The Bird Hospital - Bascom Caroline Crowninshield

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from Taffy in the dark. Taffy slept on my bed every night, and very often on the outside when Little Billee was inside, and it seemed like the lion and the lamb lying down together. Little Billee would usually be contented in his basket until seven o’clock in the morning; then I’d take him into the bed with me, where he would lie quietly on my arm, neck, or palm until I got up at nine. He never peeped unless I spoke to him, then he would chirp away like a happy child. On fine evenings I’d sit before an open window from seven until eight o’clock with Little Billee on my finger listening to the birds. When he became sleepy, he would tuck his little head under his wing, and in a few minutes crawl into the palm of my hand and go sound asleep; then he would be ready for his basket.

      When the hot wave came, I went down-stairs at seven o’clock, shutting him up in his cage. The second night I had hard work to catch him. He ran into the hall, and would not come when I called to him. The third night, when he saw me making preparations to dress, he acted like mad. He hopped all around me, put out his tiny wings, and tried to fly on to me; opened his bill, but not a sound came out. As I stood in front of my dressing-table, he flew to the top of his cage, which stood on the floor, to the back of a chair which was near me, then up to my shoulder, chirping away so merrily that I knew he was saying: “Please take me with you.”

      Of course, after that, it is needless to say that I took him down-stairs, and he went down every night after, where he remained until eight o’clock, then was put into his basket, and I heard no more from him until morning.

      On pleasant mornings I sat on the piazza, and Little Billee sat on my hand or played in my lap. When I walked on the sidewalk Little Billee went, too, and never offered to fly away, and when the wind blew he held on tight. Sometimes he sang, and always seemed interested in all that was going on about him.

      Twice Little Billee flew out of my window from fright. Once he was on my shoulder when a very small girl with a very large hat came up to him, and away he flew. The next time a large bunch of ferns was brought to me. I thought he would like it and think it a nice little tree, but I was all the tree he seemed to care for. He was so frightened he flew on to a chair, and, as I held up a fern, out of the window he went. Both times when my maid went to look for him, she could not find him until she peeped, then he answered, and she found him sitting in the grass waiting to be picked up, and he was delighted to get back to me.

      Little Billee never went to any one except my physician, and that was when I had had him about a week. He went to him, hopped all over his shoulder, picked at his collar and tie, and was very friendly. Later he would not even go to him, and I felt sure I was Trilby, and his only love. Perhaps the children who read this will think Little Billee was an angel bird and too good to live, but I will say right here he was too bad to die. Like all bright children, sometimes he was very naughty. For instance, when I wanted to lie quietly on my bed in the daytime and Little Billee did not, he would play for some time running up on the top of my pillow, then down again, hop on my arm, then under the sheet until he found my hand; back he would go and do the same thing over again. When he became tired of that, he would sit on my chin and be very loving, kiss me in the mouth, and chirp away. When he found I was not going to open my eyes or speak to him, he would peck and bite my eyes, nose, ears, cheeks, and lips, and I assure you they were not love bites, either. Then again, when he wanted to sit on my shoulder and I preferred he should sit on my hand, he would fly up every time I took him down, and bite hard at my hand, and, for such a little bird, he had a very big bite and a very fierce look.

      He loved to visit my mother in her room, and was very happy walking all over her and on her head, but she was never able to touch him. He seemed to have eyes all over his head, for, no matter how careful she was, he always saw the finger. He thoroughly enjoyed my squeezing him in my hand, and kissing him over and over again.

      No doubt, long ere this, my readers have been wondering what kind of a bird Little Billee was, but that is a question which has not yet been answered. But I loved Little Billee so dearly that it made little difference to me what his nationality was, or whether his ancestors came over in the Mayflower, fought in the American Revolution, or whether, like Topsy, he “just growed.” It was amusing to see Little Billee the first time he heard the piano. One morning two friends came to see me, and, while one of them played, I lay on the sofa with Little Billee cuddled up on my neck. At first he was very much afraid, and did not know what to make of the music. Soon he became charmed, and craned his little neck way out, opened his bill, as if he were drinking in the sound, then reached around, kissed me in the mouth, snuggled down again for a few minutes, and repeated it as long as she played.

      One morning I saw Little Billee lying on the floor before an open window with his neck stretched out and bill wide open. I thought he was dying, picked him up, but found him as lively as ever. When he did the same thing over again, I understood he was taking a sun bath, and from then on he took one every morning. One morning it was quite cold when we came in from our walk, and I sat down in front of the fire with Little Billee on my knee. It was amusing to see him put his head on one side, open his bill, and drink in the warm air. For six weeks he strongly objected to taking a water bath, and I really suppose he was too young and knew best. I left a little dish for several days on the floor by the side of his cage, but he was very careful not to go near it. One morning everything was very quiet, I on my bed and Little Billee playing about the room. Soon he went to the dish, looked in all four corners, came back to the first one, put his bill in just a little way, then went the rounds; did it all over again, putting his bill in a little farther, and shaking off the water. After debating a long time, he got on the edge of the dish, put his head in until it was all wet, then screwed up all his courage and in he went. Such a droll little figure as he cut, standing there with his body and head held as high as he could get them, his wings out just a little, not knowing what to do next. All I could think of was a very timid child going in wading for the first time, with long, thin legs, very short frock, and arms akimbo. His fear soon left him, and he was bathing like an old stager. When he finished, he got out, gave himself two or three good shakes, then came over to the bed, and asked me to take him. I did him up in my handkerchief, but that did not suit him at all. I could not do anything with him until I let him get on my bare neck, and covered him with the trimming of my dress. He was soaking wet, and shivering like a person having a hard chill. He kept very still until his feathers were dry enough to be dressed. Such shaking, dressing of feathers, and prinking I never saw. When his toilet was made to suit him, he nestled down under my chin, and we both slept for an hour. Every day we went through the same performance after the bath. One day I wanted to do something in my dressing-room, so thought Little Billee could take his bath and dry himself.

      Soon I began to hear very mournful peeps, and I came out to find Little Billee, soaking wet, standing in front of my bed, thinking I was there, and teasing for me to take him. Of course I could not resist such pleading, so to bed we went. I know I completely spoiled him, but he was such a dear no one could help it.

      Little Billee always took a great interest in my writing, and when I would sit down to my desk he was always on my shoulder, arm, or hand. His favourite place to sit was on my left hand between my first finger and thumb, as they held my portfolio on my lap, and peck at my paper and pen. One day he took the pen full of ink into his bill, then threw the ink all over my paper. He had great fun, too, in taking the paper off from the bottom of his cage, and carrying it all about the room, and would take it out as fast as I put it in. One day he went into his cage, took the farthest corner of the paper in his bill, backed out, bringing the paper over his head until it was all on the floor, then went over to the opposite corner, took that in his bill, backed off the paper until he came to the end, then went around in a circle like the wind for perhaps a dozen times, with the paper perfectly straight out just like a sail. After a few moments I put the paper back; he took it right out in the same way, and did it all over again.

      Another day he would not come to me when I put down my hand, but ran across the room. After trying for some time to make him mind, I got up and said: “Billee, I am going away and leave you,” and started out into the hall. He came chasing after me, and after that would always do it when I told him I was going to leave him. If I went out of my room and told him he must not go, he would sit on a chair by an open window, or play about on the floor for an hour, and never think of flying out of the window or going out of the door.

      I succeeded far beyond my expectations

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