The Madagascars, who had been apathetic and frightened while having their beaks trimmed, roused themselves at this warm greeting from their playmate, and one of them squeezed through the bars of the cage. I let the other out, and then there was a jubilation—calls and screams of delight, and a wild dashing to and fro.
Poor Mr. Madagascar soon died. The autumn came, and I think I let them stay out too late, and I also think that the overgrown beak had been left too long. He had not been able to crack a sufficient supply of seeds. I had always a hard time to get my birds indoors in the autumn. They wanted to stay outside, and I have seen a canary sitting on eggs with snowflakes flying around her.
Now that the male Madagascar was gone, Little Eyes’ opportunity had come; he kept close to the bewildered widow, warbling, “I am here, I am here—speak quick, speak quick!”
She did speak quick, and the little fellow never deserted her, and was inconsolable when she left him.
Her departure was taken in a most peculiar and tragic way. I had her with Little Eyes and Big Eyes on my farm. I noticed one day that Mrs. Madagascar was gnawing a hole in the plaster, and some one in the family suggested that possibly it would be as well not to allow her to destroy the wall.
“She wants to make a nest,” I said. “She will only pierce a small hole.”
I knew she did not need the plaster, for I was always careful to have lime, crushed shells, grit, and sea-sand for my birds.
After a good-sized hole had been made, Mrs. Madagascar only appeared at intervals. I was most pleased at the thought of raising young parrakeets, but one day when confined to my room, I was made slightly uneasy by hearing a scratching in the wall of the bird-room under me.
A few days later I made an investigation, and Mrs. Madagascar was missing—I never saw her again. A Japanese robin was also missing. He was a nervous, fussy fellow, not allowed to associate with the other robins from his country. He had probably seen the hole in the wall, had gone in and investigated, and had lost his way and perished. His would be the noise I heard. Mrs. Madagascar was a quiet bird. She must have died some time before; she had probably lost her way while fussing about her nest, taken a wrong turn, and had gotten bewildered in the partition.
I felt terribly. There was no sound in the wall now, and it was too late to do anything but reluctantly to fasten up the hole so that no other bird could get in. If we had torn down the plaster we might not have found the little bird bodies, for in their bewilderment they might have groped blindly far from the small entrance. If I had only had some of the family make an examination of the wall when I first heard the noise—if I had only been a little more uneasy. It seemed a horrible way for my pretty birds to die. At last I stopped worrying. It would do no good. The birds were gone. But I must be more careful in the future. Little Eyes did not live long after the disappearance of the bird he loved so well, and Big Eyes soon followed him to the bird world, where I hope little birds and big birds have none of the worries and sufferings they experience here.