A Hermit's Wild Friends; or, Eighteen Years in the Woods

by Mason Augustus Walton

That spring the sparrows lingered about my dooryard three weeks or more, and then dispersed to the neighboring fields and pastures, for the song-sparrow does not nest in the woods. Wabbles did not leave with the rest, and when spring merged into summer and he yet remained, I understood the reason. The male song-sparrow is obliged to do battle for the possession of a mate, and Wabbles, with his tender wing, wisely forbore to enter the lists. He preferred the cool woods and free food to the sun-scorched fields and a mate-less life.

Wabbles and I became fast friends. He was constantly hopping about the dooryard, and was always on hand to greet me whenever I returned from town.

"WABBLES MADE IT HIS BUSINESS TO AWAKE ME AT DAYLIGHT."

I slept in the open air in a hammock, with only a canvas roof to keep off the rain, and Wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight. The little rogue pursued the same method each morning. He would hop about in the bushes near the hammock, and chirp to me in the loud, sharp call-note peculiar to the sparrow family. If I remained quiet he would break into song. He confined his singing usually to the morning and evening hours. But on my return after a long absence, he would sing for a short time, regardless of the time of day. It was a bird's method of expressing joy. I thought that he prized my companionship and disliked to be left alone.

That fall Wabbles migrated with his mates, but the next spring he returned as before, two weeks ahead of the main flock. He lingered about the cabin until the mating season approached, when he disappeared for five days. On his return he brought with him a mate—a shy, demure little wife.

Wabbles wanted to set up housekeeping in the woods, so he showed Mrs. Wabbles all the nooks, sly corners, and sheltered spots, but it was useless; she positively refused to build a nest beneath the trees. She flew away to the fields, and Wabbles followed her.

Three weeks later, when returning from town, I heard his familiar call by the roadside. He came hurriedly through the bushes and fluttered to my feet. He appeared overjoyed to see me, and greedily ate the cracker-crumbs I gave him. When he flew away, I followed him. He led me a long distance to a field, where I found Mrs. Wabbles sitting on four dainty, speckled eggs. The nest was in the open field, beneath a tuft of grass.

Three baby sparrows were reared from this nest. When they were big enough to fly, I expected that Wabbles would move his whole family to the woods, provided Mrs. Wabbles would consent, which I much doubted. Sure enough, early in autumn Wabbles returned, but he was alone. I fancied that he had deserted his family for my companionship and a life in the woods. But not so. His visit was a matter of business. He wanted to know how the supplies of food held out. After he had satisfied himself he flew away, but the next day returned with one of the baby birds. Wabbles fussed over this bird all day long. He called the little one into the dooryard and stuffed it with crumbs, then into the garden and stuffed it with insects. He kept up a constant chirping meanwhile, and I thought he made much of the fuss and bustle to keep the baby from being homesick. That night he flew away with his charge, and the next day did not appear. Undoubtedly Mrs. Wabbles had given him a piece of her mind for taking her baby to the woods.

Three days later, however, Wabbles returned, and brought with him two of the babies. This day, for fuss and bustle, was like the first, but that night, instead of taking the birds out to the fields, he put them to bed in a hemlock-tree near my hammock, after which he flew away. The next day he brought in the other baby, leaving Mrs. Wabbles childless and alone. That night Wabbles put the three little ones to bed in the same hemlock-tree, and then flew back to his deserted mate.