THE MAGPIE’S LESSON

Years and years ago—ever so many years ago—only one bird in the whole world knew how to build a nest. That wise bird was the magpie.

One day all the other birds came to the magpie. They wanted to learn how to build nests. They begged the magpie to teach them.

“Indeed, I am glad to teach you,” said Mrs. Magpie. “Just listen and watch me. First, you must choose a tall tree, like this great maple. Then take sticks—”

“A tree,” broke in the bold eagle, “a tree here in this valley! No trees nor valleys for me! My nest shall be on the highest cliff of yonder mountain.”

And away flew the eagle without waiting to hear more of the magpie’s lesson. To this day he puts together a few rough sticks on a rocky mountain cliff, and calls them a nest.

The magpie began again. “Take sticks like these,” she said, “to a high branch.”

“Are you a fool?” cried the lark. “Don’t you know that the first strong wind will blow your nest to the ground?” “And the first boy who comes this way will throw stones at it,” put in Mrs. Bob-o-link.

“No high branches for us,” sang the lark and the bob-o-link together. And down they flew into the tall grass of the meadow. There they have made their nests ever since.

Mrs. Magpie didn’t even look at the birds flying away. “Weave the sticks together so, in and out,” said she cheerfully. “That will make the bottom of the nest.”

“I don’t mean to set my nest on a branch like that,” spoke up the oriole. “The wind surely would blow it off, as the lark just said.”

And the oriole flew away and hung her nest from little twigs. There you may see it to-day swinging in the wind far out at the end of a long branch.

“Plaster the inside of your nest with mud,” Mrs. Magpie went on again. “Then line it with soft grass, so.”

“Dear, dear, so much work to make a nest!” yawned the whip-poor-will. “I’m not going to take the trouble.” And that lazy bird hasn’t made a nest from that day to this. She just lays her eggs in a hollow on the ground, or perhaps on a log.

“Who, who, who would go to all that trouble!” hooted the owl. “I think I have a better plan.”

She looked very wise, but said no more. You can guess what her plan was when you find her eggs in a crow’s or a hawk’s old nest.

“Now take more mud and sticks,” began the patient magpie once more. “You need to build a dome over your nest. That is to hide the little ones and to keep out the rain.”

“Oh, never mind the dome,” said the robin. “I will cover my little ones with my wings. I can hide them and keep off the rain.”

“You are right, Mrs. Robin,” said the crow. “We have no use for domes.” And to this day neither robins nor crows have built domes over their nests.

Mrs. Magpie paid no more heed to these birds than to the others who had already left her. She went quietly on building her nest, just as she knew it ought to be built. Soon it was done, dome and all.

“Indeed, Mrs. Magpie,” said the swallows, “we like your nest. The dome is a fine thing, but why should we build it? There are plenty of domes already built; we need only to make our nests under them.”

Ever since then some swallows have made their nests under banks. Others have made theirs under roofs of open barns; and still others under eaves.

So all the birds flew away and left Mrs. Magpie with never a “thank you.” Each one built her nest as she pleased. And each one thought her way so much better than the magpie’s.

But the magpie still builds her nest in the top of a high tree. She makes it of mud and sticks and covers it with a dome.