the days were certainly becoming longer and less cold, the snow had altogether disappeared, and somehow the sun seemed, to the blackbird, to get up earlier and go to bed later. he noticed also, about this time, that little shaft-like leaves were beginning to peep through the grass, and that the beech and hazel twigs were swelling into small knobs. he also felt that there was something different in himself––a change––he was stronger and happier, and he was seized with an irresistible desire to sing. the hoarseness which had tried him so much during the winter months had gone, and his throat was once more clear.
a week passed by, the little knobs on the trees began to open and discover small, tender leaves, and 23between the green spear-like shoots in the grass delicate stems had come up bearing white drooping flowers.
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. it covered them up carefully till the proper time arrived that they should spring forth. in the same way the buds on the trees have been wrapped up in their brown coats and kept warm during the bitter winter weather, and now that the sun is once more shining, the said brown coats are beginning to drop off, for the little green leaves are pushing their way into the world of warmth and sunshine. and then, not the least interesting change, your song has once 24more returned to you, the woods are full of sweet music,––ay, and you will see yet greater wonders, for truly ‘the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.’”
yes, the rook was quite right; each day now brought about some fresh wonder––a few more green leaves, a few more white flowers; and presently between the snowdrop plants came up the slender green leaves, and the gold and purple blossoms of the crocus.
about this time, too, the blackbird noticed that many of his feathered friends were unusually busy. they seemed to have no time for talk. he met them flying hither and thither with feathers, small pieces of straw, or twigs, in their beaks. about this time also, the blackbird himself felt a strong desire to have a nest of his own. but how could he build it by himself? he must find a partner to share his labours––and where could he find such a partner? he was almost in despair, so at last he determined to pour out his desire in song, as he perched one morning on the branch of a budding hawthorn.
he sang his sweetest, his very best, and as the song was borne along on the bright morning air, and 25then died away, he became aware of a tender little note, a faint twitter which came from a branch immediately beneath him. he looked down, and, lo and behold, there, half concealed by spreading boughs, was a bird like himself, another blackbird! this stranger blackbird was very attractive-looking, but its plumage was not quite so bright or black as his own. its bill, too, was more brown than yellow, and the orange streaks round the eyes were of a greenish hue. but notwithstanding these slight differences, the bird which now hopped down on the grass, and answered his song by if possible a sweeter warble, was both handsome and winning. the blackbird was delighted to have thus found so immediate a response to his petition, and he was very soon on the grass beside the interesting stranger. on nearer approach he found that this blackbird had gentle eyes, and was indeed altogether very bewitching, so without any hesitation he proposed that they should build a nest together! his offer was shyly accepted, and then came the important question, where to build?
the blackbird was anxious not to be too far from his little friends willie and alice. they had been so kind to him during the winter, that he would fain 26see something of them still, and sing them his best songs, now that he had his voice back again. he had watched them the day before, as they trotted hand-in-hand along the home-meadow where the snowdrops and crocuses grew. they had pulled some of the white and yellow blossoms, and had then stood still to listen to the flute-like voice of an unseen minstrel. hand-in-hand they listened; the little boy with his large brown eyes fixed on the tree from whence came the song, the little girl with her baby-face uplifted, and one pink finger held up as much as to say “hush! hush!”
the song ended, the blackbird flew out from the shelter of the thick fir-tree where he had been concealed, and winged his way across the meadow.
“our blackbird!” cried the little boy, exultingly. “our blackbird!”
“dicky! dicky!” shouted the little girl, and then they ran home delighted.
yes, this songster was their own particular blackbird, there was no doubt about it; and did it not behove him to build his nest as near their home as he possibly could?
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after a short consultation, the pair of blackbirds set off on an exploring expedition. first of all they carefully examined the ivy which covered an old wall near the stables: but they did not consider the stems of the ivy were quite strong enough to support their nest. they then looked at some laurel-bushes. but no, these would not do. the position was too exposed, the branches were much too far apart, their nest would soon be discovered. then a very compact little evergreen bush on the lawn in front of the old house caught their eyes. it was thick and well grown, every branch was covered, so that a nest could not be seen by the passers-by. yes, it was the very place for them, there they might build in security, and at the same time watch their dear little friends as they went out and about each day. they carefully inspected each bough of the said bush, and then, having chosen a spot at the lower end of a branch where it joined the main stem, they set to work to build in right good earnest. small twigs, the waifs and strays of last autumn, strewed the ground in a little wilderness hard by, and thither the blackbirds repaired. hour after hour both might be seen 28flitting between the wood and their chosen bush, with twigs in their yellow beaks. these they neatly laid on the branch, and then twisted them in and out, and round and round each other, and then a little moss and a few soft fibres were added to the harder twigs. the whole fabric soon began to assume a round, nest-like appearance. it grew fair and shapely, and the exultant blackbird paused to pour forth a “clear, mellow, bold song,” as he alighted for a moment on the summit of the deodor. then he and his gentle partner, feeling the “keen demands of appetite,” determined to go and refresh themselves with some food, and they repaired to a field not very far off.
there they found the rook hopping along the freshly-turned furrows, eagerly picking up the grubs which had been brought to the surface by the plough-share. the repast did not look very inviting,––those small, gray grubs! but it was the rook’s favourite food, and the farmers were not sorry that he and his feathered friends should make a meal of that same gray grub, for these insects sometimes destroy whole acres of grass. they bury themselves in the turf, and then it turns brown and dies. these grubs are 29mischievous indeed,––after remaining for some time in the grub state, they change into cockchafers, and even then they are by no means agreeable visitors.
“good morning, my friend,” said the polite old rook, “this is a very pleasant change of food after the hard winter berries, isn’t it?”
“indeed, it is,” replied the blackbird, picking up a grub, “but i like better feeding near the hedgerows; however, this isn’t bad after a hard day’s work.”
“oh, you are house building, are you?” said the rook. “i hope you have chosen wisely, and got a good mate to work with you, one who is industrious and affectionate.”
“i think i have,” said the blackbird, with a certain amount of proper pride; “but you shall judge for yourself,” he added, as he presented his young wife to the rook. the rook made a quaint sort of movement with his head, which, probably among birds, passed for a very grave and polite bow, and after looking at her for a few moments, he nodded his approval.
“we are all rather sad to-day,” said the rook, after a few moments of silence; “we have just lost a very dear friend––indeed a cousin of mine.” the blackbird 30looked grave and sympathetic, and the rook continued, “he started off yesterday evening to get some supper, and found his way to some grass-land which was being destroyed by these mischievous little grubs; he was busy pecking away at them, when all of a sudden we, who were in a tree hard by, heard a fearful noise, and saw a great deal of smoke. in another moment, as the smoke cleared away, we saw my poor cousin lying on the ground. he was quite dead; a young farmer had shot him with a terrible gun, thinking he was doing mischief; the stupid fellow little knew what good service my cousin was engaged upon in eating those grubs. this affair has made us all very sad indeed,” said the rook, with a little extra huskiness in his voice: “poor fellow, he had just begun building his first nest, and his young widow is completely broken hearted.”
the blackbird was very grieved for his friend’s trouble, and he felt rather uncomfortable besides, for it occurred to him that the same wretched man might very likely shoot him some evening, and then what would become of his little wife? he therefore prepared to fly off, but before doing so he said, “i hope we sha’n’t be 31shot also, for these grubs are easier food to get at than the snails. i got hold of some snails this very morning, and my bill still aches with the trouble they gave me. i dropped them on the stones to break them, but one, and he was a fat fellow too, was so obstinate he would neither come out of his shell, nor could i crack it. so after ten minutes hard work i was obliged to leave the rascal. they are stubborn creatures, these snails,” said the blackbird, with a groan that expressed his deep sense of injury.
“that they are,” replied the rook, “and they ought to be taught better.”
a few days more went by and then the nest in the evergreen bush was completed. the inside walls, which were of mud, had been perhaps the most difficult part of the building, for although the blackbirds would very often start off with a nice piece of soft mud in their beaks, it would get dry, in a very tiresome manner, before they could reach the nest, and it then crumbled to pieces as they tried to plaster it on the twigs. the birds persevered, however, and the mud walls were at last substantially built, and to crown the whole, a lining of soft grass was added.
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the blackbird was so over-joyed when the nest was finished, that, after carefully examining it outside to see that each twig was in its proper place, and looking at the neatly finished interior, he flew off to the laurel-bushes by the bay window and sang a song of such surpassing ecstasy that two little brown heads soon made their appearance at a bed-room window to listen. the little figures were clothed in long white night-dresses, for they were just going to bed, but they could not miss such a song. i am sure that if it could have been interpreted it would have proved to be a chant of joy and praise. the nest was completed, the home was ready!
that night as long brown lashes sank over soft sleepy eyes the little heads that belonged to them were still thinking of that jubilant carol, and about the same time, under the shelter of the ivy leaves, two other and much smaller heads were full of dreams of the future, of the newly-built home in the evergreen, and of all that new home might mean.
some two days after this the blackbird happened to be perched on the branch of a dark fir-tree. his young mate had been for some time sitting steadily 33on the nest in the evergreen bush. to amuse her he had sung some of his sweetest songs. he could not see her very distinctly through the thick branches, so he thought he would just go and have a look at her. he flew to the bush, and there was a sight which, for a moment, made him feel almost breathless. his mate was perched on the bough above the nest, but what was that in the nest below?
down in its very centre lay a round, smooth, pale blue object, shaded with light green, and marked at one end with reddish brown spots. there it lay securely, snugly; and it looked very fresh and beautiful. the blackbird hopped nearer. what could it be? was it really an egg? yes, it was indeed an egg! his delight was so great that he could only express it in song, and the deep flute-like notes sounded from the little bush quite late into the twilight of that evening.
a few more days saw four eggs added to the first. yes, five little blue balls now lay side by side. as his industrious little wife flew off to get supper the evening that the last egg was laid, the happy blackbird perched himself on the very 34top of the bush, to guard the nest and sing his evening song. he had not been there very long when he heard a door bang, and presently from under the old porch came the dear little couple he loved so well, the little one in her white frock and white hat, the other in his sailor’s suit.
they ran together across the grass, but stopped suddenly as they heard the blackbird’s note, and the blackbird as suddenly ceased singing, for how terrible would it be if they should discover his nest and all his treasures!
the sharp eyes of the little boy had already espied him, and the little feet scampered lightly over the ground. the poor blackbird’s heart sank within him. nearer, still nearer came the brother and sister, and at last they stopped close by the bush. the blackbird rose into the air with a shrill, scared cry, and then settled again. would they hurt him? could they be so cruel as to rob him of his treasures?
“he must have a nest somewhere,” said the little boy, as he peeped cautiously into the bush.
what was that dark thing on the bough above? 35the little fellow clapped his hands, wild with excitement. “a nest! a nest!” he cried. the little girl fairly danced with delight. then the boy slowly put out his hand and caught the bough, and carefully bent it towards him. all this time two black eyes were watching with intense anxiety from the tree-top.
would the eggs fall out and be broken? would the nest be robbed?
“one, two, three, four, five,” counted the little boy slowly, while a poor palpitating heart counted each moment. how long those moments seemed!
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. little 36miss alice now made signs that she wished to be lifted up to see into the nest, and with no small difficulty her sturdy young brother obliged her.
“look, alice, pretty eggs; but we mustn’t touch, and we mustn’t tell any one.”
at that moment the front door of the old manor house again opened, and this time a voice called, “master willie, miss alice, wherever have you got to?”
at hearing this sudden appeal, willie dropped his little sister, both because her weight was rather more than he could well support, and because he was afraid that “nanny” might find out what they were doing. however, as alice fell on the grass she was not hurt. willie quickly helped her up, and, as they ran towards the house, the blackbird heard willie say, “we won’t tell any one about our nest, will we? it’s a great secret.”
it was some time before the poor bird recovered from his terrible fright. his little heart beat very fast, and when his wife returned, and he told her all about the children’s visit, it was with bated and often-interrupted breath.
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that night his sleep was disturbed by very unpleasant dreams. he had visions of numbers of little boys who kept coming to look at his nest, and who pulled the bough down to the ground. then he saw the eggs rolling out slowly one after the other on to the lawn. and then he would wake with a start to find that after all it was only a dream, and would see the bright moonlight shining on the dewy grass, and hear afar off the hoarse trill of the night-jar, or the boding screech of the great white owl.
all that night he could not help feeling nervous, and he was very glad indeed when the first streaks of dawn became visible in the far east. it was a bright spring morning, and as he and his sprightly little wife hopped nimbly about on the daisy-spangled lawn, ere the dew had disappeared from the little pink and white flowers, and as they here and there picked up a worm or an insect, he felt wonderfully refreshed, indeed by the time he had taken his morning bath, and had plumed his feathers, he was quite himself again.
the thirteen days which now followed were very important ones; for, during that time, our blackbird’s patient young wife sat almost uninterruptedly upon 38her nest. she stole away for a few moments to the neighbouring hedgerows for breakfast or dinner; but she was never happy till she was back again to her precious charge.
it was at this time that the blackbird poured forth his very best music. he had never sung so many nor such varied songs before; now that his partner could not go about with him, he had so much to tell her of his rambles and of course he told it all in song.
he did not always perch on their own bush. he was afraid that if he did so he might attract too much attention, but from the bough of any tree close at hand he cheered her heart with his beautiful melodies.
then it was that he told his wife of the green hedgerows where the golden, star-shaped blossoms of the celandine were luxuriant, and where the shy primroses were just beginning to show their pale heads. he would sing of the blackthorn whose snowy blooms were then just peeping out, and of the hawthorn already covered with its tender green leaves. he told her, and this was a profound secret, of the nest of their good friend, the robin, which was very cunningly concealed at the top of the ivy. it was a soft, cosy little nest, 39not plastered with mud as theirs was, but lined with silky hair. 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! it seemed to be hanging from the bough, and was so well hidden by another bough, that i did not see it until i had flown quite into the middle of the tree. the opening in the nest is so small, i don’t believe you could have got even your little head in; but i had a good peep, and saw its lining of soft warm feathers, and counted ten of the palest, tiniest eggs you can possibly imagine.”
the following day the blackbird had other tidings for his wife. he had been to a stream in the neighbourhood,––the brawl. its banks were gay with 40marsh marigolds, and while he was hopping and frisking about there, he had met a very curious-looking bird, a ring-ousel. this creature was rather shy and had not long arrived from the south, where he usually spent the winter. he was a pretty fellow, with black plumage and a white crescent round his throat, and his song was very sweet indeed. he had few relations in england, for he was what folks call a rare bird, and the blackbird was sorry for it, for he thought him both pretty and attractive.
the following day the blackbird had a long talk with the rook. the latter was perched on an elm, whose leaves were just beginning to burst forth, and it was there that the blackbird joined him. rooks’ nests, made of rough-looking sticks, many of them containing one or more blue eggs, were to be seen dotted here and there along the avenue of elms, and the cawing and the gossip, to say nothing of the quarrelling, was almost deafening. 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 41then 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.
“i remember,” said the blackbird, “watching those swallows a long, long time ago, when i was quite a fledgeling; but i haven’t seen one all the winter. where can they have been all this time?”
“oh,” replied the rook, “the swallows are most curious and interesting creatures. when october comes they assemble from all parts of great britain and then start forth on a long journey across the wide seas to pass the winter in sunnier and warmer countries. when april returns they all come back again,––from the palms of africa, over the olives of italy and the oaks of spain––back across the seas they come to us. 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.”
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“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. then again, just think how they must suffer from the cold here in england, after the warm climates they have wintered in. 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.”
you see this old rook was very patriotic, and of course a great tory to boot. he disliked change of every sort and kind. he, and his ancestors before him, had built in these same elm-trees, since the first gray stone of the old mansion had been laid. from these same trees, from generation to 43generation, they had watched the sun rise and set during the stormy days of winter and the sunny days of summer. they had noted the seasons as they came and went, enjoying the fruits and the joys of each, and when any rook was cut off by death, it was generally old age that killed him,––unless it were that occasionally a youngster, more enterprising than prudent, would lean out of his nest to see the world around him, and what was going on there, and then a sudden rush of his small body through the air, and a thud at the foot of the tree, would tell of the premature decease of a promising rooklet. yes, “old england for ever!” was still the watchword of the rooks.
“certainly it is very delightful just now,” said the blackbird, looking round him. delicate young leaves were bursting forth on every side; primroses, anemones, and even a few early cowslips were peering through the grass below, the sun was shining, and the woods were filled with a chorus of song.
“yes indeed,” said the rook solemnly “‘the stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed time, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming.’”
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this conversation, and all his other talks and small adventures, were faithfully reported to the home-tied wife. his voice beguiled the many weary hours during which she patiently sat on her nest.
it was thus that matters went on until towards the end of the thirteenth day, when certain mysterious sounds were heard to proceed from the nest, faint peckings, which would cease and then begin again. one day, while his wife was taking her mid-day meal, the blackbird hopped close to the nest, and put his head over the side, and as he watched and listened, lo and behold, through a slight crack in the blue shell of one of the eggs peeped a very tiny beak!
it was very marvellous! this beak moved backwards and forwards, and in and out, and gradually, the crack becoming larger, a small featherless head emerged. yes, so it was; and before sunset the following day five callow little birds lay huddled together in the nest, and although they were his own sons and daughters, it must be confessed that the blackbird could not help thinking them remarkably ugly. they had very few feathers on their poor naked little bodies, their heads appeared to be of an 45enormous and disproportionate size,––and then, their mouths!
as they squatted in the nest with their five mouths opened to their widest, displaying five red throats, the blackbird thought that never before in all his long life had he seen anything so frightful. how such enormous creatures had ever come out of those five pretty little eggs he could not imagine. however, he had no time for reflection, for what on earth did those eager little monsters mean by gaping at him like that?
at last it occurred to him that they might be hungry, and thereupon he and his wife set off to pick up small worms and insects for them. the blackbird fancied that being so very young they would require delicate feeding, but this proved to be an entire mistake. never before had he thought it possible that such small bodies could dispose of so much food. from morning to night, and almost from night to morning, he and his poor wife were to be seen flying backwards and forwards conveying provisions to the nest.
however, none of the brood ever seemed to be 46satisfied. five mouths always opened wide when the blackbird returned, although he could only feed one at a time, and he never, for the life of him, could remember which he had fed last.
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.
