Even to-day, after man has treated them so cruelly, animals, in their times of peril, never hesitate to draw near him.
The bird's ancient and natural foe is the serpent; the enemy of quadrupeds is the tiger. And their protector is man.
From the furthest distance that the wild dog smells the scent of the tiger or the lion, he comes to press close to us.
And so, too, the bird, in the horror which the serpent inspires, especially when it threatens his callow brood, finds a language of the most forcible character to implore man's help, and to thank him if he kills his enemy.
For this reason the humming-bird loves to nestle near man. And it is probably from the same motive that the swallows and the storks, in times fertile in reptiles, have acquired the habit of dwelling among us.
Here an observation becomes essential. We often construe as a sign of mistrust the bird's flight and his fear of the human hand. This fear is only too well founded. But even if it did not exist, the bird is an infinitely nervous and delicate creature, which suffers if simply touched.
My robin, which belongs to a very robust and friendly race of birds, which continually draws near us, as near as possible, and which assuredly has no fear of his mistress, trembles to fall into her hand. The rustling of his plumes, the derangement of his down, all bristling when he has been handled, he keenly dislikes. The sight, above all, of the outstretched hand about to seize him, makes him recoil instinctively.
When he lingers about in the evening, and does not return into his cage, he does not refuse to be replaced within it; but sooner than see himself caught, he turns his back, hides in a crease or fold of the gown where he well knows he must infallibly be taken.
All this is not mistrust.