L. Frank Baum (7 page)

"You're dis'greeable things!" said Twinkle, indignantly; "and I don't
like you a bit. So
there!"

"Come on, Twink," said Chubbins. "Let's go away."

"I will take you back to the forest," the eagle declared, and at once
rose into the air. Twinkle and Chubbins followed him, and soon the nest
on the crag was left far behind and they could no longer hear the hoot
of the savage young ones.

For a time the eagle flew in silence. Then he said:

"You must forgive my family for not being more hospitable. You must
know that they live a very lonely life, and have no society because
every living thing fears them. But I go abroad more and see more of the
world, so I know very well how guests ought to be treated."

"You have been very kind to us, Mr. Eagle," replied the girl-lark, "and
you saved my life when the dog would have killed me. I don't blame you
any for what your family did. My mama says lots of people show off
better abroad than they do at home, and that's your case exactly. If I
were you I wouldn't take any more visitors to my nest."

"I do not intend to," answered the eagle. "But I am glad that you think
well of me personally, if you do not of my family, and I assure you it
has been a real pleasure to me to assist you. Were you like ordinary
birds, you would be beneath my notice; but I am wise enough to
understand that you are very unusual and wonderful little creatures,
and if at any time I can serve you further, you have but to call me,
and I will do what I can for you."

"Thank you very much," replied Twinkle, who realized that the great
bird had acted more gently toward them than it is the nature of his
wild race to do.

They had just reached the edge of the forest again when they saw a bird
approaching them at a great speed, and soon it came near enough for
them to see that it was Policeman Bluejay. He wore his official helmet
and carried his club, and as soon as he came beside them he said:

"Thank goodness I've found you at last. I've been hunting for you an
hour, and began to fear you had met with some misfortune."

"We've been with the eagle," said the girl. "He saved our lives and
carried us away from where the dreadful men were."

"We have had sad doings in the forest today—very sad, indeed,"
declared the bluejay, in a grave voice. "The hunters did even more
damage than usual. They killed Jolly Joe, the brown bear, and Sam Fox,
and Mrs. 'Possum and her babies, and Wisk the squirrel; so that the
animals are all in mourning for their friends. But our birds suffered
greatly, also. Mrs. Hootaway is dead, and three pigeons belonging to a
highly respected family; but the saddest of all is the murder of Mr.
and Mrs. Goldfinch, both of whom were killed by the same shot. You may
remember, my dears, that they were at your reception yesterday, and as
gay and happy as any of the company present. In their nest are now five
little children, too young and weak to fly, and there is no one to feed
them or look after them."

"Oh, that is dreadful!" exclaimed Twinkle. "Can't Chubbins and I do
something for the little goldfinches?"

"Why, that is why I was so anxious to find you," answered Policeman
Bluejay. "You haven't laid any eggs yet, and have no one to depend upon
you. So I hoped you would adopt the goldfinch babies."

"We will," said Chubbins, promptly. "We can feed them out of our
basket."

"Oh, yes," chimed in the girl. "We couldn't catch grubs for them, you
know."

"It won't be necessary," observed the policeman, with a sly wink at the
eagle. "They're too young yet to know grubs from grub."

The eagle now bade them good-bye and flew away in search of prey, while
the bluejay and the child-larks directed their flight toward that part
of the great forest where they lived.

"Are you sure the men have gone?" asked Chubbins.

"Yes," replied the policeman; "they left the forest as soon as they had
shot Jolly Joe, for the brown bear was so heavy that they had to carry
him on a pole resting across their shoulders. I hope they won't come
again very soon."

"Did they take Mrs. Hootaway with them?" asked Twinkle.

"Yes; she will probably be stuffed, poor thing!"

Presently they passed near the rosy glow that lighted up the center of
the forest with its soft radiance, and the girl said:

"That is the Paradise Land, where the Birds of Paradise live. The eagle
has promised to ask one of those birds to let us visit their country."

"Oh, I can do better than that, if you wish to visit the Paradise,"
responded the bluejay; "for the Guardian of the Entrance is a special
friend of mine, and will do whatever I ask him to."

"Will he, really?" asked the girl, in delight.

"To be sure. Some day I will take you over there, and then you will see
what powerful friends Policeman Bluejay has."

"I'd like that," declared Twinkle.

Their swift flight enabled them to cover the remaining distance very
rapidly, and soon they were at home again.

They first flew to the nest of the goldfinches, which was in a tree not
far from the maple where the lark-children lived. There they found the
tiny birds, who were yet so new that they were helpless indeed. Mrs.
Redbreast was sitting by the nest when they arrived, and she said:

"The poor orphans are still hungry, although I have fed them all the
insects I could find near. But I am glad that you have come, for it is
time I was at home looking after my own little ones."

"Chubbins and I have 'dopted the goldfinches," said Twinkle, "so we will
look after them now. But it was very nice of you, Mrs. Redbreast, to
take take care of them until we arrived."

"Well, I like to be neighborly," returned the pretty bird; "and as long
as cruel men enter our forest no mother can tell how soon her own
little ones will be orphaned and left helpless."

"That is true," said the policeman, nodding gravely.

So Mrs. Redbreast flew away and now Chubbins looked curiously into the
nest, where several fluffy heads were eagerly lifted with their bills
as wide open as they could possibly stretch.

"They must be just
awful
hungry, Twink," said the boy.

"Oh, they're always like that," observed Policeman Bluejay, calmly.
"When anyone is around they open their mouths to be fed, whether they
are hungry or not. It's the way with birdlets."

"What shall we feed them?" asked Twinkle.

"Oh, anything at all; they are not particular," said the bluejay, and
then he flew away and left the child-larks to their new and interesting
task.

"I'll be the father, and you be the mother," said Chubbins.

"All right," answered Twinkle.

"Peep! peep! peep!" said the tiny goldfinches.

"I wonder if the luncheon in our basket would agree with them,"
remarked the girl, looking at the open mouths reflectively as she
perched her own brown body upon the edge of the deep nest.

"Might try it," suggested the boy. "The cop says they're not
particular, and what's good enough for us ought to be good enough for
them."

So they flew to where the basket hung among the thick leaves of the
tree, which had served to prevent the men from discovering it, and
crept underneath the cloth that covered it.

"Which do you think they'd like best," asked Chubbins, "the pickles or
the cheese?"

"Neither one," Twinkle replied. "The sandwiches will be best for them.
Wait; I'll pick out some of the meat that is between the slices of
bread. They'll be sure to like that."

"Of course," agreed Chubbins, promptly. "They'll think it's bugs."

So each one dragged out a big piece of meat from a sandwich, and by
holding it fast in one claw they managed to fly with the burden to the
nest of the goldfinch babies.

"Don't give it to 'em all at once," cautioned the girl. "It would choke
'em."

"I know," said Chubbins.

He tore off a tiny bit of the meat and dropped it into one of the
wide-open bills. Instantly it was gone and the mouth was open again for
more. They tried to divide the dinner equally among them, but they all
looked so alike and were so ravenous to eat everything that was dropped
into their bills that it was hard work to keep track of which had been
fed and which had not. But the child-larks were positive that each one
had had enough to keep it from starving, because there was a big bunch
in front of each little breast that was a certain proof of a full crop.

The next task of the guardians was to give the birdlets drink; so
Twinkle and Chubbins flew to the brook and by hunting around a while
they found an acorn-cup that had fallen from one of the oak trees. This
they filled with water, and then Twinkle, who was a trifle larger than
the boy-lark, clutched the cup firmly with her toes and flew back to
the orphans without spilling more than a few drops. They managed to
pour some of the water into each open mouth, and then Twinkle said:

"There! they won't die of either hunger or thirst in a hurry, Chub. So
now we can feed ourselves."

"Their mouths are still open," returned the boy, doubtfully.

"It must be a habit they have," she answered. "Wouldn't you think
they'd get tired stretching their bills that way?"

"Peep! peep! peep!" cried the baby goldfinches.

"You see," said the boy, with a wise look, "they don't know any better.
I had a dog once that howled every time we shut him up. But if we let
him alone he stopped howling. We'll go and get something to eat and let
these beggars alone a while. Perhaps they'll shut their mouths by the
time we get back again."

"Maybe," replied Twinkle.

They got their own luncheon from the basket, and afterward perched on
the tree near the nest of the little goldfinches. They did not feel at
all comfortable in their old nest in the maple, because they could not
forget the tragic deaths of the inhabitants of the three hollows in the
tree—the three "flats" as poor Wisk had merrily called them.

During the afternoon several of the birds came to call upon the
orphans, and they all nodded approval when they found the child-larks
watching over the little ones. Twinkle questioned some of the mothers
anxiously about that trick the babies had of keeping their bills open
and crying for food, but she was told to pay no attention to such
actions.

Nevertheless, the pleadings of the orphans, who were really stuffed
full of food, made the child-larks so nervous that they hailed with
delight the arrival of Policeman Bluejay in the early evening. The busy
officer had brought with him Mrs. Chaffinch, a widow whose husband had
been killed a few days before by a savage wildcat.

Mrs. Chaffinch declared she would be delighted to become a mother to
the little goldfinches, and rear them properly. She had always had good
success in bringing up her own children, she claimed, and the
goldfinches were first cousins to the chaffinches, so she was sure to
understand their ways perfectly.

Twinkle did not want to give up her charges at first, as she had become
interested in them; but Chubbins heaved a sigh of relief and declared
he was glad the "restless little beggars" had a mother that knew more
about them than he did. The bluejay hinted that he considered the
widow's experience would enable her to do more for the baby goldfinches
than could a child-lark who had never yet laid an egg, and so Twinkle
was forced to yield to his superior judgment.

Mrs. Chaffinch settled herself in a motherly manner upon the nest, and
the two bird-children bade her good-night and returned to their own
maple tree, where they had a rather wakeful night, because Chubbins
thoughtlessly suggested that the place might be haunted by the ghosts
of the gray owl, Wisk, and Mrs. 'Possum.

But either the poor things had no ghosts or they were too polite to
bother the little child-larks.

The next morning ushered in a glorious day, sunny and bright. The sky
was a clear blue, and only a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the
trees. Even before Twinkle and Chubbins were awake the birds were
calling merrily to one another throughout the forest, and the chipmonks
chirped in their own brisk, businesslike way as they scuttled from tree
to tree.

While the child-larks were finishing their breakfast Policeman Bluejay
came to them, his feathers looking fresh and glossy and all his
gorgeous colorings appearing especially beautiful in the sunshine.

"Today will be a rare day to visit the Paradise," he said; "so I have
come to escort you to the Guardian of the Entrance, who I am sure will
arrange for you to enter that wonderful country."

"It is very kind of you to remember our wish," said Twinkle. "We are
all ready."

So they flew above the tree-tops and began their journey toward the
center of the forest.

"Where's your p'liceman's hat and club?" Chubbins asked the bluejay.

"Why, I left them at home," was the reply. "I'm not on official duty
today, you know, and the Guardian does not like to see anything that
looks like a weapon. In his country there are no such things as
quarrels or fighting, or naughtiness of any sort; for as they have
everything they want there is nothing to quarrel over or fight for. The
Birds of Paradise have laws, I understand; but they obey them because
they are told to, and not because they are forced to. It would be a bad
country for a policeman to live in."

"But a good place for everyone else," said Twinkle.

"Perhaps so," agreed the policeman, reluctantly. "But I sometimes think
the goody-goody places would get awful tiresome to live in, after a
time. Here in our part of the forest there is a little excitement, for
the biggest birds only obey our laws through fear of punishment, and I
understand it is just the same in the world of men. But in the Birds'
Paradise there lives but one race, every member of which is quite
particular not to annoy any of his fellows in any way. That is why they
will admit no disturbing element into their country. If you are
admitted, my dears, you must be very careful not to offend any one that
you meet."