The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories

by Unknown

They are now almost half as large as the old birds. They are well covered with feathers, and their mottled breasts are very pretty.

"They don't have to dress as we do," said Eddie. "Their clothes grow." And he thinks it would be a great convenience if his clothes grew too, for then they would always be large enough for him, and his mother would not have so much sewing to do.

Sometimes these little birds lie in the bottom of the nest, quietly sleeping, while their father and mother are both away, getting them food. At other times they feel wide awake. Then they stretch their wings, stand upon their feet, and peep over the side of the nest. From the parlour-window, the children can look up directly at their secluded home, and can see them amusing themselves and practising their lessons. The honeysuckle grows almost as fast as the birds, and the tender, overhanging branches make a roof which keeps off all the rain.

The old birds are mindful of their children, but do not consider it necessary to be with them all the time. So other parents endeavour to implant good principles in the hearts of their children, and then leave them to their self-control; ever keeping a watchful eye on the influences which surround them, and using their proper authority, when it becomes necessary, to restrain from evil, and guide in the way of virtue. The child that has never learned to depend upon himself, or to control his own passions, and to do right because it is right, will hardly be able to sustain himself when the presence of his parents is withdrawn.

The robins know very well that children grow weary of long lectures; so they give them here a little and there a little instruction, as occasion demands.

They are decided in their family government, but not severe. Their children are taught to obey promptly and cheerfully, but they have no slavish fear of their parents. Their presence is not regarded as a restraint; for, at all suitable times, they have freely permitted their little ones to laugh and frolic to their hearts' content. They willingly listen to all the plans of the birdlings, and lend an attentive ear to the story of their joys and their sorrows. Their sympathy is never withheld; their griefs are never considered as of no consequence because they are brief and soon forgotten.

The parent birds do not leave their young alone but a little while at a time. They often fly home to see them, and sometimes perch on the walnut-tree, and talk with them. Their musical chirpings are pleasant to hear. We don't understand the bird-language; but we judge, by the soft tones, that it is something kind and agreeable they are saying. Perhaps they are talking about their plans for the future, when they all know how to use their wings, and can fly about together.

Very often, during the day, the robins bring worms to fill the gaping mouths. It is surprising how much they eat. No wonder they have grown plump and large, for they eat and sleep as much as they please. We expect soon to see them flying about from tree to tree, and hopping along the ground. We hope that great cat, which steps about so softly, will never find them. She is welcome to all the rats and mice she can put her paws on, but we never like to see her climb a tree, for we fear she will destroy some of our cheerful friends, who build near the house in full confidence that they shall not be disturbed.

The young robins are not lonely in their rural home. The plainly-dressed sparrows and the brilliant yellow-birds look in upon them, and, now and then, their cousin, the oriole, comes, clad in the richest golden plumage, and sings them a song. If he had dipped his feathers in the gorgeous sunset he could not be more beautiful. The delicate little humming-birds sip nectar from the deep horns of the honeysuckle; and the red-winged starling, in his glossy black coat, and his dashing scarlet epaulette, occasionally comes from his home in the meadow, to make them a call. He does not like Honeysuckleville quite as well as his dwelling in the grass, just above the water. If he was not so confirmed in his habits, I think he would be strongly tempted to become a neighbour of the robins. A few weeks ago, when his favourite resort was five or six feet under water, he and his friends seemed to be in great uncertainty what course to pursue. They had several mass meetings on the quince-bushes, in full sight of Honeysuckleville, and a great many speeches were made. It sounded to me like incessant chattering, and as if all were talking at the same time. I could not understand a word they said, and I cannot tell you the result of their deliberations. Whatever it may have been, when the water subsided, they returned to their old haunts by the river-side.

These I have mentioned are not the only visitors whose society our friends enjoy. The swallows gracefully skim through the air, and greet them with their merry voices. The wren often favours them with one of his sweetest melodies, and the blue-bird flies around the corner to sing a song on the walnut-tree. He has a curious little nest of his own, hidden away under the eaves. The cat-birds, of course, are always near, as they live in the lilacs. The oriole has suspended his nest, like a basket, from a limb of the great pear-tree; and when the robins know how to fly, they can return some of his visits.