  The next day was Monday, the first of July. Father Thrift turned the leaf of his homemade calendar. Then he and Shaggy Bear went out into the garden to work. All of a sudden they heard such a commotion! They looked up and saw a great flock of birds flying toward them. There were robins and bluebirds and kingbirds and bobolinks and brown thrashers and catbirds and meadow larks and woodpeckers and wrens, and all the other birds of the forest. Did they come to sing for Father Thrift because it was the first of July? No, not one of the birds was singing now. They were chattering and crying, but you could not make out what the fuss was all about. To Father Thrift and Shaggy it sounded something like this: Charr, charr, caw, caw, churr, churr, chee, chee, Peenk, peenk, quit, quit, chuck, chuck, whee, whee, Tzip, tzip, thsee, thsee, conk-err-ee, whack, Jay, jay, mew, mew, whip, chip, crack, tchack, R-r-r-r-r-r-r!! “R-r-r-r-r-r-r” meant, “We’re angry. Next time we will fight them.” Now the woodpeckers drummed for quiet: “Rrr-runk, tunk, tunk!” Then Mr. Robin walked up to Father Thrift. He said, “Oh, Father Thrift, we have come to tell you that the boys have been very mean to us. Let me tell you what they did to us. “While Mrs. Robin and I were away they climbed up into the tree where we had built Then Mr. Bluebird came. He was a pretty little fellow, and mannerly too. “Oh, Father Thrift,” he said, “let me tell you what the boys did to me. “My nest was in a hole in your apple tree. The boys tore the green apples off the tree “They are not afraid even of you.” Then Mr. Kingbird came up. He said: “What Cousin Bluebird has just told you is true. One of the apples struck my nest and knocked it down. “There were four speckled eggs in it. I have lost not only my home but my pretty eggs with it. Is that right, Father Thrift?” And sadness and sorrow were in his voice. Just then Brown Thrasher came along. He was hopping on one foot. “Oh, Father Thrift,” he said, “look what has happened to me! I was harming no one. I was just singing a song, when I was hit in the leg.” “And pretty are the songs you can sing,” said Father Thrift. “Many, many times have I been made happy by your sweet and cheerful notes. But who was it that hurt you?” “The boys,” replied Brown Thrasher. Now Mrs. Bobolink came up. “Oh, Father Thrift,” she said, sobbing, “hear me! “While I put our house in order Mr. Bobolink would stand guard to see that no enemies came near us. “And he would sing to me at the same time. Such sweet songs as he could sing! I think no other bird could equal him. “We, too, had some eggs in our nest. And we were happy. Yesterday Mr. Bobolink was perched on the tip of a bough, singing, when suddenly he fell to the ground. “I flew to see what the trouble was. And do you know what had happened? “He was dead. He had been hit on the head with a stone. Not far away I saw the boys who killed him. “To-day we dug a grave and buried him under his favorite tree.” And poor Mrs. Bobolink cried harder than ever. Then Father and Mother Meadow Lark came up. “Oh, Father Thrift,” they cried, “listen to what has happened to us! “We had four little children in a nest in the field. The nest was covered over with grasses. We thought it perfectly safe. “But while we were away getting food for our little ones, some one stole them all.” And the Meadow Larks wept as though their hearts would break. “It must have been the boys!” chorused all the birds. Father Thrift looked very angry. “All this is very sad,” he said. “I am sorry indeed to hear it. But, little friends, go home and make the best of things for the present. “Shaggy Bear and I will find some way to help you.” Then the birds flew away. And they made such a noise that the clouds trembled in the sky. |
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