By J. ALLISON ATWOOD
KINGFISHER’S CREST
ALL of you know Kingfisher by sight. But have you ever noticed anything peculiar about him—anything different from the other birds? No? Well, if you look again you will see that the feathers on top of his head do not lie smoothly, as is the case with most birds, but stand almost on end in the form of a crest. To say the least, this will seem odd, unless one happens to know the cause.
Kingfisher was always a rather solitary fellow. It is said that he came originally from the South. Whether this is so or not, we cannot say, but we do know that he has no relatives in Birdland. He was not called Kingfisher then; indeed, at that time he had no name at all. When he first made his appearance he was in a very unfortunate plight. No one understood his language, so that he could get no help whatever. And, besides, the birds were a little wary of his big bill. Afterwards, when more was known of his quiet habits, their fear turned to something like contempt, and the newcomer was made the object of no end of ridicule. They never ceased to laugh at his great high collar, for it really looked amiss upon a person having so little care of his appearance otherwise.
All this he took rather meekly, for the simple reason that he did not in the least understand it. In reality, Kingfisher possessed a quick temper, and had he guessed that they were making fun of him it would have gone hard with some of them.
On the second day after his arrival, Kingfisher was sitting on a dead limb over the water. He was almost in despair, for as yet he had had no food, and as he was in a strange land, he did not know how to get anything to eat. Suddenly he saw something move in the water below him. Kingfisher did not know what it was, but he did know that it was alive, and, therefore, must be good to eat. Quick as a flash he dived for it. The object sank immediately; still, he followed it. Before he could think he was well under water, but when he came up his feathers were dripping and in his bill was the shining object. Although the fish—as he afterwards learned that these creatures which lived in the water were called—made only a mouthful, Kingfisher was more hopeful, for he now knew how he could make a living. Soon, indeed, he became such an expert that folks called him Kingfisher, meaning, of course, the best fisherman.
When Kingfisher first came to Birdland, he dug a long, narrow tunnel in the sand bank near the creek, and at the end of it he built himself a large room which served him as a home, for he was afraid to remain out of doors all night. Of course, this queer dwelling caused much wonderment, and, more than that, it suggested to the birds a way of frightening Kingfisher. What fun it would be to have him try to scold them in his broken language!
Accordingly, Song Sparrow, Marsh Wren, and Blackbird went in a body to visit Muskrat—a great, lazy fellow, who might always be found loafing about the banks of the stream. What their plan was no one overheard, for they spoke in very low tones. At the end of the consultation Muskrat was seen to climb the bank near Kingfisher’s dwelling. After a moment or two, to make sure that Kingfisher was out, he crept quietly to the entrance and disappeared within.