The Curious Book of Birds by Abbie Farwell Brown (interesting books to read .TXT) π
"We all know that--anything more?" chirped the chorus of birds, tryingto conceal how anxious they were to know what came next, for the nestswere only half finished.
But Mother Magpie was thoroughly disgusted, and refused to go on withthe lesson which had been so rudely interrupted by her pupils.
"You are all so wise, friends," she said, "that surely you do not needany help from me. You say you know all about it,--then go on and finishyour nests by yourselves. Much luck may you have!" And away she flew toher own cosy nest in the elm tree, where she was soon fast asleep,forgetting all about the matter.
But oh! What a pickle the other birds were in! The lesson was but halffinished, and most of them had not the slightest idea what to do next.That is why to this day many of the birds have never learned to buil
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"Ha, ha!" cried the Crocodile in his harsh voice. "You took me for a log, just as the other silly creatures do. But I am no log, Mrs. Hen, as you shall soon see. I am Hungry Crocodile, and you will make the fifth dinner which I have had this evening."
The Hen was frightened almost to death, but she kept her presence of mind and gasped frantically as she saw the great jaws opening to swallow her:β
"O Brother, don't!"
Now the Crocodile was so surprised at hearing the Hen call him Brother that he kept his jaws wide open and forgot to swallow his dinner. He kept them open for some time, gaping foolishly, wondering what the Hen could mean, and how he could possibly be her brother. And by the time he had remembered how hungry he was, there was nothing for him to eat. For the Hen had skipped away just as fast as her feet would take her.
"Pouf!" snorted the Crocodile. "Her brother, indeed! I am not her brother, and she knows it very well. What a fool I was to be caught by such a word! Just wait till I catch her again and we will see. I will brother her!" And he swam sulkily away to hide his mortification in the Congo mud, with only the end of his long nose poking out as a ventilator for his breathing.
Now, though the Hen had had so narrow an escape, it had not sufficiently taught her a lesson. A few days afterwards once more she went down to the river, for she could not resist the temptation of the bug-dinner which she knew she should find there. But she kept her eyes open sharply for any greeny log which might be floating on the water, saying to herself, "Old Hungry-Mouth shall not catch me napping this time. I know his wicked tricks!"
But this time the Crocodile was not floating on the water like a greeny log. He was lying still as still, sunning himself on the river bank behind some tall reeds. Mrs. Hen came trotting down to the water, a plump and tempting sight, cocking her head knowingly on one side as she spied a real log floating out beyond, which she took to be her enemy. And as she scratched in the soft mud, chuckling to think how sly she was, with a rush and a rustle down pounced the Crocodile upon her, and once more, before she knew it, she found herself in the horrid gateway of his jaws, threatened by the double rows of long, white teeth.
O Brother, don't!
O Brother, don't!
"Oho!" snapped the Crocodile. "You shall not escape me this time. I am a log, am I? Look at me again, Mrs. Hen. Am I a log?" And he came at her to swallow her at once.
But again the Hen squawked, "O Brother, don't!"
Again the Crocodile paused, thunderstruck by this extraordinary word. "Oh, bother the Hen!" he cried, "what can she mean, really? How can I be her brother? She lives in a town on the land, and I live in my kingdom of mud and water. How could two creatures possibly be more unlike? How"βbut while he had been thinking of these hows, once more the Hen had managed to escape, and was pelting back to her barnyard as fast as she could go.
Then indeed the Crocodile was angry. He determined to go and see Nzambi, the wise witch princess, about the matter. She would tell him what it all meant. But it was a long journey to her palace and he was awkward and slow in traveling upon land. Before he had gone very far he was tired and out of breath, and stopped to rest under a banana tree.
As he lay panting in the shade he saw his friend Mbambi, the great Lizard, hurrying past through the jungle.
"Oh, Mbambi!" cried old Hungry-Mouth, "stop a moment. I want to speak with you. I am in great trouble."
So the Lizard drew near, wagging her head wisely, for it pleased her to be consulted by the big Crocodile. "What can it be, dear friend, that is troubling you this day?" she said amiably. "Surely, no one would be so rude or rash as to offend the King of Congo River. But tell me your trouble and perhaps I can advise you."
"Listen to me, then," said the Crocodile. "Almost every day a nice fat Hen,βOh, Mbambi! so delightfully fat and tempting!βcomes to my river to feed. Well, why don't I make her my dinner? you ask. Now hearken: each time, just as I am about to catch her and carry her to my home she startles me by calling me 'Brother.' Did you ever hear of anything so maddening? Twice I have let her escape because of the word. But I can stand it no longer, and I am on the way to Princess Nzambi to hold a palaver about it." (By "palaver" the slangy Crocodile meant a long, serious talk.)
"Silly idiot!" cried the Mbambi, not very politely. "Do nothing of the kind. You will only get the worst of the palaver and show your ignorance before the wise Nzambi. Now listen to me. Don't you know, dear Crocodile, that the Duck lives on the water, though she is neither a fish nor a reptile? And the Duck lays eggs. The Turtle does the same, though she is no bird. The Hen lays eggs, just as I do; and I am Mbambi, the great Lizard. As for you, dear old Hungry-Mouth, you know that at this moment"βhere she whispered discreetly, looking around to see that no one was listening,β"at this moment in a snug nest dug out of the sand on the banks of the Congo, Mrs. Crocodile has covered with leaves to hide them from your enemies sixty smooth white eggs. And in a few weeks out of these will scamper sixty little wiggly Crocodiles, your dear, homely, scaly, hungry-mouthed children. Yes, we all lay eggs, my silly friend, and so in a sense we are all brothers, as the Hen has said."
"Sh!" whispered the Crocodile, nervously. "Don't mention those eggs of mine, I beg of you. Some one might overhear. What you say is undoubtedly true," he added pensively, after thinking a few moments. "Then I suppose I must give up my tempting dinner of Hen. I cannot eat my Sister, can I?"
"Of course you cannot," said the Mbambi, as he rustled away through the jungle. "We can't have everything we want in this world."
"No, I see we cannot," sighed the Crocodile, as he waddled back towards the banks of the Congo. Now in the same old spot he found the Hen, who had been improving his absence by greedily stuffing herself on beetle-bugs, flies, and mosquitoes until she was so fat that she could not run away at the Crocodile's approach. She could only stand and squawk feebly, fluttering her ridiculous wings.
But the Crocodile only said, "Good evening, Sister," very politely, and passing her by with a wag of his enormous tail sank with a plop into the waters of the Congo.
And ever since that time the Hen has eaten her dinner in tranquil peace, undisturbed by the sight of floating log or basking shape of knobby green. For she knows that old Hungry-Mouth will not eat his Sister, the Hen.
Chapter icon
THE THRUSH AND THE CUCKOOIN the wonderful days of old it is said that Christ and Saint Peter went together upon a journey. It was a beautiful day in March, and the earth was just beginning to put on her summer gorgeousness. As the two travelers were passing near a great forest they spied a Thrush sitting on a tree singing and singing as hard as he could. And he cocked his head as if he was very proud of something.
Saint Peter stopped at the foot of the tree and said, "I wish you a good day, Thrush!"
"I have no time to thank you," chirped the Thrush pertly.
"Why not, pretty Thrush?" asked Saint Peter in surprise. "You have all the time in the world and nothing to do but sing."
"You mistake," cried the Thrush. "I am making the summer! It is I, I, I who make the green grass grow and the flowers bud. Look, how even now the world is growing beautiful in answer to my song." And the conceited little bird continued to warble as hard as he could,β
To-morrow my brother."
Christ and Saint Peter looked at each other and smiled, then went upon their way without another word, leaving the Thrush to continue his task of making the summer.
This was in the morning. But before midday the clouds gathered and the sky darkened, and at noon a cold rain began to drip. The poor Thrush ceased his jubilant song and began to shiver in the March wind. By night the snow was felling thick and fast, and where there had been a green carpet on the earth was now spread a coverlet of snowy white. Shivering and like to die of cold the Thrush took refuge under the tree in the moss and dead leaves. He thought no more of his marriage, nor of his brother's, but only of the danger which threatened him, and of the discomfort.
The next morning Christ and Saint Peter, plodding through the snow-drifts, came upon him again, and Saint Peter said as before, "I wish you good day, Thrush."
"Thank you," answered the Thrush humbly, and his voice was shaky with cold and sorrow.
"What do you here on the cold ground, O Thrush-who-make-the-summer, and why are you so sad?" asked Saint Peter. And the Thrush piped feebly,β
To-morrow my brother."
"O foolish little bird," said Saint Peter. "You boasted that you made the summer. But see! The Lord's will has sent us back to the middle of winter, to punish your boasting. You shall not die, he will send the sun again to warm you. But hereafter beware how you take too much credit for your little efforts."
Since that time March has ever been a treacherous and a changeful month. Then the Thrush thinks not of marriage, but of his lesson learned in past days, and wraps himself in his warmest feathers, waiting for the Lord's will to be done. He is no longer boastful in his song, but sings it humbly and sweetly to the Lord's glory, thanking him for the summer which his goodness sends every year to happy bird and beast and child of man.
Now after this adventure with the Thrush, Christ and Saint Peter went upon their journey for many miles. At last, weary and hungry, they passed a Baker's shop. From the window came the smell of new warm bread baking in the oven, and Christ sent Saint Peter to ask the Baker for a loaf. But the Baker, who was a stingy fellow, refused.
"Go away with you!" he cried. "I give no bread to lazy beggars!"
"I ask it for my Master, who has traveled many miles and is most faint and weary," said Saint Peter. But the Baker frowned and shook his head, then strode into the inner shop, banging the door after him.
The Baker's wife and six daughters were standing at one side when these things happened, and they heard all that took place. They were generous and kind-hearted bodies, and tears stood in their eyes at the Baker's rough words. As soon as he had gone out they wrapped up the loaf and gave it stealthily to Saint Peter saying,β
"Take the loaf for your Master, good man, and may he be refreshed by it."
Saint Peter thanked and blessed them and took the loaf to Christ. And for their charity the Lord set these
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