But many times, however, I have seen the larger and stronger birds bring materials for making the nest close to the spot they had chosen, to save the little strangers weary journeys; and at last, after much patient labour, the home was finished, to the intense delight of the two builders, for both took their share in the work; but the joy was greater, when, after some time, three little birds made their appearance in the compact and cosy nest.
The event caused quite a sensation among the other dwellers in our old tree. Jays were constantly inquiring how the nestlings were getting on, an inquisitive Magpie peeped into the nest, trying to get a glimpse of the pretty ones, and received a sharp peck from the angry father as a reproof for the intrusion; as to the motherly Rooks, who were supposed to care for nothing save their own family concerns, they kindly advised the young parents how to rear the brood, saying, 'Care, care,' was all that was necessary; nay, it is even recorded, as an undoubted fact, that an old Owl, who had lived for ages in a hole in the tree, actually opened her eyes quite wide when the news was first told to her, although it was broad daylight! You may imagine, then, how happy they were, surrounded thus by kindness and love; and yet—I suppose it is but right there are ever shadows as well as sunshine, and, sad though it seems, every life must have bitters mingled with the sweets; still they were so joyous in that tiny nest! Why, ah, why was their happiness to be clouded? Alas, it grieves me even now to tell, though many long years have since then passed away!
One day the father-bird went from the nest, and never returned!
Long and patiently waited his little mate, hoping each moment to hear his welcome note, as swiftly he winged his way back to her. But the day wore on, the evening sun grew golden, then faded in the purple west—but still he came not! The other dwellers in the oak returned to their homes, yet they brought no tidings of the wanderer. After a while their happy voices were hushed in sleep, the Blackbird ceased to warble his evening hymn, and all were buried in slumber, and at rest!
All? Ah, no! the lonely mourner was waking still, gazing up with sad, sad eyes at the starry heavens above, asking the night-winds as they moaned around:
'Will he not return to me?'
Days passed, slowly dragging their length wearily on for the lonely bird in that desolate nest. Yet, though her heart was breaking, she tended her tiny nestlings, neglecting none of her daily duties; for his dear sake she loved them yet the more, hoping as each day came it would bring him back, and striving to imagine his delight when he returned, and found his young ones almost fledged. But still the days dawned, the weary hours went by, the sickness of hope deferred would fall upon her loving heart, crushing it almost to breaking; yet bravely she struggled with her woe. It was when the holy stars shone down, gazing pityingly at her meekly raised eyes, and she was alone in stillness with her great sorrow, that then would she murmur with a bitter cry,—
'When will he come home to me again?'
Yet still he came not!
Then her brave heart gave way. In vain the other birds tried to comfort her; she could not be comforted, for he she so dearly loved 'was not.'