Dickey Downy: The Autobiography of a Bird

that in

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my childre

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e distance from the highway. From this it was separated by plowed fields

sun found its way through the foliage, the air was

were ever still a minute. Constantly hopping back and forth, first on one bough, then on another, flirting down between times to pick up a cricket or a bug, they were indeed, a most fidgetty set. Their restlessness extended even to their handsom

o but eat, sleep, and grow, we had no interest in things outside and did not dream there was such a thing as vexation or sorrow or crime in this beautiful world. When our pa

ig heads so disproportioned to the size of our bodies, which were scantily covered with a fuzzy down that scarcely concealed our nakedne

little one to rest, showed more devotion than did she, as she hovered near the tiny cradle of coarse grass and leaves woven by her own cunning skill

orm turned up by the plow expressly for our dessert. We were indeed glad to be of use to the farmer by devouring these pests so destructive to his crops, but did not limit our labors to these places; we also m

like the hammer of an industrious blacksmith breaking on the still air. His jaunty red cap and broad white shoulder cape made of him a very pretty object as he worked away blithely and cheerily at his useful task. W

e must injure its muscles. Aside from the many frights he gave us it is sad to relate that he succeeded before many days in getting away with one of our number. One morning he crept softly up to a young robin which had flown down in the grass, but had not sufficient power to rise quickly, and before the unsuspecting little creat

ul to listen to their merry chat. So affectionate toward each other, so gentle and withal so bright and lively, they seemed to bring a streak of sunshine with them whenever they came. Miss Dorothy, who was tall and stately, seldom sat on the grassy tufts which rose like little foot

weeds should cling to my gown. You must remember, Sister Dorothy, there are different kinds of dirt. I haven't any respect for grease spots or for clothes soiled from wearing them too long. I don't like

too, don't you, aunty?

r. I love all the pre

ies too?" ask

love the birds t

en he caught the baby robin the other

en her own palms. "That naughty puss gets plenty to eat in the house and there are lots of nice fat mice i

ause her little one was dead," adde

y. "Poor mamma-bird! It can never have its baby bird any more," she sai

I feel very

out her little children are gone forever and ever." And with her bright eyes dimmed with tears of pity, Marian

I almost wished I were a carrier pigeon, that I might devote myself hereaf

e flew that evening to our roosting-place, I observed to my mother that if

responded sadly. "It is true the cat is cruel

ked in surprise. "I thought the cat was

a moment. Then she said impressively, "Our greatest enemy is man. No,"

ent. "The pretty ladies who speak so sweet and kind! The pretty la

ther

"the pretty ladies,