Little Brothers of the Air

by Olive Thorne Miller

At that moment the warbler appeared again, and the wise redstart baby, who at least knew enough to take a good thing when it offered, opened his ever-ready mouth for the bit of a worm he brought.

But lo! Madam, who had flown the moment before, returned in hot haste, and flung herself upon that small philanthropist as if he had brought poison; he vanished.

Here was indeed a queer complication! It was a redstart nest without doubt, but who owned the baby? If he were a redstart, why did Mamma refuse help in her hard work, and why did the chestnut-sided insist on helping? If he were a chestnut-sided infant, how did he come in a redstart nest, and what had the redstart to do with him?

These were the problems with which we had to grapple, and we settled ourselves to the work. We placed our seats against neighboring saplings, for backs, and we first critically examined that nest. It was surely a redstart's, though at an unusual height, perhaps twenty-five feet, as we had observed the day before when we had both noted in our books that we saw the male feeding the young. Even had the nest not been so plainly a redstart's, the air of that mother was unmistakable. She owned that nest and that baby, there could not be a doubt, and the dapper little personage with chestnut sides was an interloper.

Nearly two hours we watched every movement of the small actors in this strange drama, and in seeking food they often came within six feet of us on our own level, so that we could not mistake their identity.

The poor little mamma was in deep distress. Although her mate was absent, she resented her neighbor's efforts to help in her work, and dashed at him furiously every time she saw him come. Yet she could not stay on guard, for upon her alone devolved the duty of feeding that nestling! So she rushed frantically hither and thither in mad redstart fashion, brought her morsel and administered it, and then darted angrily after the enemy, who appeared as often as she did, every time with a tidbit for that pampered youngster.

This double duty seemed almost too much for the redstart. Her feathers were ruffled, her tail opened and shut nervously, and at every interval that she could spare from her breathless exertions she uttered in low tones the redstart song, as though calling on that missing lord of hers.

And where was that much needed personage? Had he been killed in these carefully protected and fenced woods, where no guns or collectors were allowed, and trespass notices were as plentiful as blackberries? Not by shooting we were sure; we should have heard a gun at the house. Had, then, an owl paid a twilight visit, and could a redstart be surprised? Or could, perchance, a squirrel have stolen upon him unaware? We shall never know. There's no morning paper to chronicle the tragedies in the bird world; and it would be too pitiful reading if there were.

The most curious thing about the whole performance was the behavior of the chestnut-sided. His manner was as unruffled as Madam's was excited. The most just and honorable cause in the world could not give more absolute self-possession, more dignified persistence, than was shown by this wonderful atom of a bird. He acknowledged her right to reprove him, for he vanished before her outraged motherhood every time; but the moment the chase ended he fell to collecting food, and by the time his assailant had given her bantling a morsel, he was ready with another.

What could be his motive? Was he a charity-mad personage, such as we sometimes see among bigger folk, determined to benefit his kind, whether they would or no? Had he, perchance, been bereaved of his own younglings, and felt moved to bestow his parental care upon somebody? Did he wish to experiment with some theory of his own on another's baby? Was it his aim to coax that young redstart to desert his family and follow after the traditions of the chestnut-sided?