“Imagine!”
Miss Haynes was already much at home in the country about the village, and the girls, on the other hand, were greatly surprised to find how little they knew about some phases of their native environment. They left the swampy region, crossed the brook, now considerably swollen, but having a bridge, and then left it behind to climb a high bank or bluff, from whose top they could see the larger stream, or river which drained the inland lake. A few robins were among the trees here. These the girls knew, as well as the bluebird warble, which called their attention to the singer.
A bluejay called harshly and two or three crows flew over. Miss Haynes motioned to the girls to stand still and listen. Dead leaves in wet, drifted heaps, patches of snow, and leafless trees were around them. Jean drew her coat more tightly around her and fastened her fur collar together. The March wind was noticeable here.
Now came a funny little call, like the far away honk of a car, Jean said afterward. Miss Haynes’ pointing finger drew their attention to the trunk of a large tree. Some of the girls looked blank, but Jean had caught a glimpse of something. Some bird had moved around, upon the opposite side of the tree trunk.
There he was again! Ah, how pretty! What could it be? A little gray-blue, or blue-gray bird was searching the old trunk for food. He seemed to be getting some, too.
Jean strained her eyes to distinguish the markings, until Miss Haynes put her own glass in Jean’s hands. Then, alas, she had trouble in focussing it for her eyes and the bird had gone out upon a little limb. “If birds would only stay put!” she thought. Now it was back upon the trunk. Now it was going up; now it was going down. Now it “walked out on the under side of a large limb,” as Jean told her father that night. Finally she had a good look, for the little fellow stopped, raised his head and looked off for a moment, to see if there were any danger near, or, possibly, to find a better feeding ground.
“Quank-quank!” he said, or “honk-honk!” How shining a black were his crown, and nape, and how white his breast. Never would Jean forget her first white-breasted nuthatch. Thank fortune, it wasn’t like anything else, either. You wouldn’t get it mixed up!
By this time Miss Haynes was becoming so interested in teaching the girls that she decided to give up her own cherished time for discoveries of her own in order to keep on showing them what were, so far, perfectly familiar to her. But her reward came a little later.
Again the girls became the Stealthy Prowlers in earnest as they tried very hard to make no noise in going down a little cleft in these high banks. There was snow instead of mud, which made it easier, if slippery. In a moment they stood upon a stony ledge that was only a short distance above a wider, sheltered spot, where a number of birds had gathered out of the wind. Miss Haynes’ glass was directed toward some little birds upon the ground. Accordingly, the girls focussed attention and the two other glasses there.
Those using only eyes could see some little brown-streaked birds, scratching like chickens among the dead leaves. Molly grinned as she put her opera glass into Jean’s hands and pointed out one little bird nearest them, whose active foot was making dirt and decaying leaves fly behind it. “Did you ever see anything cuter?” she whispered. “Must be some other kind of a sparrow.”