Friends and Helpers Part 23

Have you ever noticed the downy white seeds of the thistle? A puff of wind will carry away hundreds of these soft, woolly tufts, which sail like tiny balloons. When they drop to the ground they take root and soon become young thistles.

There is no weed more troublesome to the farmer than the thistle. It will soon crowd out the young wheat, and if let alone would cover the whole farm. If the farmer had no help, it would be difficult for him to raise anything but thistles.

He has, however, one of the best helpers in the world. The goldfinch is ready to look for thistle seeds, and asks no wages at all. The farmer ought to be grateful to such a busy little worker.

The mother goldfinch builds a beautiful nest for her little ones. For food they have seeds which she has carefully softened in her own crop.

As soon as the young birds can fly, she takes them to the fields where the thistles grow.

In winter birds are thankful for food and shelter. The story is told of a man who has part of his house-wall covered with cages. The finches which live near his home find snug lodgings in these cages during the cold weather. In the spring his feathered guests build their nests in the cages and pay their rent by working in his garden. They are not confined to the cages, but come and go as they please.

Their wild sweet notes seem to come from a happy heart, and nothing can be prettier than to see a number of these goldfinches swinging on the brown sunflower and daintily feasting on the seeds.

Mr. Frank M. Chapman in "Bird-Life" says: "I wish that every one knew the Goldfinch. His gentle ways and sweet disposition are never-failing antidotes for discontent. One cannot be long near a flock of these birds without being impressed by the refinement which seems to mark their every note and action. They show, too, a spirit of contentment from which we may draw more than a pa.s.sing lesson. 'HEAR ME, HEAR ME, DEARIE,' they call as they feed among the weeds or on the birch buds, and, no matter how poor the fare, they seem thankful for it. The seeds of the dandelion, thistle, and sunflower are among their favorites; and if you would attract goldfinches as well as some other birds, devote a corner of your garden to sunflowers."

BIRDS' TRADES.

The swallow is a mason, And underneath the eaves He builds a nest, and plasters it With mud and hay and leaves.

Of all the weavers that I know The oriole is the best; High on the branches of the tree She hangs her cozy nest.

The woodp.e.c.k.e.r is hard at work-- A carpenter is he-- And you can hear him hammering His nest high up the tree.

Some little birds are miners, Some build upon the ground; And busy little tailors, too, Among the birds are found.

THE SPARROW.

One of the most common of our American birds is the sparrow, of which there are as many as sixteen varieties. Those that we know the best are the field sparrow, the song sparrow, and the chipping sparrow, often called the chippy.

The sparrows are among the earliest comers in the spring, and some of them stay with us through the winter. Their nests may be found in hedges, under bushes, in thick gra.s.s tufts, and in low shrubs.

These nests are usually made of dried gra.s.ses and fine roots, but the chipping sparrow weaves horsehair with the gra.s.s and makes his nest very delicate and dainty. He is often called the hair-bird. He is known also as the social sparrow because he likes best to live near houses, and seems ready to be friendly with mankind. The tree sparrow, though larger, closely resembles him, and is often called the winter chip-bird.

The chipping sparrow's eggs are greenish-blue, speckled with dark brown.

They are four in number. The nest is built in a bush or a low tree.

The song sparrow is a very sweet singer. Early in the spring we hear his song, and he stays late in the autumn. Sometimes he is with us all winter. His nest is usually on the ground or in some low bush. The eggs are grayish-white, clouded and spotted with brown and lavender. When the nest is not disturbed, there are often three broods of little ones during the summer.

We cannot have too many of these sweet songsters. They make our hearts glad with their delightful melody, and they help us to keep our gardens beautiful.

The field sparrow is found in pastures and woodlands. If he is disturbed, he flies up suddenly from the gra.s.s and alights again farther on. He has a sweet song that ends in a little trill.

While we find our own sparrows lovable we are not so fond of the English sparrows, which have become more numerous than the native birds. The English sparrow, or finch, as he is more properly called, may be a troublesome visitor, but we invited him to come, and he is not to blame for some of his disagreeable ways. He is by no means useless, for he clears the gutters of quant.i.ties of unsavory and unsightly fragments which would decay and become a nuisance if not removed. The English sparrow eats also a great many of the army worms which have done so much harm in some parts of the country, and he has in many places entirely destroyed the cankerworms.

He has good traits, and he may certainly be admired for his courage and perseverance. He bears our hard winters very cheerfully, and when no other birds are to be seen he flies about, chirping as bravely as in the summer suns.h.i.+ne.

SPARROWS

Let skies be sunny or clouds hang low Little brown sparrow away you go Ever in search of food or fun Come summer or winter rain or sun

Boughs of lilac whereon to rest April spreads when you build your nest, Autumn feeds you with golden corn And berries ripe on the wayside thorn

Winter comes with its frost and snow Waters may freeze and winds may blow Yet little you care and nought you rue, For every hand has a crumb for you

Through suns.h.i.+ne tomorrow and storm today You go like a friar of orders gray, Finding wherever your fancy leads, A table spread for the wanderer's needs

CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY.

In the far-off land of Norway, Where the winter lingers late, And long for the singing birds and flowers The little children wait;

When at last the summer ripens And the harvest is gathered in, And food for the bleak, drear days to come The toiling people win,--

Through all the land the children In the golden fields remain Till their busy little hands have gleaned A generous sheaf of grain.

All the stalks by the reapers forgotten They glean to the very least, To save till the cold December, For the sparrows' Christmas feast.

And then through the frost-locked country There happens a wonderful thing: The sparrows flock north, south, east, west, For the children's offering.

Of a sudden, the day before Christmas, The twittering crowds arrive, And the bitter, wintry air at once With their chirping is all alive.

They perch upon roof and gable, On porch and fence and tree, They flutter about the windows And peer in curiously.

And meet the eyes of the children, Who eagerly look out With cheeks that bloom like roses red, And greet them with welcoming shout.

On the joyous Christmas morning, In front of every door A tall pole, crowned with cl.u.s.tering grain, Is set the birds before.

And which are the happiest, truly, It would be hard to tell; The sparrows who share in the Christmas cheer, Or the children who love them well!

How sweet that they should remember, With faith so full and sure, That the children's bounty awaited them The whole wide country o'er!

When this pretty story was told me By one who had helped to rear The rustling grain for the merry birds In Norway, many a year,

I thought that our little children Would like to know it too, It seems to me so beautiful, So blessed a thing to do--

To make G.o.d's innocent creatures see In every child a friend, And on our faithful kindness So fearlessly depend.