Hannah Jane Locker-Lampson

“ The woods were almost songless, and each day added to the increasing multitude of dead leaves that drove before the wind; each day, too, the bare boughs, once so well covered, flung a few more of their last leaves to the ground. About this time, too, the Blackbird did not feel quite well––he was listless, his wings would droop in spite of himself. His feathers were not so black and glossy as they had been,––the fact was, the moulting season had begun, and it was some time before he began to feel really bright and well again. ”

“ The Blackbird could not at all understand it, but as he was well sheltered, and soon got warm in the ivy, he fell asleep and forgot all about it.
The Blackbird on a small white hillock.
The next morning, however, when he woke up and peeped forth from his green canopy, he was much astonished by the sight which met his eyes. Everything was white! The green fields were gone, the lawn where he found his worms, the flower-beds where he caught his insects,––all had disappeared, and a broad, white, sparkling covering lay over everything. ”

“ The Blackbird settled on a bough close to the Rook, and as he did so he noticed some swallows skimming over the lawn far below them. They were beautiful birds, their blue-black plumage glinted in the sunshine, and now and 41 then a quick turn displayed their brown throats and white breasts. They were darting hither and thither, so rapidly that the eye could hardly follow them, catching the many-winged insects as they flew by. Then they would suddenly dart off to the topmost gables of the old mansion, where their compact mud nests could be plainly seen against the dark gray stones. ”

“ At last the Robin broke silence with “Have you breakfasted?”
“Yes, I have,” replied the Blackbird, “on a few poor ivy-berries, but I’m still rather hungry.”
“Then come with me,” said the Robin, “and you shall soon have a right good feast.” Off the birds flew, and swiftly passed over one or two snow-covered fields, and then by a long avenue of lime-trees. They came at last to a level lawn, at the end of which stood an old gabled mansion, built of gray stone; ivy climbed round the pillars of an arcade at the east end of the house, and ivy covered the west corner. ”

“ Altogether, his day, which had begun so unpromisingly, was a decided success, and that night, as he fluttered to rest in the ivy, and saw the little silver stars peeping and twinkling at him through the warm green curtains of his canopy, he thought of all the little Robin’s 12 wise words. It was with a chirp of sincere thankfulness that he tucked his head under his wing. ”

“ The Blackbird had changed his position––he had done it several times: he had moved from a birch to an elm, and then to a beech-tree. But it was of no avail, the little cold droppings seemed to pursue him wherever he went, and it was not till quite late in the night that he found real shelter, and got a little rest in a thick mantle of ivy which completely covered a wall near the stables.
What were these cold droppings? He could not imagine. He knew well enough they were not rain; rain always made a sharp pelting noise as it struck against the trees. ”

“ 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. ”

“ We don’t think much of the sparrows,” continued the Robin, “they are low, mischievous creatures, but God feeds them, so I’m sure He won’t let us starve. I’m only a very small bird myself, but the thought that I’m taken care of makes me feel very happy.”
Then away flew the Robin, leaving the Blackbird on the bare branch, with much to think about. He had heard many new and startling things that morning, and now as he gazed at the snow-covered world, it was with a happier feeling; the little Robin’s discourse had not been altogether thrown away. ”

“ The opening and shutting of the window had frightened the Blackbird; 18 he had flown to a more distant bush; but as the more courageous Robin only fluttered about for a moment, the Blackbird soon came back, and in less than a minute the Robin was upon the gravel path hard at work picking up the dainty white crumbs. The Blackbird still hesitated on the laurel branch, loth to remain, yet fearful to advance, but at last, impelled by a sudden pang of hunger, he ventured to join his red-breasted friend. ”

“ The Robin had shown him five little pale eggs, white spotted with brown, at the bottom of the nest, half hidden by the soft hair.
The Blackbird had also come across a most remarkable nest, that of the golden-crested wren. “My old friend, the Rook, tells me,” said the Blackbird, “that this wren is the very smallest of our birds. He certainly is a great beauty with his crown of golden feathers. His nest is in yonder yew-tree. It seems large for a bird of his size. It is almost entirely built of moss, and, can you believe it, the wren uses spider’s webs to bind it together! ”

“ One morning the Blackbird discussed all these changes with the Robin; and the Rook, who happened to be flying by, was called in to assist at their council.
“You are surprised at all these changes, my young friends,” he said; “did I not tell you that the seasons never fail? This is the Spring, the time when everything comes forth to new life. The snow has overspread the earth and kept it warm all these months. It has covered the bulbs of the snowdrops, those white flowers that you so greatly admire, friend Blackbird. ”

“ The two friends flew to the west side of the mansion, which overlooked a smooth grassy terrace and garden. Beyond was a lake, and then came a wood behind which the sun sank, each evening, to rest. Gray gables rose on this side of the house also, and there was a large bay window which the Blackbird soon discovered to be the window of the dining-room. There were some thick laurel-bushes beyond this window, to which the two birds flew, and then they stopped to rest and look about them. The Blackbird gazed admiringly at the old house, and with especial interest at the bay window. ”

“ The little boy still held the bough in his grasp, the nest was on one side, he stretched out his eager little hand.
The Blackbird scarcely breathed. The boy’s fingers were over the nest; they nearly closed on one of the eggs. Then he suddenly drew back, “No, no, Alice,” he said, “Mamma says I must never rob the poor birds. We won’t rob our own Blackbird.”
Then the branch was slowly released and returned to its place, and the little fellow, who with no small amount of self-denial had conquered the intense desire to take the eggs, stood still gazing at the bush. ”

“ Worms, grubs, caterpillars, insects, all found their way to the little gaping mouths,––nothing came amiss, until the Blackbird felt that if it went on much longer there would be no insects left in the whole country, and that his young ones would certainly die of indigestion. However, the little birds flourished, and grew apace, and each night as the Blackbird drew in his wings for a few short hours of rest, he wondered when the brood would be old enough to feed themselves, for he looked forward, and with no small longing, to that time of rest. ”

“ The Rook.
“Perhaps not,” said the Blackbird, gazing rather 63 sentimentally 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.” ”

“ No, depend upon it,” said the Rook, shaking his head wisely, “it’s far better to spend the winter here at home and get healthy and hardy. There are many nights when you and I are warm and comfortable that these unhappy swallows are crouched shivering under the eaves. In my humble opinion there’s nothing like England, dear old England, for English birds.” ”

“ I am an old bird,” continued the Rook, “but I’ve never known the seasons to fail. We do not ‘sow, nor do we 15 gather into barns,’ but still ‘God feeds us.’ I always look forward, and hopefully too, to every season as it comes––Spring,––Summer,––Autumn,––Winter,––and, my young friends, you will be wise to do the same, for, do you know, this trustful feeling is called ‘faith.’”
The Rook then shut his learned beak, and opened and spread his wide black wings, and slowly sailed away, leaving the Blackbird and the Robin to meditate on all that he had been telling them. ”

“ After the usual “good mornings” had passed, and the Blackbird had been presented in due form to the Rook, the Robin said, “How comes it, Mr. Rook, that there are so many new berries on the bushes?”
“You ask how it is, my little friend,” said the Rook, kindly; “well, I will tell you. Just now, when no insects can be had, what should we all do if we had no berries? Now that the leaves have all fallen, we can find the berries much more easily. Many of them were there already, only you didn’t see them. They are provided for us by our Heavenly Father. ”

“ The winter of 1878 was certainly an unusually dreary one, and so thought a remarkably fine young Blackbird, as he perched one morning on the bare bough of a spreading lime-tree, whose last brown leaf had fallen to the ground some weeks before. ”

“ It is here that they build their nests and rear their young ones, but only to fly away again in the autumn. Truly, these swallows are wonderful travellers.”
42
“How nice it must be to spend the winter in a warm, sunny place,” remarked the Blackbird, enviously.
“Well, I don’t know,” retorted the Rook; “think of the long, long journey! Think of the miles and miles of ocean to be crossed, think of the weary wings, think of the poor breathless birds. They often perch to rest a while on the passing ships, and they often get knocked down and killed. ”

“ However,” he added, as he saw the Blackbird look rather ashamed and crestfallen, “I was quite taken in myself at first; but one day I happened to be passing the orchard just as a gale of wind was blowing, and saw the Scare-crow topple over. Since that day I’ve never been afraid of scare-crows, although there’s an old farmer near here who puts most frightful-looking ones in his corn fields, worse than any I’ve ever seen anywhere else. It’s of no use, however, we don’t care a bit for them. They must find out something much more terrible than scare-crows if they want to frighten the crows or us.” ”

“ The blackberries were abundant, and it was not the Blackbird only who found this lane, with its high hedgerows, an attractive spot. Little Willie would sometimes persuade his unwilling nurse to take that lane on their way home, “just for a treat, you know;” and while the nurserymaid, followed by Mrs. Barlow, pushed Alice in her perambulator, Willie would linger far behind, making many overt attacks upon the blackberries, thereby tearing his clothes and staining his lips and fingers. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 61 some other bird, any nest that takes their fancy. ”