Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Very true,” returned the eagle. “I saw your danger while I was in the air, and determined to act quickly, although I might myself have been shot by the man had his gun been loaded. But I have noticed that a bold action is often successful because it causes surprise, and the foe does not know what to do.”

  “I’m ‘shamed of those people,” said Chubbins, indignantly. “What right had they to come to the forest and kill the pretty owl, and the dear little squirrel, and the poor mama ‘possum and her babies?”

  “They had the right of power,” said the eagle, calmly. “It would be a beautiful world were there no destroyers of life in it; but the earth and air and water would then soon become so crowded that there would not be room for them all to exist. Don’t blame the men.”

  “But they are cruel,” said Twinkle, “and kill innocent, harmless birds and animals, instead of the wicked ones that could be better spared.”

  “Cruelty is man’s nature,” answered the eagle. “Of all created things, men, tigers and snakes are known to be the most cruel. From them we expect no mercy. But now, what shall be our next movement? I suppose it will be best for you to keep away from the forest until the men are gone. Would you like to visit my home, and meet my wife and children?”

  “Yes, indeed!” cried Twinkle; “if you will be kind enough to let us.”

  “It will be a great pleasure to me,” said the eagle. “Follow me closely, please.”

  He began flying again, and they kept at his side. By and by they noticed a bright, rosy glow coming from a portion of the forest beneath them.

  “What is that?” asked Chubbins.

  “It is the place called the Paradise of Birds,” answered their conductor. “It is said to be the most beautiful place in all the world, but no one except the Birds of Paradise are allowed to live there. Those favored birds sometimes enter our part of the forest, but we are never allowed to enter theirs.”

  “I’d like to see that place,” said Twinkle.

  “Well, you two child-larks are different from all other birds,” remarked the eagle, “and for that reason perhaps you would be allowed to visit the paradise that is forbidden the rest of us. If ever I meet one of the beautiful birds that live there, I will ask it to grant you the privilege.”

  “Do!” said Twinkle and Chubbins, in one eager breath. They flew for a long time, high in the air, but neither of the bird-children seemed to tire in the least. They could not go quite as fast as the eagle, however, who moderated his speed so that they could keep up with him.

  CHAPTER X

  In the Eagle’s Nest

  Gradually the forest passed out of sight and only bleak, rugged mountains were below them. One peak rose higher than the others, and faced the sea, and to this point the great eagle directed their flight.

  On a crag that jutted out from the mountain was the eagle’s nest, made of rude sticks of wood gathered from the forest. Sitting beside the nest was Mrs. Eagle, larger and more pompous even than her husband, while squatting upon the edge of the nest were two half-grown eaglets with enormous claws and heads, but rather skinny bodies that were covered with loose and ragged feathers. Neither the nest nor the eaglets appeared to be very clean, and a disagreeable smell hung over the place.

  “This is funny,” said Mrs. Eagle, looking at the child-larks with surprise. “Usually you kill your game before you bring it home, Jonathan; but today it seems our dinner has flown to us willingly.”

  “They’re for us!” cried one of the eaglets, making a quick dash to seize Twinkle, who darted out of his reach.

  “One for each of us!” screamed the other eaglet, rushing at Chubbins.

  “Peace — be quiet!” said the eagle, sternly. “Cannot you tell friends from food, you foolish youngsters? These are two little friends of mine whom I have invited to visit us; so you must treat them in a civil manner.”

  “Why not eat them?” asked one of the eaglets, looking at the child-larks with hungry eyes.

  “Because I forbid you. They are my guests, and must be protected and well treated. And even if this were not so, the larks are too small to satisfy your hunger, you little gluttons.”

  “Jonathan,” said Mrs. Eagle, coldly, “do not reproach our offspring for their hunger. We sent you out this morning to procure a supply of food, and we expected you to bring us home something good to eat, instead of these useless little creatures.”

  The eagle seemed annoyed at being scolded in this manner.

  “I had an adventure in the forest,” he said, “and came near being shot and killed by a man. That is the reason I came home so soon.”

  Twinkle and Chubbins were standing together at the edge of the crag when one of the eaglets suddenly spread out his wide, stiff wings and pushed them over the precipice. They recovered themselves before they had fallen far, and flew to the ledge again just in time to see the father eagle cuff his naughty son very soundly. But the mother only laughed in her harsh voice and said:

  “It is so early in the day, Jonathan, that I advise you to go again in search of food. Our sweet darlings will not be comforted until they have eaten.”

  “Very well,” answered the eagle. “I am sorry you cannot treat my guests more politely, for they are all unaccustomed to such rudeness. But I see that it will be better for me to take them away with me at once.”

  “Do,” said Mrs. Eagle; and the eaglets cried: “Better let us eat ‘em, daddy. They are not very big, but they’re better than no breakfast at all.”

  “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 suffere
d 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.”

  CHAPTER XI

  The Orphans

  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 Bluej
ay 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.

  CHAPTER XII

  The Guardian

  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.”