Minnie; or, The Little Woman Part 6

"I wonder which is worse vanity," thought Minnie, "to boast of one's friends or one's self!"

But here yellow-bird hopped upon a spray, and sang a delightful little song in honor of their fair guest, whom he compared to a flower, a little cloud, a soft willow-bud of the spring-time, a white strawberry, and many other things in which birds delight.

The company were so pleased that they begged to hear the song again,--all except rabbit, who, finding his mistake at last, hopped further in among the leaves, and hid himself, feeling very much ashamed.

Then yellow-bird, instead of repeating his first song, sang another, which was sweeter still. It told how full the world might be of love and happiness, how many such good times as this all creatures might have, if they would but be gentle and kind, willing to please, and ready to forgive.

As the last note died away, oriole, impatient to show his skill, remarked that yellow-bird's song was too much like a sermon; and, without waiting for invitation, he then gave what seemed to him a better one.

And it was enchanting music. O, so clear, and wild, and joyous, that it made the other birds lift their wings, and long to fly!

Hearing a plunge in the water near, and a sigh of pleasure, Minnie looked down between the branches, and saw a handsome green frog, that had come to listen to the music; and swarms of little fish, with rainbow-colors on their silver scales, all listening too.

So the afternoon pa.s.sed in speeches and music. The squirrels, who could not sing, told stories that made the company laugh right heartily. Even Minnie took her part in the entertainment, by relating how people in the village lived, how they ate, and drank, and slept, and why they did many things which had puzzled the birds and squirrels amazingly.

All this was as interesting to her listeners as it would be for us to read Robinson Crusoe, or Dr. Kane's travels among the icebergs and Esquimaux.

Repeating their thanks to squirrel, and each one politely urging Minnie to visit him, the company now went home.

Yellow-bird insisted upon taking Minnie on his wings, but soon found the little woman so heavy that he was satisfied to let her dance along by squirrel's side, and flew off to find his young. He had, too, a world to tell his mate about the merry feast, and the queer little lady in whose honor it was given.

I am afraid all the birds and squirrels that were at the party kept their mates or their brothers and sisters awake that night, relating what they had seen and heard. Even the mice talked about it in their cellars under ground; and oriole did not sleep a wink, he worked so hard composing a song to Minnie's eyelashes.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE YELLOW-BIRD.

At daybreak the next morning yellow-bird came with the indigo-bird and thrush, and awakened Minnie with their charming songs. Sunrise, you know, is the time birds always choose for serenades; and I am not sure they are wrong--everything is so fresh, and still, and dewy, then.

She could hardly wait till the music was over before shaking away the moss in which she had slept, and going to bid her friends good-morning.

Skipping fearlessly along the boughs,--for she had not forgotten squirrel's lessons,--just as the birds were preparing to fly away, Minnie surprised them with a sight of her merry face.

They did not chat long, for Minnie could see that her friends were impatient for their morning sail up in the fresh blue air. So she begged them to fly away, while she would go to the squirrel-nest and find if breakfast was ready.

She met squirrel, who, though much fatigued, and sometimes obliged to put his tail before his mouth in order to hide his gapes, was as civil as ever, and bade her a pleasant good-morning.

His wife did not happen to be in so amiable a mood. Not only was she tired from all the work and anxiety of the day before, but Minnie's sweeping and dusting, she said, had put everything out of order in her nest. Besides this, the children had taken cold from staying out of doors so long, and the light of the sun had given them weak eyes.

Minnie was troubled, and offered her help in making things go right again.

"No," Mrs. Squirrel replied, "I have had enough of such help, and now you can best a.s.sist me by keeping out of the way."

This was very rude, and brought tears into Minnie's eyes. It was bad enough, she thought, to be so far from home, but to be treated unkindly, and after she had worked so hard in hopes to please the squirrel, this was more than she could bear.

Running so far from the nest that she could not hear the angry voice within, Minnie seated herself on the bough, and, all alone there, thought of her pleasant home, and the mother who was so ready to praise her when she did right, and just as ready to forgive her when she did wrong. She seemed to see Franky looking through the fence, waiting, and wondering if she would never come. Then she saw Allie open her large eyes, and, peeping between the bars of her crib, look all about the room, and stretch her little hands forth for Minnie, and no Minnie there!

Even if she went back now, would they know her, shrunk as she was to a mere doll? Before she could reach her father's door, wouldn't the boys in the street pick up such a curious little being, and put her in a cage, or sell her, perhaps, to be killed and stuffed for some museum?

"O, I haven't any home, or friends in all the world!" she said, and, covering her face with her little hands, Minnie sobbed as if her heart would break.

"Hallo, there! what's the matter?" shouted young Master Squirrel from the bough above. "It can't be you're crying because the old woman is cross? Why, she'll be good as chestnuts by the time you see her again.

Here, catch these nuts! she made me crack them for your breakfast."

Minnie thanked the squirrel, but she could not eat. Her heart was too heavy. She hoped that, when the birds came back, they would not find her, for she was too much grieved to talk, or even listen to music.

She had hardly drawn the leaves about her, when she saw the indigo-bird, and then the thrush, making their way towards the elm. Minnie held her breath, while they alighted and hopped from bough to bough, and turned their heads on one side to peer between the leaves, and sang little s.n.a.t.c.hes of song, that she might hear and answer them. At last they flew away, and when oriole came, he had no better success.

Then came yellow-bird, with a fresh ripe strawberry in his mouth. He also looked in vain, until, just as he was lifting his wings to go, his quick ear caught a sigh, so low that only loving ears would have heard it, and he flew at once to Minnie's feet.

She still held the leaves fast, and yellow-bird was obliged to tear them with his beak before he could be certain that she was within.

"Poor little soul! what is the matter?" he said, when he saw her sad face, wet with tears.

Then Minnie put her arms around yellow-bird's neck, and told all her troubles. He did not speak a word until she had finished, when he exclaimed, "You shall not live with the squirrels any longer. Come to my own warm little nest on the other side of the elm. My mate will be glad to see you, and you shall have suns.h.i.+ne and music all day long. Tell me, Minnie, will you come?" He ended with a little strain of song, so sweet and pleading that Minnie could have kissed him for it, only, you know, a bird's mouth is rather sharp to kiss. She pleased him better by promising to go that very hour to his nest.

CHAPTER XIV.

IN A BIRD'S NEST.

Yellow-bird's nest was all that he had promised. It was built on one of the outer boughs of the elm, deep enough among the leaves to be shady at noon, yet not so deep but in the cool of morning the suns.h.i.+ne could rest upon it.

Then the view was much finer than that from squirrel's side of the tree.

Minnie looked down upon fields of wild flowers all wet with dew, across at hills that rose grandly against the sky; and, better still, between the trees she caught a glimpse of the town, with its white spires and cottages.

It was an important day with yellow-bird, for a whole brood of young ones were leaving his nest for the last time. He had taught them to sing and fly, had shown them where to find food, and given so much good advice, that now he did not feel afraid to trust them by themselves.

He brought his children to see Minnie before they left, made them sing a little song of welcome and farewell, and then watched with pleasure as they flew into the wood, and soon were lost amid its shady boughs.

Minnie asked if it did not make him sad to lose his treasures all at once.

"O, no," he said; "if one of my chicks had been blind, or had grown up with a broken wing, and could not leave the nest, I well might grieve.

Now that all has gone well, I'm only too glad to see them fly away."

"But suppose that, when out of your sight, they fall into trouble or mischief?"

"They are never out of G.o.d's sight. Cannot he take better care of them than a little bird like me? Ah, Minnie, it isn't best to fret! The smaller and weaker we are, the more care our heavenly Father takes of us."

Yellow-bird's mate came now to see what her husband could be talking about, and invited Minnie to take a nearer look at her nest, which she had been industriously cleaning and mending since her children went.

It was a smooth, cool bed of horse-hair and moss, set prettily amidst the thick green leaves. Slender roots and threads were woven across the outside, and what was Minnie's delight to find among them a sc.r.a.p of one of her mother's dresses, which yellow-bird said he had picked up beneath a window in the village, for it was so soft, and covered with such bright flowers, he knew it must please his mate!