Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER III

  The Child-Larks

  “Folks will be worried about us, Twink,” said Chubbins.

  “‘Course they will,” Twinkle replied. “They’ll wonder what has become of us, and try to find us.”

  “But they won’t look in the tree-tops.”

  “No.”

  “Nor think to ask the birds where we are.”

  “Why should they?” enquired Twinkle. “They can’t talk to the birds, Chub.”

  “Why not? We talk to them, don’t we? And they talk to us. At least, the p’liceman and the eagle did.”

  “That’s true,” answered Twinkle, “and I don’t understand it a bit. I must ask Mr. Bluejay to ‘splain it to us.”

  “What’s the use of a p’liceman in the forest?” asked Chubbins, after a moment’s thought.

  “I suppose,” she replied, “that he has to keep the birds from being naughty. Some birds are just awful mischiefs, Chub. There’s the magpies, you know, that steal; and the crows that fight; and the jackdaws that are saucy, and lots of others that get into trouble. Seems to me P’liceman Bluejay’s a pretty busy bird, if he looks after things as he ought.”

  “Prob’ly he’s got his hands full,” said Chubbins.

  “Not that; for he hasn’t any hands, any more than we have. Perhaps you ought to say he’s got his wings full,” suggested Twinkle.

  “That reminds me I’m hungry,” chirped the boy-lark.

  “Well, we’ve got the basket,” she replied.

  “But how can we eat cake and things, witched up as we are?”

  “Haven’t we mouths and teeth, just the same as ever?”

  “Yes, but we haven’t any hands, and there’s a cloth tied over the top of the basket.”

  “Dear me!” exclaimed Twinkle; “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  They flew together to the basket and perched upon the edge of it. It seemed astonishingly big to them, now that they were so small; but Chubbins remarked that this fact was a pleasant one, for instead of eating all the good things the basket contained at one meal, as they had at first intended, it would furnish them with food for many days to come.

  But how to get into the basket was the thing to be considered just now. They fluttered around on every side of it, and finally found a small place where the cloth was loose. In a minute Chubbins began clawing at it with his little feet, and Twinkle helped him; so that gradually they managed to pull the cloth away far enough for one of them to crawl through the opening. Then the other followed, and because the big basket was not quite full there was exactly room for them to stand underneath the cloth and walk around on top of a row of cookies that lay next to a row of sandwiches.

  The cookies seemed enormous. One was lying flat, and Chubbins declared it seemed as big around as the dining-table at home.

  “All the better for us,” said Twinkle, bending her head down to nibble at the edge of the cookie.

  “If we’re going to be birds,” said Chubbins, who was also busily eating as best he could, “we ought to be reg’lar birds, and have bills to peck with. This being half one thing and half another doesn’t suit me at all.”

  “The witch wasn’t trying to suit us,” replied Twinkle; “she was trying to get us into trouble.”

  “Well, she did it, all right,” he said.

  It was not so hard to eat as they had feared, for their slender necks enabled them to bend their heads low. Chubbins’ hat fell off, a minute later, and he wondered how he was going to get it on his head again.

  “Can’t you stand on one foot, and use the other foot like a hand?” asked Twinkle.

  “I don’t know,” said he.

  “The storks stand on one leg,” continued the girl. “I’ve seen ‘em in pictures.”

  So Chubbins tried it, and found he could balance his little body on one leg very nicely. For if he toppled either way he had but to spread his wings and tail feathers and so keep himself from falling. He picked up his hat with the claws of his other foot and managed to put it on by ducking his head.

  This gave the boy-lark a new idea. He broke off a piece of the cookie and held it in his claw while he ate it; and seeing his success Twinkle followed his example, and after a few attempts found she could eat very comfortably in that way.

  Having had their luncheon — and it amazed Chubbins to see how very little was required to satisfy their hunger — the bird-children crept out of the basket and flew down to the twig beside their nest.

  “Hello!” cried a strange voice. “Newcomers, eh?”

  They were so startled that they fluttered a moment to keep from tumbling off the limb. Then Twinkle saw a furry red head sticking out of a small hollow in the trunk of the tree. The head had two round black eyes, an inquisitive nose, a wide mouth with sharp teeth and whiskers like those of a cat. It seemed as big as the moon to the shy little child-larks, until it occurred to the girl that the strange creature must be a squirrel.

  “You — you scared us!” she said, timidly.

  “You scared me, at first,” returned the squirrel, in a comic tone. “Dear me! how came you birds to have children’s heads?”

  “That isn’t the way to put it,” remarked Chubbins, staring back into the eyes of the squirrel. “You should ask how we children happened to have birds’ bodies.”

  “Very well; put the conundrum that way, if you like,” said the squirrel. “What is the answer?”

  “We are enchanted,” replied Twinkle.

  “Ah. The tuxix?”

  “Yes. We were caught in the forest, and she bewitched us.”

  “That is too bad,” said their new acquaintance. “She is a very wicked old creature, for a fact, and loves to get folks into trouble. Are you going to live here?”

  “Yes,” answered the girl. “Policeman Bluejay gave us this nest.”

  “Then it’s all right; for Policeman Bluejay rules the feathered tribes of this forest about as he likes. Have you seen him in full uniform yet?”

  “No,” they replied, “unless his feathers are his uniform.”

  “Well, he’s too proud of his office to be satisfied with feathers, I can tell you. When some folks get a little authority they want all the world to know about it, and a bold uniform covers many a faint heart. But as I’m your nearest neighbor I’ll introduce myself. My name’s Wisk.”

  “My name is Twinkle.”

  “And mine’s Chubbins.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the squirrel, nodding. “I live in the second flat.”

  “How’s that?” asked the boy.

  “Why, the second hollow, you know. There’s a ‘possum living in the hollow down below, who is carrying four babies around in her pocket; and Mrs. Hootaway, the gray owl, lives in the hollow above — the one you can see far over your heads. So I’m the second flat tenant.”

  “I see,” said Twinkle.

  “Early in the morning the ‘possum comes growling home to go to bed; late at night the owl hoots and keeps folks awake; but I’m very quiet and well behaved, and you’ll find me a good neighbor,” continued Wisk.

  “I’m sure of that,” said Chubbins.

  As if to prove his friendship the squirrel now darted out of the hollow and sat upon a limb beside the children, holding his bushy tail straight up so that it stood above his head like a big plume in a soldier’s helmet.

  “Are you hungry?” asked the girl.

  “Not very. I cannot get much food until the nuts are ripe, you know, and my last winter’s supply was gone long ago. But I manage to find some bits to eat, here and there.”

  “Do you like cookies?” she asked.

  “I really do not know,” answered Wisk. “Where do they grow?”

  “In baskets. I’ll get you a piece, and you can try it.” So Twinkle flew up and crept into her basket again, quickly returning with a bit of cookie in her claw. It was not much more than a crumb, but nevertheless it was all that she could carry.

  The squirrel seized the mor
sel in his paws, examined it gravely, and then took a nibble. An instant later it was gone.

  “That is very good, indeed!” he declared. “Where do these baskets of cookies grow?”

  “They don’t grow anywhere,” replied Twinkle, with a laugh. “The baskets come from the grocery store, and my mama makes the cookies.”

  “Oh; they’re human food, then.”

  “Yes; would you like some more?”

  “Not just now,” said Wisk. “I don’t want to rob you, and it is foolish to eat more than one needs, just because the food tastes good. But if I get very hungry, perhaps I’ll ask you for another bite.”

  “Do,” said the girl. “You are welcome to what we have, as long as it lasts.”

  “That is very kind of you,” returned the squirrel.

  They sat and talked for an hour, and Wisk told them stories of the forest, and of the many queer animals and birds that lived there. It was all very interesting to the children, and they listened eagerly until they heard a rushing sound in the air that sent Wisk scurrying back into his hole.

  CHAPTER IV

  An Afternoon Reception

  Twinkle and Chubbins stretched their little necks to see what was coming, and a moment later beheld one of the most gorgeous sights the forest affords — a procession of all the bright-hued birds that live among the trees or seek them for shelter.

  They flew in pairs, one after the other, and at the head of the procession was their good friend Policeman Bluejay, wearing a policeman’s helmet upon his head and having a policeman’s club tucked underneath his left wing. The helmet was black and glossy and had a big number “1” on the front of it, and a strap that passed under the wearer’s bill and held it firmly in place. The club was fastened around the policeman’s wing with a cord, so that it could not get away when he was flying.

  The birds were of many sizes and of various colorings. Some were much larger than the bluejay, but none seemed so proud or masterful, and all deferred meekly to the commands of the acknowledged guardian of the forest.

  One by one the pretty creatures alighted upon the limbs of the tree, and the first thing they all did was to arrange their feathers properly after their rapid flight. Then the bluejay, who sat next to the child-larks, proceeded to introduce the guests he had brought to call upon the newest inhabitants of his domain.

  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Robin Redbreast, one of our most aristocratic families,” said he, swinging his club around in a circle until Chubbins ducked his head for fear it might hit him.

  “You are welcome to our forest,” chirped Robin, in a sedate and dignified tone.

  “And here is Mr. Goldfinch and his charming bride,” continued the policeman.

  “Ah, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the goldfinch murmured, eyeing the child-larks curiously, but trying to be so polite that they would not notice his staring.

  “Henny Wren and Jenny Wren,” proceeded the policeman.

  Twinkle and Chubbins both bowed politely.

  “Well, well!” croaked a raven, in a hoarse voice, “am I to wait all day while you introduce those miserable little insignificant grub-eaters?”

  “Be quiet!” cried Policeman Bluejay, sternly.

  “I won’t,” snapped the raven.

  It happened so quickly that the children saw nothing before they heard the thump of the club against the raven’s head.

  “Caw — waw — waw — waw! Murder! Help!” screamed the big bird, and flew away from the tree as swiftly as his ragged wings would carry him.

  “Let him go,” said a sweet brown mocking-bird. “The rowdy is always disturbing our social gatherings, and no one will miss him if he doesn’t come back.”

  “He is not fit for polite society,” added a nuthatcher, pruning her scarlet wings complacently.

  So the policeman tucked the club under his wing again and proceeded with the introductions, the pewees and the linnets being next presented to the strangers, and then the comical little chicadees, the orioles, bobolinks, thrushes, starlings and whippoorwills, the latter appearing sleepy because, they explained, they had been out late the night before.

  These smaller birds all sat in rows on the limbs beside Twinkle and Chubbins; but seated upon the stouter limbs facing them were rows of bigger birds who made the child-larks nervous by the sharp glances from their round, bright eyes. Here were blackbirds, cuckoos, magpies, grosbeaks and wood-pigeons, all nearly as big and fierce-looking as Policeman Bluejay himself, and some so rugged and strong that it seemed strange they would submit to the orders of the officer of the law. But the policeman kept a sharp watch upon these birds, to see that they attempted no mischievous pranks, and they must have been afraid of him because they behaved very well after the saucy raven had left them. Even the chattering magpies tried to restrain their busy tongues, and the blackbirds indulged in no worse pranks than to suddenly spread their wings and try to push the pigeons off the branch.

  Several beautiful humming-birds were poised in the air above this gathering, their bodies being motionless but their tiny wings fluttering so swiftly that neither Twinkle nor Chubbins could see them at all.

  Policeman Bluejay, having finally introduced all the company to the child-larks, began to relate the story of their adventures, telling the birds how the wicked tuxix had transformed them into the remarkable shapes they now possessed.

  “For the honor of our race,” he said, “we must each and every one guard these little strangers carefully, and see that they come to no harm in our forest. You must all pledge yourselves to befriend them on all occasions, and if any one dares to break his promise he must fight with me to the death — and you know very well what that means.”

  “We do,” said a magpie, with a shrill laugh. “You’ll treat us as you did Jim Crow. Eh?”

  The policeman did not notice this remark, but the other birds all looked grave and thoughtful, and began in turn to promise that they would take care to befriend the child-larks at all times. This ceremony having been completed, the birds began to converse in a more friendly and easy tone, so that Twinkle and Chubbins soon ceased to be afraid of them, and enjoyed very much their society and friendly chatter.

  CHAPTER V

  The Oriole’s Story

  “We are really very happy in this forest,” said an oriole that sat next to Twinkle, “and we would have no fears at all did not the men with guns, who are called hunters, come here now and then to murder us. They are terribly wild and ferocious creatures, who have no hearts at all.”

  “Oh, they must have hearts,” said Twinkle, “else they couldn’t live. For one’s heart has to beat to keep a person alive, you know.”

  “Perhaps it’s their gizzards that beat,” replied the oriole, reflectively, “for they are certainly heartless and very wicked. A cousin of mine, Susie Oriole, had a very brave and handsome husband. They built a pretty nest together and Susie laid four eggs in it that were so perfect that she was very proud of them.

  “The eggs were nearly ready to hatch when a great man appeared in the forest and discovered Susie’s nest. Her brave husband fought desperately to protect their home, but the cruel man shot him, and he fell to the ground dead. Even then Susie would not leave her pretty eggs, and when the man climbed the tree to get them she screamed and tried to peck out his eyes. Usually we orioles are very timid, you know; so you can well understand how terrified Susie was to fight against this giant foe. But he had a club in his hand, with which he dealt my poor cousin such a dreadful blow that she was sent whirling through the air and sank half unconscious into a bush a few yards away.

  “After this the man stole the eggs from the nest, and also picked up the dead body of Susie’s husband and carried it away with him. Susie recovered somewhat from the blow she had received, and when she saw her eggs and her poor dead husband being taken away, she managed to flutter along after the man and followed him until he came to the edge of the forest. There he had a horse tied to a tree, and he mounted upon the beast’s back and rode a
way through the open country. Susie followed him, just far enough away to keep the man in sight, without being noticed herself.

  “By and bye he came to a big house, which he entered, closing the door behind him. Susie flew into a tree beside the house and waited sorrowfully but in patience for a chance to find her precious ones again.

  “The days passed drearily away, one after another, but in about a week my cousin noticed that one of the windows of the house had been left open. So she boldly left her tree and flew in at the window, and luckily none of the people who lived in the house happened to be in the room.

  “Imagine Susie’s surprise when she saw around the sides of the room many birds sitting silently upon limbs cut from trees, and among them her own husband, as proud and beautiful as he had ever been before the cruel man had killed him! She quickly flew to the limb and perched beside her loved one.

  “‘Oh, my darling!’ she cried, ‘how glad I am to have found you again, and to see you alive and well when I had mourned you as dead. Come with me at once, and we will return to our old home in the forest.’

  “But the bird remained motionless and made no reply to her loving words. She thrust her bill beside his and tried to kiss him, but he did not respond to the caress and his body was stiff and cold.

  “Then Susie uttered a cry of grief, and understood the truth. Her husband was indeed dead, but had been stuffed and mounted upon the limb to appear as he had in life. Small wires had been pushed through his legs to make his poor body stand up straight, and to Susie’s horror she discovered that his eyes were only bits of glass! All the other birds in the room were stuffed in the same way. They looked as if they were alive, at the first glance; but each body was cold and every voice mute. They were mere mockeries of the beautiful birds that this heartless and cruel man had deprived of their joyous lives.

  “Susie’s loving heart was nearly bursting with pain as she slowly fluttered toward the open window by which she had entered. But on her way a new anguish overtook her, for she noticed a big glass case against the wall in which were arranged clusters of eggs stolen from birds of almost every kind. Yes; there were her own lovely eggs, scarcely an inch from her face, but separated from her by a stout glass that could not be broken, although she madly dashed her body against it again and again.