Chapter III · My Second Week in the House

Ah, that second week! What a good week it was to me! It changed all my life and made a happy little bird out of me. I lost all my fear of Fessor and Mamma and Edith, and from then on we were the dearest and best of friends. Talk about my father and mother, and my loving them! Even though they were birds, they never showed me the love that this second week taught me was in the hearts of my three human friends. So I want to tell you all about it.

I believe it began that very night Fessor put me in the basket. For, though he was not so gentle as my mother was, somehow I felt that he felt more gentle towards me, and so, though I was still very much afraid of him, I began to get a new feeling in me that seemed to drive some of the fear away.

Then came the pinion nuts. Now, you needn’t laugh! It certainly was those pinion nuts that had a great deal to do with it. As you no doubt know, the pinion is a kind of small pine tree that grows “Out West,” and it has a tiny white nut in it that I have heard Fessor say is “the sweetest nut in existence.” Now I don’t know what “in existence” means, but I do know that the little white nut he gave me was the most delicious morsel I had ever tasted in my life. And how do you think he gave it to me? I think he must have been a mother-bird once, for he did as near like what my own mother used to do as he could. He chewed up the nut until it was all soft and sweet and warm, and then gave me a piece of it. It was so good! oh, so good! and when I cheeped for some more, he put his lips down to me with a large piece of nut all ready for me to eat. Well, at first I didn’t know just what to do. He had such a long black beard, and his moustaches almost covered his lips, that I felt “kind o’ scared,” yet when I looked up into his large dark eyes, they beamed upon me so kindly and gently that I thought I would risk it; so I made a quick dash at the nut, got a bill full, and then drew back.

Fessor laughed at me and said: “You poor, scared little thing!” And he said it so gently that I felt comforted; and so, when he came near to me again with his lips full of nut, I went quite courageously up and pecked away several times.

From that day on I never seemed to be really afraid of him. Sometimes the old fear came back for a little while, and I scampered and hid behind the desk; and at other times, when he tried to pick me up, I would instinctively run from him; and if he followed me too quickly, I would spring from the desk and go fluttering to the floor. But, you see, that was because he didn’t understand I was a little, tiny bird, and had to get used to him by degrees. When he moved quietly and gently I didn’t get scared; but I suppose it takes a big man a long time to learn to move easily and gently as a bird does.

Every night he put me to bed in the Indian basket, wrapping me up as carefully and tenderly as if I were his own baby, all the time telling me in man talk that I needn’t be afraid of him, and that he wouldn’t hurt me for the world.

One day I had quite an exciting experience. I heard Fessor say to Edith: “I’m sure this little birdie ought to have some fresh, out-door air. I’m going to take her out. Come with me and see that she doesn’t get away.” Now I had never thought of such a thing until he suggested it. Of course, I had been uncomfortable in the house, and I wished often that I had had a loving father and mother with a home nest of my own to which I could go, but, since they had so heartlessly deserted me, I had not thought of trying to get away from my kind human friends.

Yet it was wonderfully strange how I felt as soon as I got out-of-doors. A new-old something seemed to come into me, and I’m quite sure that if my wings had been strong enough, I should have flown away regardless of what Fessor had thought or said. I did hop and flutter and try to run into the tall grass, and I tried—oh! how I tried—to fly. But it was all in vain. They were very kind to me, yet would not allow me to run into the grass and hide, as I wanted. I scratched around on the ground a little, and then Fessor snapped his thumb and finger—a thing he often did—and said: “Now, little Scraggles, I think it’s quite time you went in again.”

That was the first time he took me out, but by no means the last. Soon we began to go out every day. He would take me on to the lawn and sit on the steps and watch me as I looked at the grass and the flowers and the wonderful birds flying in the trees. I couldn’t help watching them and trying to imitate them. It was no use, though, for my poor wing would not let me fly.