can look at
your 'bird table' (not multiplication table) and see which it was. Now
we will begin with our dear Bluebird."

CHAPTER IX

A SILVER-TONGUED FAMILY

THE BLUEBIRD

"It will be difficult for you to mistake this little blue-coal for any
other bird. He is 'true blue,' which is as rare a color among birds its
it is among flowers. He is the banner-bearer of Birdland also, and
loyally floats the tricolor from our trees and telegraph wires; for,
besides being blue, is he not also red and white?"

[Illustration: Bluebird.]

"To be sure, his breast is perhaps more brown than red, but when the
spring sun shines on his new feathers, as he flits to and fro, it is
quite bright enough to be called red. All sorts and conditions of people
love and respect the Bluebird; all welcome him to their gardens and
orchards. The Grossest old farmer, with his back bent double by
rheumatism, contrives to bore some auger holes in an old box and fasten
it on the side of the barn, or set it up on the pole of his hayrick;
while the thrifty villager provides a beautiful home for his blue-backed
pets--a real summer hotel, mounted on a tall post above a flower-bed,
with gables and little windows under the eaves.

"Why does this bird receive so much attention? There are many others
with gayer plumage and more brilliant songs. It is because the Bluebird
is gentle, useful, brave, and faithful under adversity, while he and the
Robin are the first two birds that children know by name. We must live
in a very cold, windswept part of the country not to have some of these
birds with us from March until Thanksgiving day, and then, when a week
has passed and we have not seen a single one, we say winter has come in
earnest. When weeks go by and our eyes grow tired of the glare of the
snow, or our hearts discouraged at the sight of bare lifeless trees and
stretches of brown meadow--suddenly, some morning, we hear a few liquid
notes from an old tree in a sunny spot. All eagerness, we go out to see
if our ears have deceived us. No, it is a Bluebird! He is peeping into
an old Woodpecker's hole and acting as if he had serious thoughts of
going to housekeeping there, and did not intend waiting to move in until
May-day either. When you see him you may know that, though there is
still ice on the water-trough and on the little streams, spring is only
around the corner, waiting for her friend, the sun, to give her a
little warmer invitation to join