bush, the thickest and th.o.r.n.i.e.s.t that can be found, and the brave little parents will make a great fight to keep their nestlings from harm. At one time, when a boy went to carry off some young thrashers, the old birds called together quite an army of birds to help defend them. There were at least fifty birds of many kinds, all flying around his head, screaming at him and trying to pick at his eyes. The boy was ashamed, and put back the little ones, glad to get away with his eyes safe.

A Western bird, the Arizona thrasher, builds a nest in the middle of a cactus so full of sharp thorns like fine needles that it is a wonder how the birds can get into it. They pull off the thorns to make a pa.s.sage, but the nestlings do sometimes get caught and die there. They must, however, be safe from most enemies. One pair that Mr. Palmer tells about built a regular hallway of sticks six or eight inches long.

All the birds of this family have great individuality; that is, no two are alike. The better you know birds, the more you will see that they do not act, or sing, or even look exactly alike. That is one reason why they are so interesting to study.

VIII

THE DIPPER FAMILY

(_Cinclidae_)[7]

THERE is only one member of this family in the United States, and that one lives in the Rocky Mountains and the mountains of California. It is the AMERICAN DIPPER, or WATER OUZEL.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AMERICAN DIPPER]

The body of the ouzel is about as big as a robin's, but looks much smaller, because his very short tail gives him a "chunky" look. His wings are short and rounded, and his plumage is very soft and so thick that he can go under water without getting wet. He is slate-color all over, a little paler on the breast, and his mate is exactly like him, but the young ouzel has all the under feathers tipped with white, and usually a white throat. Both old and young have shining white eyelids which show very plainly among their dark feathers.

The dipper is a water lover. The nest is placed close to it, generally near a waterfall, sometimes even behind a waterfall, where he has to go through a curtain of falling water to reach it. It is on a shelf of rock, and shaped like a little hut, with a hole on one side for a door. It is made of soft green moss, which is kept alive and growing by constant sprinkling. Sometimes the waterfall itself keeps it wet, but the birds have been seen to sprinkle it themselves. They do it by diving into the water, then going to the top of the nest and shaking themselves violently.

This bird is a curious fellow. His food is the small insects which live under water, and he is as much at home there as other birds are in the air. He can walk on the bottom with swift running water over his head, and he can really fly under water, using his wings as he does in the air. I have seen him do it.

The water ouzel cares nothing for the cold. On cold mornings when all other birds sit humped up with feathers puffed out over their feet to keep warm, he is as jolly and lively as ever. He flies about in the snow, dives under the ice, and comes out at an airhole, and sings as if it were summer weather.

Mr. John Muir, who knows so well the Western mountains and the creatures who live there, has told us most of what we know about this bird. He says the ouzel sings all winter, and never minds the weather; also that he never goes far from the stream. If he flies away, he flies close over the brook, and follows all its windings and never goes "across lots."

When the young ouzel is out of the nest and wants to be fed, he stands on a rock and "dips," that is, bends his knees and drops, then stands up straight again. He looks very droll.

Dr. Merriam tells a story which shows how fond the dipper is of water, especially of a sprinkle, and explains why he always chooses to live by a waterfall. The doctor was camping out on the bank of a stream where one of these birds lived, and one morning he threw some water out of a cup. Instantly the bird flew into the little shower as if he liked it.

To see if he really wanted to get into the water, the doctor threw out some more. Again the bird flew into it, and as long as he would throw out water, the ouzel would dash in for his sprinkle.

Besides showing that the water ouzel likes water, this little story shows another thing,--that birds are not naturally afraid of us. On far-off islands where men have seldom been, birds do not run away from people. They have not learned to fear them. They will come up to men, perch on their shoulders, and ride with them on their boats. I have read that in Norway, where everybody is kind to birds, they are not at all afraid. They will come into a barn or a house when the weather is cold, or they are hungry, and no man or boy thinks of frightening or hurting them.

Mr. C. Lloyd Morgan has reared many birds by hatching the eggs in an incubator, so that they cannot be taught by their parents. He says that the birds of the wildest parents hatched in that way are never afraid of people who move quietly, or of a cat, or a quiet dog. Any sudden movement startles a young bird, but they are as much afraid of a dead leaf blown by the wind as they are of a hawk. It is the suddenness that alarms them. Some of them stop instantly on a sudden noise, like a sneeze or a cough. If one foot happens to be raised to step, they will hold it so, and if the head is one side, it will stay so, exactly as if they were all turned to stone.

FOOTNOTE:

[7] See Appendix, 6.

IX

THE WAGTAIL FAMILY

(_Motacillidae_)[8]

IT does not seem very polite to call a family of birds wagtails, just because they have the habit of jerking their tails as they go about. But that is the name they go by in the books, and we have two of them in the United States. We call them pipits or t.i.tlarks.

The best known is SPRAGUE'S PIPIT, called the Missouri skylark, or sometimes the prairie skylark. This bird gets the name of skylark because he sings while soaring about in the air far over our heads. He could not sing on a tree if he wanted to, for he lives on the plains between the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains, where are few or no trees.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SPRAGUE'S PIPIT]

The pipits live on the ground, and walk and run, not hop. As they go, they bob their heads, and jerk their tails. They are a little larger than an English sparrow, and they go in flocks. They are never seen in the woods, but in open pastures or plains, or beside a road.

Sprague's Pipit is all in streaks of brown and gray, and lighter below.