L. Frank Baum (5 page)

"They were more careful now about leaving home; but the danger seemed
past. One bright, sunny morning they ventured to fly to the brook to
drink and bathe themselves, and on their return found their home
despoiled for a second time. Not an egg was left to them out of the
six, and while Nancy wept and wailed Tom looked sharply around him and
saw a solitary shrike sitting on a limb not far away."

"What's a shrike?" asked Chubbins.

"It is a bird that looks a good deal like that mocking-bird sitting
next you; but it bears a bad character in the forest and has earned the
vile name of 'butcher-bird.' I admit that I am always obliged to keep
an eye upon the shrike, for I expect it to get into mischief at any
time. Well, Tom Titmouse naturally thought the shrike had eaten Nancy's
eggs, so he came to me and ordered me to arrest the robber. But the
shrike pleaded his innocence, and I had no proof against him.

"Again Nancy, with true motherly courage and perseverance, laid her
eggs in the nest; and now they were never left alone for a single
minute. Either she or Tom was always at home, and for my part I watched
the shrike carefully and found he did not fly near the nest of the
titmice at all.

"The result of our care was that one fine day the eggs hatched out, and
six skinny little titmice, with big heads and small bodies, were
nestling against Nancy's breast. The mother thought they were
beautiful, you may be sure, and many birds gathered around to
congratulate her and Tom, and the brown thrush sang a splendid song of
welcome to the little ones.

"When the children got a little stronger it did not seem necessary to
guard the nest so closely, and the six appetites required a good many
insects and butterfly-eggs to satisfy them. So Tom and Nancy both flew
away to search for food, and when they came back they found, to their
horror, that their six little ones had been stolen, and the nest was
bare and cold. Nancy nearly fainted with sorrow, and her cries were
pitiful and heart-rending; but Tom Titmouse was dreadfully angry, and
came to me demanding vengeance.

"'If you are any good at all as a policeman,' said he, 'you will
discover and punish the murderer of my babies.'

"So I looked all around and finally discovered, not far from the nest
of the titmice, four of their children, all dead and each one impaled
upon the thorn of a bush that grew close to the ground. Then I decided
it was indeed the shrike, for he has a habit of doing just this thing;
killing more than he can eat and sticking the rest of his murdered
victims on thorns until he finds time to come back and devour them.

"I was also angry, by that time; so I flew to the shrike's nest and
found him all scratched and torn and his feathers plucked in many
places.

"'What has happened to you?' I asked.

"'I had a fight with a weasel last night,' answered the shrike, 'and
both of us are rather used up, today.'

"'Still,' said I, sternly, 'you had strength enough to kill the six
little titmice, and to eat two of them.'

"'I never did,' said he, earnestly; 'my wings are too stiff to fly.'

"'Do not lie about it, I beg of you,' said I; 'for we have found four
of the dead titmice stuck on the thorns of a bush, and your people have
been known to do such things before.'

"At this the shrike looked worried.

"'Really,' said he, 'I cannot understand it. But I assure you I am
innocent.'

"Nevertheless, I arrested him, and made him fly with me to the Judgment
Tree, where all the birds had congregated. He was really stiff and
sore, and I could see it hurt him to fly; but my duty was plain. We
selected a jury of twelve birds, and Judge Bullfinch took his seat on a
bough, and then the trial began.

"Tom Titmouse accused the shrike of murder, and so did Nancy, who had
nearly cried her eyes out. I also gave my evidence. But the prisoner
insisted strongly that he was innocent, and claimed he had not left his
nest since his fight with the weasel, and so was guiltless of the
crime.

"But no one had any sympathy for him, or believed what he said; for it
is often the case that when one has earned a bad character he is
thought capable of any wickedness. So the jury declared him guilty, and
the judge condemned him to die at sundown. We were all to fall upon the
prisoner together, and tear him into bits with bill and claw; but while
we waited for the sun to sink Will Sparrow flew up to the Judgment Tree
and said:

"'Hello! What's going on here?'

"'We are just about to execute a criminal,' replied the judge.

"'What has he been doing?' asked Will, eyeing the shrike curiously.

"'He killed the titmice children this morning, and ate two of them, and
stuck the other four upon a thorn bush,' explained the judge.

"'Oh, no; the shrike did not do that!' cried Will Sparrow. 'I saw the
crime committed with my own eyes, and it was the cunning weasel—the
one that lives in the pine stump—that did the dreadful murder.'

"At this all the birds set up an excited chatter, and the shrike again
screamed that he was innocent. So the judge said, gravely: 'Will
Sparrow always speaks the truth. Release the prisoner, for we have
misjudged him. We must exact our vengeance upon the weasel.'

"So we all flew swiftly to the pine stump, which we knew well, and when
we arrived we found the weasel sitting at the edge of his hole and
laughing at us.

"'That is the very weasel I fought with,' said the shrike. 'You can see
where I tore the fur from his head and back with my sharp beak.'

"'So you did,' answered the weasel; 'and in return I killed the little
tomtits.'

"'Did you stick them on the thorns?' asked Judge Bullfinch.

"'Yes,' said the weasel. 'I hoped you would accuse the shrike of the
murder, and kill him to satisfy my vengeance.'

"'We nearly fell into the trap,' returned the judge; 'but Will Sparrow
saw your act and reported it just in time to save the shrike's life.
But tell me, did you also eat Nancy Titmouse's eggs?'

"'Of course,' confessed the weasel, 'and they were very good, indeed.'

"Hearing this, Tom Titmouse became so excited that he made a furious
dash at the weasel, who slipped within his hole and escaped.

"'I condemn you to death!' cried the judge.

"'That's all right,' answered the weasel, sticking just the tip of his
nose out of the hole. 'But you've got to catch me before you can kill
me. Run home, my pretty birds. You're no match for a weasel!'

"Then he was gone from sight, and we knew he was hidden safely in the
stump, where we could not follow him, for the weasel's body is slim and
slender. But I have not lived in the forest all my life without
learning something, and I whispered a plan to Judge Bullfinch that met
with his approval. He sent messengers at once for the ivory-billed
woodpeckers, and soon four of those big birds appeared and agreed to
help us. They began tearing away at the stump with their strong beaks,
and the splinters flew in every direction. It was not yet dark when the
cunning weasel was dragged from his hole and was at the mercy of the
birds he had so cruelly offended. We fell upon him in a flash, and he
was dead almost instantly."

"What became of the shrike?" asked Twinkle.

"He left the forest the next day," answered Policeman Bluejay. "For
although he was innocent of this crime, he was still a butcher-bird,
and he knew our people had no confidence in him."

"It was lucky Will Sparrow came in time," said the girl-lark. "But all
these stories must have made you hungry, so I'd like to invite my
guests to have some refreshments."

The birds seemed much surprised by this invitation, and even Policeman
Bluejay wondered what she was going to do. But Twinkle whispered to
Chubbins, and both the bird-children flew into their basket and
returned with their claws full of cookie. They repeated the journey
many times, distributing bits of the rare food to all of the birds who
had visited them, and each one ate the morsel eagerly and declared that
it was very good.

"Now," said the policeman, when the feast was over, "let us all go to
the brook and have a drink of its clear, sweet water."

So they flew away, a large and merry band of all sizes and colors; and
the child-larks joined them, skimming the air as lightly and joyously
as any of their new friends. It did not take them long to reach a
sparkling brook that wound its way through the forest, and all the
feathered people drank their fill standing upon the low bank or upon
stones that rose above the level of the water.

At first the children were afraid they might fall into the brook; but
presently they gained courage, and when they saw the thrush and
bullfinch plunge in and bathe themselves in the cool water Chubbins
decided to follow their example, and afterward Twinkle also joined
them.

The birds now bade the child-larks good-bye and promised to call upon
them again, and soon all had flown away except the bluejay, who said he
would see Twinkle and Chubbins safe home again, so that they would not
get lost.

They thanked him for this kindness, and when they had once more settled
upon the limb beside their nest the bluejay also bade them good night
and darted away for one last look through the forest to see that all
was orderly for the night.

As the child-larks sat side by side upon their limb, with the soft gray
nest near at hand, the twilight fell and a shadow began to grow and
deepen throughout the forest.

"Twink," said Chubbins, gravely, "how do you like it?"

"Well," replied the girl, "it isn't so bad in the daytime, but it's
worse at night. That bunch of grass mixed up with the stems of leaves,
that they call a nest, isn't much like my pretty white bed at home,
Chubbins."

"Nor mine," he agreed. "And, Twink, how ever can we say our prayers
when we haven't any hands to hold up together?"

"Prayers, Chub," said the girl, "are more in our hearts than in our
hands. It isn't what we
do
that counts; it's what we feel. But the
most that bothers me is what the folks at home will think, when we
don't come back."

"They'll hunt for us," Chubbins suggested; "and they may come under
this tree, and call to us."

"If they do," said Twinkle, "we'll fly right down to them."

"I advise you not to fly much, in the night," said a cheery voice
beside them, and Wisk the squirrel stuck his head out of the hollow
where he lived. "You've had quite a party here today," he continued,
"and they behaved pretty well while the policeman was around. But some
of them might not be so friendly if you met them alone."

"Would any bird hurt us?" asked the girl, in surprise.

"Why, I've seen a magpie meet a thrush, and fly away alone," replied
Wisk. "And the wrens and chickadees avoid the cuckoo as much as
possible, because they are fond of being alive. But the policeman keeps
the big birds all in order when he is around, and he makes them all
afraid to disobey the laws. He's a wonderful fellow, that Policeman
Bluejay, and even we squirrels are glad he is in the forest."

"Why?" asked Chubbins.

"Well, we also fear some of the birds," answered Wisk. "The lady in the
third flat, for instance, Mrs. Hootaway, is said to like a squirrel for
a midnight meal now and then, when mice and beetles are scarce. It is
almost her hour for wakening, so I must be careful to keep near home."

"Tut—tut—tut!" cried a harsh voice from above. "What scandal is this
you are talking, Mr. Wisk?"

The squirrel was gone in a flash; but a moment later he put out his
head again and turned one bright eye toward the upper part of the tree.
There, on a perch outside her hollow, sat the gray owl, pruning her
feathers. It was nearly dark by this time, and through the dusk Mrs.
Hootaway's yellow eyes could be seen gleaming bright and wide open.

"What nonsense are you putting into the heads of these little
innocents?" continued the owl, in a scolding tone.

"No nonsense at all," said Wisk, in reply. "The child-larks are safe
enough from you, because they are under the protection of Policeman
Bluejay, and he would have a fine revenge if you dared to hurt them.
But my case is different. The laws of the birds do not protect
squirrels, and when you're abroad, my dear Mrs. Hootaway, I prefer to
remain snugly at home."

"To be sure," remarked the owl, with a laugh. "You are timid and
suspicious by nature, my dear Wisk, and you forget that although I have
known you for a long time I have never yet eaten you."

"That is my fault, and not yours," retorted the squirrel.

"Well, I'm not after you tonight, neighbor, nor after birds, either. I
know where there are seven fat mice to be had, and until they are all
gone you may cease to worry."

"I'm glad to hear that," replied Wisk. "I wish there were seven hundred
mice to feed your appetite. But I'm not going to run into danger
recklessly, nevertheless, and it is my bed-time. So good night, Mrs.
Hootaway; and good night, little child-larks." The owl did not reply,
but Twinkle and Chubbins called good night to the friendly squirrel,
and then they hopped into their nest and cuddled down close together.

The moon was now rising over the trees and flooding the gloom of the
forest with its subdued silver radiance. The children were not sleepy;
their new life was too strange and wonderful for them to be able to
close their eyes at once. So they were rather pleased when the gray owl
settled on the branch beside their nest and began to talk to them.

"I'm used to slanders, my dears," she said, in a pleasanter tone than
she had used before, "so I don't mind much what neighbor Wisk says to
me. But I do not wish you to think ill of the owl family, and so I must
assure you that we are as gentle and kindly as any feathered creatures
in the forest—not excepting the Birds of Paradise."