My Empty Bird's Nest

My Empty Bird's Nest By Mrs. C. R. Colby

Last Spring I had a tall Begonia plant growing on my front porch, close to the door.

Very pretty it was, with its crimson stems its dark, rich, glossy green leaves, and its pale pink blossoms, And it seemed to think that as pretty a plant should grow just as fast, and as high as it could. And so it had stretched away up so that even on tip toe I could not touch its [highest - crossed out] top most cluster of flowers.

One day I saw Madame Brownie and her mate spying around, curiously among my plant swinging on a laden fuschia spray, and setting all its pretty pink and white bells a trembling + All the time they kept up a low sweet talk between themselves, that I did not quite understand; but after a time I guessed by their action, that it was all about building a house, and they seemed to decide that a leafy work in that begonia was just the safest place for it that they could find, if they should search the summer through.

Likewise little birds that they were, they set to work without delay. All day they kept coming and going with a tuft of grass, or a wisp of hair in their bills, and weaving it together in their cunning way, till night came and put a stop to their work.

The next day was Sunday, and I saw nothing of Madame Brownie or her mate and I began to fear they had gone away to

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Build their nest in some safer place.

Maybe they were weary with their labor, and were resting, as good birds should do.

But Monday morning, bright and early they were again at their sweet task. Such loads of grass, and such wisps of hair, as they brought in their tiny bills every few minutes, and so wise and full of care as they seemed at their work, talking to each other in their bird like way, that I am not sure that the building of their house seemed at all like a task to them. To the big, grown up folks who looked on, it seemed more like play Before night the nest was all done, woven of grass and lined with hair, just as soft and cozy a little cup, as a birds nest should be. They had been so trusting that they had let us watch them at their work , and the little nest was just six inches from the door, and not quite as high as my head.

When the nest was built Madame Brownie, cuddled down on its soft bed at once, and the next morning when she flew away to get her breakfast, there was a tiny bit of an egg resting on the soft hair. Such a little egg! And such a nice little neighbor was Madame Brownie. There she sat on her nest day by day and laid her eggs, and never minded who went in or who came out, or how near I came to her when watering my plants.

I believe she would have let me put my hand on her back, if I had tried to do so.

She lookd up to me with her brown eyes as if she would say "I know you will not hurt me."

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And the bright eyed little boys and girls who come to see me every day and to "get a posy", would tip toe and try to look at her and then call to me, "lift me up, lift me up so I can see the birds." And I would hold up one after another, blue eyed Bennie, or golden haired Mattie, till my arms ached and let them look down into the nest to see the queer little eggs.

But Madame Brownie seemed to have no fear of the little ones either. She knew that good little boys and girls would not hurt a bird.

And her loving male would come and go and bring her food, and perch near her on a blossoming vine, or guard the nest and keep the eggs warm, while she made short flights away, and may be called on her bird neighbors

In a few days she hatched her little bare brown birds, three such queer little helpless things they were, with their bills wide open and their eyes closely shut. Both Madame Brownie and her mate were full of care, and looked wiser than ever, as they flew in and out every few minutes to to feed them. "We must not be idle" they said to themselves . "So many mouths to fill, so many little birds to bring up, we have no time to play.

In a few days they grew to be little browns balls of down, with wide open bills and red throats, always waiting for food.

In a short time their sleepy eyes opened wide and they learned to stretch up on their feet, and to flap their funny little wings, and stretch their bills wider open, and to cry for the food that the old birds were always bringing them.

But they called for "more, more" all the day long, and never seemed to get enough.

Such hungry , greedy little things they were

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Each little bird seemed eager to snatch the food from its brother or sister bird, and the old birds had so much to do, they really had no time to teach them better manners.

After a few days they had grown so large the nest would hardly hold them, and they were nearly ready to try their wings and fly away. But one Sunday we heard a a terrible screaming on the porch and all hurried out to seewhat could be the matter.

There were two blue jays, with their crests erect,and fierce eyes, and loud screams, trying to get the young birds from the nest

Poor little Madame Brownie and her mate were trying with all their might and main to drive the screaming Bluejays away, and a good robin was trying hard to help them.

Maybe Mrs. Robin had a nest of young birds some where near, and knew that Blue jay liked young robins just as well as young brownies , and maybe she only wanted to help a neighbor in distress, and so do a kindly deed.

Be that as it may, they were all showing fight in their bird way, but the blue jays did not care a snap for their wrath. They were bound to have a dish of young birds for their Sundays dinner

I presume they were saying over and over to themselves, in their kind of talk just like the huge giant in the old time story book

"Fe- Fi - Fa - Fum! Fe - Fi - Fa - Fum! I smell the blood of an English man, Dead or alive, I'll have some!" Only it was the blood of the young Brownies instead of that that of an English man, upon

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which the Blue jays wished to dine.

Of course we took up cudgelsfor Madame Brownie and her brood, and scolded the bluejays and drove them off. But they did not care a snap for our wrath either.

From a safe distance they scolded back word for word, and louder than we could; and as soon as our backs were turned to go into the house, back they came and pounced on the nest, and with their strong beaks, or sharp claws carried off every one of the little brown birds to feed their own young birds with.

And I dare say that they thought they had a very nice dinner indeed and wished they could have some more of the same kind every day.

But it would have made your heart ache to see the grief of poor Madame Brownie and her mate, and to hear them cry for their baby bird all through the bright afternoon. They kept flying around and around their empty nest, crying as if their little hearts would break.

They seemed to look to us for help till we felt almost guilty, because we had been as helpless an they were, and had not saved their young birds. After dark they came back together and cried over the empty nest, just as if they had hoped that the young birds might come back to it again. Then they went away and came back no more.

A little dark eyed boy wanted the empty nest, but I wanted it too and could not bear to tear it down, for I knew that in the winter days to come it would have a story to tell me. And though a gray haired woman I love stories just as well as children do

I mean such stories as the birds