Dooryard Stories Part 5

"Er-roo!" said Mr. White Cat, straightening his legs until he stood very tall indeed. "Er-roo!"

He had made himself so angry now that he could not talk in words at all. Mr. Tiger Cat sat still.

"Er-row!" said Mr. White Cat, speaking way down his throat. "Er-row!"

Mr. Tiger Cat sat still.

Silvertip became so excited that he could not stay longer on the fence. He dearly loved to see a good fight, you know, so he jumped quietly down without looking away from the barn door, and began walking softly toward it. He knew that when a Cat got to saying "Er-row!" down in his throat, something was going to happen very soon.

Silvertip did not know, however, exactly what it would be because he did not see a couple of big Dogs trotting down the street toward him.

He crept nearer and nearer to the barn, hardly looking where he stepped for fear of missing some of the fun. His pretty white paws got wet and dirty, but that did not matter now. Paws could be licked clean at any time. Fights must be watched while they may be found.

"Ra-ow!" said Mr. White Cat, giving a forward jump.

"Pht!" answered Mr. Tiger Cat, standing stiffly on his hind feet and letting his front ones hang straight down. He was wide awake now, and ready to teach Mr. White Cat a lesson in politeness.

"Bow-wow!" said the Dogs just behind Silvertip. He might have run up a tree near by, but he had a bright idea.

"I'll do it," he exclaimed. "The Little Boy says it is wicked to fight, anyway." Then he ran straight in through that open door and jumped to a high shelf in the barn. He saw Miss Tabby turn a summersault backward and crawl under the porch.

Mr. Tiger Cat took a long jump to the sill of a high window. Mr. White Cat did not seem to care at all whether it was going to pour or not.

He sprang to the top round of a ladder. The Dogs frisked below, wagging their tails and talking to each other about the Cats.

Mr. Tiger Cat, who was very well-bred and could always think of something polite to say, remarked to Silvertip: "Your call was quite an unexpected pleasure!" He had a smiling look around the mouth as he spoke.

"Yes," answered Silvertip, who liked a joke as well as anybody, unless it were a joke on himself alone. "Yes, I found myself coming this way, and just ran in."

Then they both settled down comfortably where they were, tucking their feet under them and wrapping their tails around. n.o.body said anything to Mr. White Cat, who had no chance to sit down, and, indeed, could hardly keep from falling off the ladder.

The Dogs frisked and tumbled in the barn for a while and hung around the foot of the ladder. They knew they could not get either of the others, but they had a happy hope that Mr. White Cat might fall.

When at last the Dogs had gone, and Mr. White Cat had also sneaked away, Mr. Tiger Cat said: "Fighting is very wrong."

"Yes," replied Silvertip, "very wrong indeed. But," he added, "I'll make believe fight anybody." So he jumped stiffly down and Mr. Tiger Cat jumped stiffly down, and they glared and growled at each other all the afternoon and never bit or even unsheathed a claw. They had a most delightful time, and Miss Tabby came out from under the porch and smiled on them both. She loved Cats who acted bravely.

A YOUNG SWIFT TUMBLES

In one of the chimneys of the big house several families of Chimney Swifts had built their homes. They had come north in April and flown straight to this particular place. It was the family home of this branch of the Swifts, and every year since great-grandfather Swift discovered it, some of his children and grandchildren had come back there to build. They were quite airy, and thought a great deal about appearances. "Swifts are sure to be judged by the chimney in which they live," they said, "and there is no use in choosing a poor one when there are good ones to be found."

n.o.body would have dared remind these Chimney Swifts that their great-great-great-great-grandparents lived in hollow trees, if indeed any of their friends knew it. They themselves never spoke of the Swifts who still do so, and since they had always lived in a land of chimneys, they did not dream of the times when there were none to be found. Of course, before the white men came to this country Swifts had to build in hollow trees.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHIMNEY-SWIFT'S HOME. _Page 78_]

You can just imagine what a happy, busy place this chimney was in the springtime, when last year's nests were being torn down and new ones were building. The older Swifts were there and those who were to keep house for the first time. Then, of course, the younger ones had married and brought new wives there, and they had to be introduced and shown all over the chimney.

Some wanted to build nearer the top than others, and the older ones were always advising the younger ones. It was so hard for a Swift mother to remember that her married son was old enough to decide things for himself; and many such mothers fluttered around the sons'

nests, telling them how to place each twig, and giving the new wives advice as to how to bring up the babies who would soon come to live with them.

This story is about a young couple who built the lowest nest of all.

They were dressed just alike in sleek, sooty, brown feathers, which were of a lighter shade on their throats. Their necks and heads were very broad, their bills short but able to open very wide; their wings were longer than their tails, and the quills of their tail feathers stuck out stiff and bare far beyond the soft, feathery part. The Swifts are all very proud of these bare quills. "There are not many birds," they say, "who can show their quills in that fas.h.i.+on."

These quills are very useful, too, for after a Swift has broken off a tiny twig for his nest, he has to cling to the side of the chimney and fix it into place, and he could not do this without supporting himself by these tail quills. It is hard work building nests, and you can see that it would be. They have to cling with both feet, support themselves with their tails, put each tiny twig in place with their bills, and glue it there with sticky saliva from their mouths or else with tree-gum.

The young husband who was building his first home low down in the chimney was a st.u.r.dy and rather wilful fellow, who was very sure what he wanted, and just as sure that he was going to get it. When he said, "I shall do this," or, "I am going to have that," other people had learned to keep still. They sometimes had a smiling look around the bill, but they said nothing. His wife was a sweet and sensible Swift who never made a fuss about anything, or bragged of what she meant to do. Still, other Swifts who watched them said that she had her way quite as often as he had his.

It was really she who had chosen to build well down in the chimney.

Her husband had preferred to be near the top, and she had agreed to that, but spoke of what would happen if one of their children should fall out of the nest.

"There is no need of one falling out," said Mr. Swift. "Tell them to lie still and not push around. Then they will not fall out."

Mrs. Swift fixed one of the feathers on the under side of her left wing, and then remarked: "And you do not think it would disturb you to have our neighbors pa.s.sing all the time."

"Yes, I do," he replied. "I have thought so from the first, and I am thinking that it might be well to build lower for that reason. Then we could be pa.s.sing the others instead."

He flew down and pecked at the bricks in a few places to make sure that he could fasten a nest securely. Then he came back to his wife.

"I have decided to build the lowest nest of all," said he, "but you understand it is not on account of the children. There is no sense in their moving around in the nest."

"I understand," said Mrs. Swift, and he flew away for twigs while she stayed behind to visit with her mother-in-law.

The mother-in-law's eyes twinkled. "I believe my son said that his children were not to move around in the nest," she said with a laugh.

"I wonder how he is going to stop their doing so."

"Tell them, I suppose," answered young Mrs. Swift, smilingly. "Did he push around at all when he was a baby?"

"He?" replied the older Swift. "He was the most restless child I ever hatched. He will know more about bringing up children after he has raised a brood or two. Don't worry, my dear. It will come out all right." She flew off and the young wife went for twigs also, and thought how happy she ought to be in having such a mother-in-law.

When the lowest nest was built and the four long pure white eggs were laid in it, Mr. and Mrs. Swift were a very proud young couple. The nest was so thin that one could see the eggs through it quite plainly, but it was exceedingly stout and firm. It was not a soft nest, and it had no real lining, although Mrs. Swift had laid in one especially perfect gra.s.s blade "to give it style."

That gra.s.s blade may be seen to this day by any one who cares to look at the nest as it lies in a cabinet in the house. It was the only nest in the chimney which had anything but twigs in it, and some people wondered at Mrs. Swift's taste. One stout elderly mother Swift said "she supposed it was all right, but that she had never done such a thing and her children had turned out all right." However, young Mrs.

Swift smiled in her pretty way and did not talk back.

When they were planning for the four children whom they expected, Mrs.

Swift spoke of how patient they would have to be with them, but Mr.

Swift said: "They must be brought up to mind! If I tell a child once to do a thing, that is enough. You will see how I bring them up." Then he ruffled up his feathers, puffed out his throat, and looked very important.

They did most of their visiting in the beautiful night-time, for it is a custom among their people to fly and hunt and visit in the dark, and rest by day. Their busiest time is always just before the sun comes up, and so it happened that the Little Boy who slept in the room below did not often hear the rumbling noise in the chimney as they flew in and out. When they were awakened he slept quietly in his snug little bed, and as he was awakening, and stretching, and getting his dimples ready for the day, the Swifts were going to sleep after a busy night.

When the baby Swifts broke their sh.e.l.ls and were seen for the first time by their loving father and mother, Mr. Swift was surprised to find how small they were. Mrs. Swift murmured sweet words to them and worked as hard as her husband to find them food. There were now so many mouths to be fed that they flew by day as well as by night, and often the Little Boy in the room below thought he heard distant thunder when it was only the Swifts coming down the chimney with food for their babies. All sorts of tiny winged creatures were brought them to eat, for Swifts catch all their food as they fly, and that means that they can feed upon only such creatures as also fly.

When they were stretching up to reach the food, Mrs. Swift would say to the children: "Now learn to move carefully, for if you should get over the edge of the nest you will tumble down into that fireplace of which I have told you."

When he was feeding them Mr. Swift would say: "You may open your bills, but not one of you must move beyond that twig. Do you understand?"

Three of them obeyed without asking questions, but the eldest brother was always trying to see just how far he could go without tumbling, and he would talk back to his father.

"You don't care if I put one wing out, do you?" he would ask.