THE PERSISTENT PHOEBE
It is not often that a Phoebe will nest anywhere except near runningwater, and nobody but the Phoebes themselves will ever know why thispair chose to build under a porch of the big house. When they camethere on their wedding trip the other birds supposed that they wereonly visiting, and it was not until a Catbird heard them discussingdifferent porches that any one really believed they might come thereto live.
Mrs. Phoebe was eager to begin at once, and could not pass a softbit of moss or an unusually good blade of grass without stopping tolook it over and think how she could weave it in. "I see no use inwaiting," said she. "I know just as much about building now as Ishall after a while, and I should like a home of my own. It makes mybill fairly tingle to see all these fine grasses and mosses waiting tobe used. And the worst of it is," she added, "that if we wait, someother bird may get them instead."
Mr. Phoebe wanted to think it over a little longer. He was olderthan his wife and had been married before. "Phoebe!" he wouldexclaim. "Wait a day. You know we are building by a house to pleaseyou, now wait one more day to please me."
That, you see, was quite right and perfectly fair, for it is _not_fair for one person to decide everything in a family, and it was rightfor the wife to wait as long as she could. She could not, of course,wait many days, for there were eggs to be laid, and when it was timefor them, the nest had to be ready. Mr. Phoebe knew this and wastedno time.
"We cannot build on a rock," said he, "because there are no rockshere, and we cannot build under a bridge because there is no bridgehere. My other wife and I lived under a bridge." Then he stood silentfor a long time and looked down at his black feet. When he spoke ofhis first wife he always seemed sad. The second Mrs. Phoebe had notliked this at first, but he was so good and kind to her, and let herhave her own way so much more than some husbands would, that she hadbegun to feel happier about it.
There is reason to think that she chose an unusual nesting-place justto see how far she could coax him out of his old ways. Perhaps, too,she thought that there would be less in such a place to remind him ofhis first wife. Another thing which had made her come to feeldifferently was remembering that if he died or left her she wouldmarry again. Then, you know, she might want to think and talk abouther first husband.
She was very proud of him, and watched him as he stood thinking. Hisupper feathers were deep brown, his under ones a dingy white, and theouter edges of some of his tail-feathers were light colored. His mostbeautiful features were his black bill and feet and the crest which hecould raise on the top of his head. Mrs. Phoebe had the samecoloring as her husband, yet she always insisted that he was thebetter looking of the two, while he insisted, as a good and wisehusband should, that she was by far the handsomer.
Now Mr. Phoebe was speaking. "We have decided to build on thishouse," said he, "and under a porch. Still, there are four large onesand we must find out which is the best. You feed on the shady side andI will feed on the sunny side of the house. Then we shall see how muchthese people use their porches."
"I'll do it," answered his wife, "but isn't it a pity that there arepeople living in this house? It would be so much pleasanter if itwere empty."
Mrs. Phoebe perched on a maple branch on the shady side and watchedtwo porches. She thought she would like the front one the better, andhad already chosen her window ledge, when she noticed a pair ofEnglish Sparrows dragging straws and feathers toward it anddisappearing inside the cornice. "Not there," she said firmly, as sheclutched the branch even more tightly with her pretty black feet. "Iwill not have quarrelsome neighbors, and I could never bring ourchildren up to be good if the young Sparrows were always near, showingthem how to be naughty." Then she darted after a Fly, caught andswallowed him, and was back on her perch.
"I wonder how the back one would do?" she said. "There are no stepsleading to it, and those sweetbrier bushes all around it would keepBoys from climbing onto the railing."
She flew near and saw the Maid kneading bread by one window. A doorstood open into the big kitchen, and through two other windows shecould look into a pleasant dining-room. "I wouldn't mind that," shesaid. "If I have plenty to eat myself, I would just as soon see otherpeople eating. We like different things anyway. I dare say thosepeople never tasted an insect in their lives and do not even know theflavor of a choice Fly." Then she swallowed a careless Bug who hadmistaken her for an English Sparrow and flown when he should havestayed hidden. Mrs. Phoebe was much interested in the nest, but notso much as to let an insect escape. Oh, never so much as that!
Mr. Phoebe watched the back porch on his side. Some Robins werebuilding on a window-ledge there, which he thought exceedingimprudent. But then he was not surprised, for everybody knows howcareless Robins are. That is why so many of them have to leave theirnests--because they are built where no nest should be. Mr. Phoebecould tell at a glance that no bird should build there. Woodbineclimbed over the pillars and fell in a thick curtain from the cornice,and beside the door stood a saucerful of milk. "That means a Cat,"said he, "a Cat who stays on this porch most of the time and alwayscomes here when he is hungry. And when he tires of milk he will climbup that woodbine and finish with young Robin. Or, perhaps," he added,"I should say that he will finish _a_ young Robin."
The front porch on his side was sunshiny and quiet, but there was thewoodbine again, and with the Cat so near. He next looked at theportico over the front door. Under the roof of this was a queer shiny,thin thing with a loop of black thread hanging down in it. He tried toget the thread, but only hit and hurt his bill against the shiny,thin stuff. Then he remembered seeing a bright light in it the nightbefore when he had been awakened by a bad dream. "That will never do,"he said. "It is not good for children to sleep with a light near. Onewould want to be catching insects there, too," he added, "when heshould be sleeping. There must be many drawn by the light."
So it ended in the couple building under the dining-room porch on theshelf-like top of a column. Mrs. Phoebe chose this instead of awindow-ledge because from here she could look into the window whilebrooding her eggs. "You may laugh at me all you choose," said she toher husband, "for I did wish the house empty. Since it cannot be,however, I might as well see what the people in it do."
"I was not laughing, my dear," answered her husband meekly (youremember that he had been married before). "I was only smiling withpleasure at our fine nest. You have so much taste in arranginggrasses!"
That was the way in which the Phoebes began housekeeping. It was notalways easy, sitting on the nest day after day as Mrs. Phoebe hadto, with only a chance now and then to stretch her tired legs. She waseven glad that people lived in the house. "It gives me something tothink about," said she, "although I do get much out of patience withthem sometimes. Much they know about bringing up children! That Boy oftheirs eats only three times a day. How can they ever hope to raisehim unless he eats more? Now, I expect to feed my children all thetime, and that is the way to do." Here she darted away to catch a Flywho came blundering along.
"It's a good thing for that Fly that I got him," she said, smilingly."It saved him from being caught in the Spider's web over there, and Iam sure it is much pleasanter to be swallowed whole by a politePhoebe than to be nibbled at by a horrid Spider."
Mr. Phoebe sometimes brought her a dainty morsel, but he spent muchof his time by the hydrant. "There is not much chance to bathe," hesaid, as he wallowed around in the little pool beside it, "but it issomething to smell water. You know we Phoebes like to fly in and outof ponds and rivers, even when we cannot stop for a real bath." Hisfavorite perch was on the top of a tall pole covered with cinnamonvine, in the flower garden. Here he would sit for a whole morning at atime, darting off now and then for an insect, but always returning tothe same place and position. He did not even face the other way for achange.
The little Phoebes were hatched much like other birds, and wereabout as good and about as naughty as children usually are. Mrs.Phoebe was positive that they were remarkable in every
way. Mr.Phoebe, having raised other broods, did not think them quite sowonderful, although he admitted that there was not another nestling onthe place to compare with them. "Still," as he would modestly remark,"we must remember that we are the only Phoebes here, and that it isnot fair to compare them with the young of other birds. You could notexpect our neighbors' children to be as bright as they."
Unfortunately there were only two little Phoebes, so each parentcould give all his time to one. The mother cared for the son and thefather for the daughter. When it was time for them to learn to catchtheir own Flies, these children did not want to do so. The father madehis daughter learn, in spite of the fuss she made. He gave her his oldperch on the cinnamon-vine pole, and told her that she must try tocatch every insect that flew past. This was after she had been out ofthe nest several days, and had learned to use her feet and wings.
"If you do not," he said, "I shall not feed you anything." When shepouted her bill, he paid no attention to it, and she soon stopped.There is no use in pouting, you know, unless somebody is looking atyou and wishing that you wouldn't. Perhaps it was because he hadbrought up children before that Mr. Phoebe was so wise.
Mrs. Phoebe meant to be very firm also, but when her son whimperedand said that he couldn't, he knew he couldn't, catch a single one,and that he was sure he would tumble to the ground if he tried it, shealways felt sorry for him and said: "Perhaps you can to-morrow." Thenshe would catch food for him again.
This is how it happened that, day after day, a plump and strong youngPhoebe sat on a branch of the syringa bush and let his tired motherfeed him. At last his father quite lost patience and interfered. "Mydear," he said to his wife, "I will be with our son to-day, and youmay have a rest."
"You are very kind," she replied, "but he is so used to having me thatI think I might better----"
"I said," interrupted her husband, "that I would be with our sonto-day. I advise you to fly away with our daughter and show hersomething of the world." Mrs. Phoebe did not often hear him speak inthat tone of voice. When he did, she always agreed with him.
As soon as father and son were alone, the father said: "Now you aregoing to catch Flies before sunset. You have let your poor mothernearly work her feathers off for you. (Of course, feathers do not comeoff so, but this was his way of speaking.) She is very tired, and youare not to act like this again. There comes a Fly. Catch him!"
The young Phoebe made a wild dash, missed his Fly, and came back tothe syringa bush whimpering. "I knew I couldn't," he said. "I tried ashard as I could, but he flew away."
"Yes," said his father. "You tried once, just once. You may have totry a hundred times before you catch one, but that is no reason whyyou should not try. Go for that Mosquito."
The son went, and missed him, of course. This time he knew better thanto talk about it. He just flew back to his perch and looked miserable.
"I think you got a little nearer to this one," said his father. "Gofor that Fly!"
The young Phoebe was kept darting here and there so often that hehad no time to be sulky. Indeed, if people have to keep moving quitefast, they soon forget to want to be sulky. At last he was surprisedby his father's tucking a very delicious Bluebottle down his throat."Just for a lunch," he explained. "Now try for that one."
The son made a sudden lurch and flight, and actually caught him. Itwas a much smaller Fly than the one which his father had fed him, butit tasted better. He swallowed it as slowly as he could, so as to feelit going down as long as possible. Then he began to be happier. "Watchme catch that Mosquito," he said. And when he missed him, as he did,he made no fuss at all--only said: "I'll get the next one!" When hemissed that he simply said: "Well, I'll get the next one, anyhow!"
And he did.
All day long he darted and failed or darted and succeeded, and moreand more often he caught the insect instead of missing him.
When the long shadows on the lawn showed that sunset was near, hismother and sister came back. His mother had a delicious morsel forhim to eat. "Open your bill very wide," she said, "you poor, tired,hungry child."
He did open his bill, because a Phoebe can always eat a little moreanyway, but he did not open it until he had said: "Why, I'm not muchtired, and I am not really hungry at all. You just ought to see mecatch Flies!"
You can imagine how surprised his mother was. And in the tall fir treenear by he heard a Blackbird say something in a hoarse voice about apersistent Phoebe. But that didn't make much difference, because,you see, he didn't know what "persistent" meant, and if he had knownhe could not have told whether the Blackbird was talking about him orabout his father. Could you have told, if you had been a Phoebe?
Dooryard Stories Page 17