Stories of Birds | Page 4

sisters were busy at play-- A snowbird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee!
He had not been singing that tune very long, When Emily heard him, so loud was his song. "Oh, sister, look out of the window!" said she, "Here's a dear little bird, singing chick-a-de-dee!
"Poor fellow! he walks in the snow and the sleet And has neither stockings nor shoes on his feet, I wonder what makes him so full of his glee, And why he keeps singing, his chick-a-de-dee.
"If I were a barefooted snowbird, I know, I would not stay out in the cold and the snow. I pity him so! Oh, how cold he must be, And yet he keeps singing his chick-a-de-dee.
"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat, let him choose. I wish he'd come into the parlour, and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee!"
The bird had flown down for some sweet crumbs of bread, And heard every word little Emily said. "How funny I'd look in that costume!" thought he, And he laughed, as he warbled his chick-a-de-dee.
"I am grateful," said he, "for the wish you express, But I have no occasion for such a fine dress. I'd rather remain with my little limbs free, Than to hobble about singing chick-a-de-dee.
"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough, too. Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?" And away he flew, singing his chick-a-de-dee.

[1] From "The Second Reader--of the Rational Method In Reading."

HOW THE BIRDS GOT THEIR FEATHERS
(IROQUOIS MYTH)
That evening, as the family sat beside the hearth, Phyllis thought of the brave little chickadees out in the fir-trees.
"I wonder if they are really warm enough," she said. "Do feathers make a warm dress, mother? Why do birds have feathers instead of fur?"
"I have heard the story that the Indians tell of how the birds got their feathers," said mother. "Bring your chairs closer and I will tell the story to you."
So the children drew their chairs up into the firelight, and listened to this little Indian story:
"Once some little Indian children," began the mother, "gathered about the fire inside their deerskin wigwam and begged their mother for a story.
"Each little Indian was wrapped in a bright coloured blanket. Each little Indian wore long turkey buzzard feathers in his hair.
"The Indian mother looked at her baby braves proudly. She thought of the time when each of the children was a tiny papoose and swung in a deerskin cradle like a bird in its nest.
"'There was a time,' said the Indian squaw, 'when the birds had no feathers.
"'Being naked, they remained hidden among the leaves. Being ashamed they were silent, and no bird-note sweetened the stillness of the forest.
"'At last with faint chirpings the mother birds prayed the Great Spirit for blankets in which to wrap their little ones.
"'Then the Great Spirit, seeing their sorry plight, sent a messenger to the birds, who told them that even now coverings were ready for every bird.
"'The messenger said that hereafter each family of birds should dress in uniform, so that the forest people, seeing a bird, might know at once, by its dress, to what bird family it belonged.
"'But alas! the messenger also said that the uniforms were a great way off. He himself could not bring them to the forest. The birds must choose one who was strong of wing and able to endure great hardships, to go back with him and bring the uniforms home.
"'The poor featherless birds looked about for one who was brave and fearless and untiring. A council was held to induce some bird to go on this long journey.
"'But one and all pleaded some excuse. Some must remain to care for the babes still in the nest. Some were too old to undertake the journey. Some were too young to find the way.
"'Some had been ill and were still too weak to travel. Indeed, the birds seemed to be in as sad a plight as before.
"'At last there stepped forth a bird, who, truth to tell, was not a general favourite among his fellows. His name was turkey buzzard.
"'The bird agreed to undertake the long journey and bring back the feathery uniforms, if he could choose the most beautiful coat of feathers for himself and his family for ever.
"'To this the other birds consented, and the featherless turkey buzzard flew away.
"'It was indeed a long and a dangerous journey. Sometimes the poor bird nearly dropped from weariness and hunger. Sometimes, so hungry was he, that he was forced to make a meal off from some dead animal which lay in the way. Indeed so often did he do this that in time he