“A fire would be a good idea, if it is in a safe place, but if you are going to see birds, you don’t want to carry much. All I have will go into my pocket. Have any of you field glasses, or even opera glasses?”
Nobody had, so far as these girls knew. “And, Miss Haynes, don’t you bother about any lunch,” said Jean. “If you let us go with you, we’ll take enough sandwiches for all of us—please.”
“Very well. That is very nice of you. I am glad that we are having this warmer spell, but bundle up just the same, for there will be some breeze, at least near the lake. Do you ever have any snow in April?”
“Sometimes, but it usually does not stay so long. You speak as if you didn’t want any. Don’t you like winter fun any more?”
“I’m not too old yet, Phoebe,” laughed Miss Haynes, “but I want to get out as easily as possible during the spring migration of birds—so I want a pleasant April and May.”
“We’ll do our best to get it for you, Miss Haynes,” declared Nan, rising with Jean, to go. You didn’t want a teacher to get tired of you, of course, and Miss Haynes was busy. Funny, she didn’t like tests, either, because you had to grade papers. Still, how would she find out who knew anything?
The girls hurried home to call up the rest of the S. P.’s and notify them of the hike. Leigh said that her father had a field glass. She would bring that. Mrs. French hunted up an old opera glass for Molly. Kinds of sandwiches were distributed according to the variety each was in the habit of making most successfully. Chocolate bars were bought, to be stowed in pockets.
Without something hot it would be a funny sort of a beach party, they thought. Accordingly local shops sold a few tin cups or those equally light. The girls would have cocoa.
In the morning, Jean, who had no glass to carry, put her sandwiches in an aluminum kettle, carefully wrapped “not to rattle and scare the birds away.” Water could be found at springs familiar to all of them. Cream went farther than milk and was not so heavy. One bottle was tucked in the pocket of Phoebe’s oldest coat and Nan put another in hers. Pockets bulged and Bess swung from her arm a box of marshmallows, these for toasting.
Miss Haynes smiled broadly when the seven girls made their appearance at the door of her boarding house, just as she was starting out. “Good for you,” she cried, “all with sensible wraps on. I fancy, from the looks of your pockets, that we shall not go hungry.”
Familiar as the girls thought they were with the country about their town, Miss Haynes, a comparative stranger, could show many new things; for some conveyance had usually taken them to the big lake, and to the smaller ones sometimes, for their beach parties, and many very interesting bypaths were unknown to the girls.
How wet it was. Water came up around their overshoes as they walked over the soft turf by the muddy road. Snow lay in the fence corners. But the sky was blue and the birds were already singing, some meadow larks in a field and a flock of red-winged blackbirds in a swampy place not far out of town. Miss Haynes called attention to a song sparrow in a little leafless tree, where twigs and bird were etched against the sky. For the first time the Stealthy Prowlers deserved their new name, as they crept near enough to get a good look at the brown splashes on the sparrow’s breast, with the “breast-pin” where they coalesce. And while they watched, the little finch bill opened and the bubbling, merry song rang out.
Miss Haynes, pleased with their interest, watched the girls more than the sparrow. “When you learn to know voices and songs,” said she, “you will not have to see some of them to find out what they are.”
“I never thought of learning the voices of birds,” exclaimed Phoebe, who was musically inclined. “Has it been here all winter, or has it just come?”
“It may have been here all winter, not singing much.”
The sparrow had flown away before they began to discuss it, but Miss Haynes directed them toward some willows by the brook, which they were approaching. “I see a little flock of birds about those willows,” said she. “Come quietly, and tell me what you see, after you have had a good look. I will pass the glass around.”
This time they stood at some little distance and looked through Leigh’s glass, Molly’s opera glass and Miss Haynes’ stronger glass. One little fellow settled in the top of a bush, giving the girls a fine view of his breast. No, it wasn’t another song sparrow.
Another little chap turned his back upon them; but just as the other bird flew, this one shifted his position, and they saw that his breast was like that of the other. Then some movement in the bushes startled the flock. With a soft whirring of wings, together they all flew away and Miss Haynes turned smiling to ask, “What did you see, girls? How many had a good look?” she added, in teacher fashion. “You scarcely know, I suppose, how lucky you are to start your bird study so early, before the foliage gets in your way and before some of the winter visitants leave us. I’m much mistaken if the tree sparrows will stay at this latitude, or fox sparrows, either.”
“Mercy, how many sparrows are there?” asked Jean. But not waiting to be answered she continued enthusiastically, “Oh, I had the best look, Miss Haynes! They are the cunnin’est! I saw just a sparrowy back, something like the English sparrows, and the top of the head was a sort of reddish brown. Then right in the middle of the breast there was a cute little spot. It wasn’t streaked, like the song sparrow.”
“Very good, Jean. Remember particularly the one spot. Not all of the sparrows are so easily identified. You asked me how many there are—probably you will identify a dozen species around here, during the migration, and there are more.”
“I’ll never get them,” declared Bess.
“One at a time,” suggested Miss Haynes, with a smile. “Nature lessons are much like other lessons, except that there is such a thrill to them that you are more likely to remember them.”
“I believe it!” cried Jean.
“Did you hear a sweet little song, different from that of the song sparrow, Jean?”
Jean and Molly had noticed it.
“It was from one of the tree sparrows,” explained Miss Haynes.
“Did you see him do it?” asked Leigh.
“No; I just know the song,” Miss Haynes returned.
“Imagine!”
Miss Haynes was already much at home in the country about the village, and the girls, on the other hand, were greatly surprised to find how little they knew about some phases of their native environment. They left the swampy region, crossed the brook, now considerably swollen, but having a bridge, and then left it behind to climb a high bank or bluff, from whose top they could see the larger stream, or river which drained the inland lake. A few robins were among the trees here. These the girls knew, as well as the bluebird warble, which called their attention to the singer.
A bluejay called harshly and two or three crows flew over. Miss Haynes motioned to the girls to stand still and listen. Dead leaves in wet, drifted heaps, patches of snow, and leafless trees were around them. Jean drew her coat more tightly around her and fastened her fur collar together. The March wind was noticeable here.
Now came a funny little call, like the far away honk of a car, Jean said afterward. Miss Haynes’ pointing finger drew their attention to the trunk of a large tree. Some of the girls looked blank, but Jean had caught a glimpse of something. Some bird had moved around, upon the opposite side of the tree trunk.
There he was again! Ah, how pretty! What could it be? A little gray-blue, or blue-gray bird was searching the old trunk for food. He seemed to be getting some, too.
Jean strained her eyes to distinguish the markings, until Miss Haynes put her own glass in Jean’s hands. Then, alas, she had trouble in focussing it for her eyes and the bird had gone out upon a little limb. “If birds would only stay put!” she thought. Now it was back upon the trunk. Now it was going up; now it was going down. Now it “walked out on the under side of a large limb,�
� as Jean told her father that night. Finally she had a good look, for the little fellow stopped, raised his head and looked off for a moment, to see if there were any danger near, or, possibly, to find a better feeding ground.
“Quank-quank!” he said, or “honk-honk!” How shining a black were his crown, and nape, and how white his breast. Never would Jean forget her first white-breasted nuthatch. Thank fortune, it wasn’t like anything else, either. You wouldn’t get it mixed up!
By this time Miss Haynes was becoming so interested in teaching the girls that she decided to give up her own cherished time for discoveries of her own in order to keep on showing them what were, so far, perfectly familiar to her. But her reward came a little later.
Again the girls became the Stealthy Prowlers in earnest as they tried very hard to make no noise in going down a little cleft in these high banks. There was snow instead of mud, which made it easier, if slippery. In a moment they stood upon a stony ledge that was only a short distance above a wider, sheltered spot, where a number of birds had gathered out of the wind. Miss Haynes’ glass was directed toward some little birds upon the ground. Accordingly, the girls focussed attention and the two other glasses there.
Those using only eyes could see some little brown-streaked birds, scratching like chickens among the dead leaves. Molly grinned as she put her opera glass into Jean’s hands and pointed out one little bird nearest them, whose active foot was making dirt and decaying leaves fly behind it. “Did you ever see anything cuter?” she whispered. “Must be some other kind of a sparrow.”
By this time Jean was getting accustomed to seeing differences. So clear was the white, so heavy were the brown streaks of the under parts. There was a greenish tinge to the sparrowy crown, as the sun shone full upon it. The long tail was a reddish brown, but it was a sparrow tail. “It’s bigger than the tree sparrows,” she whispered to Molly, “and look at the little thing near him. It’s different. I’d like to look again when you are through. If I’m not crazy, it has a pink bill!”
Molly looked at both birds, changing the focus of her glass as the birds moved a little farther away, still feeding. “Now take it, Jean, quick! What do you suppose that little dark thing is? It’s got a black hood and cloak on!”
Jean’s hand was trembling a little as she took again the glass offered by generous Molly. Nothing is more thrilling than discovery. It may not be a discovery which thrills a continent. It may even be something that others have discovered before. But something becomes yours. And just that combination of circumstances may be new. In these years many girls and boys are lending themselves to scientific gains.
Jean was not the only girl who was afraid that the birds would fly before they had seen all there was to be known about them. The glasses went from hand to hand. There was perfect quiet till Miss Haynes herself slipped a little on an icy stone. Another whir of wings, and the birds were off!
“I’m glad that it was you, Miss Haynes, and not us, we, I mean,” said Bess, correcting her own error.
“Yes, I was the guilty one,” laughed Miss Haynes, clutching Fran to regain her footing.
“Oh, Miss Haynes, what were those little dark things, and which birds had the white streaks in the tails when they flew? I was too confused to tell.”
“You are very observant, Jean, I see. Those were the slate-colored juncos, or black snow-birds. They were feeding with the fox sparrows. They have white feathers at the sides of the tail and show them when they fly. Did you think them pretty?”
“I think so!” cried Leigh. “Those pretty pink bills! And they were all white underneath, so it looked as if they had dark hoods and cloaks, the way the dark gray went straight across the breast!”
“That’s just what Molly thought,” said Jean. “I must put down what I’ve seen for fear I’ll get it mixed.”
“I’m taking notes, Jean,” said Nan. “We’ll keep a record of what the S. P.’s see.”
“Then put down that the tree sparrow is called the ‘winter chippy’ sometimes,” Miss Haynes added. “The chipping sparrow is a little like it, though that has no spot on its breast.”
“I saw a little streak of brown on the tree sparrow’s cheek,” meditatively remarked Jean, to the amusement of the crowd. But Miss Haynes told them that it was proper to speak of “cheeks” with birds.
Back to the top of the bank they climbed, to see bronzed grackles, which they knew as common blackbirds; more bluebirds, and a small flock of quail that scurried across an open space into underbrush.
But Miss Haynes said, “Listen. There is one more very common little bird that I’ll wager half of the United States sees and does not know. That is the tufted titmouse. I thought I heard one. Here it comes.”
Something flew into a tree above their heads and great were the twistings of necks and pointing of glasses in the effort to see. A second bird followed the first and there was what Jean called “conversation.”
“Sounds like kissing,” said Molly, listening, while Jean looked through her glass.
“More like chirruping to a horse,” declared Phoebe.
In a moment a clear, sweet whistle came from above their heads. “Spring is here now,” said Miss Haynes. “The tufted titmouse has given us his word.”
“Was that it, that ‘Peter, Peter, Peter’?” Fran asked.
“Yes. And you may have noticed that the whistle was a little like the quality of the chickadee’s whistle.”
“Why, doesn’t the chickadee call ‘Chickadee, dee, dee, dee, dee’?”
“Yes; and the titmouse talks in about the same ‘tone of voice’; but I mean the clear whistle of both of them. That will be one thing for you to find out, then. The chickadee is the black-capped titmouse, so you see they are related. Who saw what the titmouse looks like?”
Several hands were raised, much as in school, but no one could say much more than it was a little grayish bird with a tuft on its head. “Look it up in the bird book,” said Miss Haynes.
“Oh, we haven’t any bird books, Miss Haynes!”
“That’s so, you haven’t, and not a library in the whole town except the school library, and that is limited! Well, there is one encyclopedia, also a dictionary! I tell you what I’ll do. I will bring my Chapman’s Handbook and some field books I have to school; and if you will be careful of my books, I’ll let you look up any bird you like. Take careful notes of every point when you are out. Then look it up. I will show you how different the bills are and how you should look for size and shape and flight and coloring and everything. Oh, what is that, girls?”
This time it was Miss Haynes who asked the question. They were approaching the inland lake that lay ahead of them, its quiet waters only ruffled a little by the wind now, and its whole expanse shining in the morning sun. Reeds at the end nearest them grew up in shallow sands, and there it was that Miss Haynes had caught a glint of yellow.
“Where, Miss Haynes?” asked Jean.
“I caught a gleam of yellow; but those were blackbirds, weren’t they, that disappeared into that copse?”
“I did not notice, because blackbirds are so common; but we have yellow-headed blackbirds here and I imagine that is what you saw.”
“Jean, that was it! Why, do you know I never saw one before, and to think I did not find them last week! Now find me a new water-bird, and the S. P.’s may study birds with me forever!”
At that the S. P.’s began to look about in earnest. “We have black terns that nest here,” said Leigh. “Father knows them.”
As if in response to their eager desire, that of pleasing their new friend, two birds flew out of the reeds and settled upon the narrow beach. “Oh,” gasped Miss Haynes, forgetting girls and everything as she stood with her glass at her eyes. The girls stood stock still, not caring to look for themselves, for these were birds that circled about the lake all summer, birds in every variety of plumage, adult or immature.
But one of these two terns was the adult male bird, with its black head, neck, breast and underbody. The other bird was still in winter plumage, or was immature. “I don’t know whether that bird ought to be black at this time or not,” breathed Miss Haynes to herself, “but it is. Put down in your notes, Nan, that the S. P.’s have shown their teacher two new birds this day! Now let us have lunch.”
Enough material was found that would burn, especially as Jean’s kettle contained some kindling and paper below her sandwiches. Let the Indians make fires without matches. The S. P.’s would do it in the quickest way possible. There was not much danger that they would set fire to anything so damp as the surrounding woods, but they were careful, for the wind had dried the leaves in some places. It was a mild breeze now and the sun was warm. They screened their fire from the wind by dragging a log around and putting some branches up against it, or behind it in the sand. “We’ve had a fire here before,” the girls said, by way of explaining how they could so easily find two posts, so to speak, that supported a third long piece from which Jean’s kettle could hang. It was a little insecure, but Jean watched it, ready to catch the kettle’s looping handle upon a long stick which she held.
“The boys usually drive down the supports for us,” said Bess, “but we have to learn to be independent now. We’ll take you to a beach party on Lake Michigan some time, Miss Haynes, if you will go. We’ll get some wild place where the gulls are likely to be, if you like.”
“I shall like very much, Bess, and I will go with pleasure.”
The fire was allowed to die down as soon as the cocoa had come to the proper stage. Water from the spring was poured upon it, for they wanted to leave as soon as the lunch was eaten. Along the old log they sat to eat their sandwiches and fruit and drink their warming cocoa, though the sun shone down upon their backs and kept them from being chilled.
Nan drew from her pocket the notes which she had scribbled on the way. “Tree sparrow, fox sparrow, junco, song sparrow, robin, bronzed grackle, white-breasted nuthatch, tufted titmouse, meadow lark, red-winged blackbird, chickadee, turtle dove—I guess that’s all.” But on the way back they added more, though only recording those that the S. P.’s had actually identified, or had thoroughly noted themselves.
The Third Girl Detective Page 104
