Miau the Catbird, who wears a gray coat and makes a noise like a week-old kitten, when he doesn’t sing, came and peeked at him. He raised that little black patch on his head, just as though he were lifting his hat to Louie. It looked as if he were a very polite little bird trying to say “Good morning.”
My, but didn’t he flutter when Louie answered, “Good morning, yourself, Mr. Bird!” But the little boy said it in such a nice voice Miau couldn’t stay scared, so he chirped back.
“Is that the way you say it?” giggled Louie, and he tried to talk exactly like him. He didn’t talk bird talk well at all. You ought to have heard Miau squawk, because he thought it was funny. And Louie squawked, too, so a couple of blackbirds with bright scarlet patches on their shoulders came over to see what was going on. So did Bobby Robin, and Chip Sparrow, who is one of Chirp Sparrow’s wild cousins, not nearly so big or dressed up, but with a lovely song, and a gorgeous black and orange oriole. A fine noise they were making.
But right in the middle of all their fun Louie heard another noise. It was his mother calling him. Her voice wasn’t happy, like those noisy birds, but very sad and lonely. Louie jumped up and ran as fast as ever he could to answer her.
“Oh, Louie, Louie! Your father said you weren’t here, but I sort of knew where I’d find you,” she cried when she had kissed him. “You mustn’t run away from me! I’ve been so afraid something would happen to you!”
“It did,” laughed Louie; “lots of things.” And he told her all about how nice all the Woodsfolk had been, and how the birds were teaching him bird talk. And where he got his breakfast--just everything. But she said, “Come home, and I’ll give you a better breakfast than that muskrat has in his whole pond.”
Do you know, Doctor Muskrat was really disappointed when he saw Louie Thomson go trotting up the lane beside his mother. “It’s too bad,” said he. “That boy of yours was learning very fast, Tad Coon. If he’d stayed down here by the pond just a little while longer he’d have been as wild as any of us.” You see the Woodsfolk wanted to have a nice wild boy to play with just as much as Louie ever wanted a nice tame coon.
Tad Coon’s own ears were drooping. “Maybe he was hungry,” Tad guessed. “Maybe we didn’t have the right things to feed him.” He knew what that was, because he’d been so hungry himself when he was shut up in Louie’s cage.
“Nonsense!” sniffed Doctor Muskrat. “If he’d only wait until Tommy Peele could teach him his way of fishing, he’d have had all he wanted.” You see, muskrats can eat their fish without taking the trouble to cook them.
Tad sighed. He was really just as disappointed as the doctor. A little boy was such fun; he did such queer things--he was as much fun for Tad Coon as Tad was for him. “That was his mother,” he said at last. “Maybe he was too little to leave her, like Nibble Rabbit’s bunny. He isn’t anywhere near full grown. All the same, I don’t think she takes very good care of him.” He was thinking that when Louie’s father struck him with the broom, his mother never did anything to stop him.