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[Illustration: THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS. _Page 100_]


DOORYARD STORIES

by

CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON

Author of "Among the Forest People," "Night People," etc.

Illustrated by F. C. Gordon







New York
E. P. Dutton And Company
31 West Twenty-Third Street

Copyright, 1903
by E. P. Dutton & Co.

Published Sept., 1903

The Knickerbocker Press, New York




    To

    MY FATHER

    WHO FIRST TAUGHT ME TO LOVE MY DOORYARD FRIENDS




PREFACE


MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS:--These stories are of things which I have seen
with my own eyes in my own yard, and the people of whom I write are my
friends and near neighbors. Some of them, indeed, live under my roof,
and Silvertip has long been a member of our family. So, you see, I
have not had to do like some writers--sit down and think and think how
to make the people act in their stories. These tales are of things
which have really happened, and all I have done is to write them down
for you.

Many of them have been told over and over again to my own little boy,
and because he never tires of hearing of the time when Silvertip was a
Kitten, and about the Wasps who built inside my shutters, I think you
may care to hear also. He wants me to be sure to tell how the baby
Swift tumbled down the chimney into his bedroom, and wishes you might
have seen it in the little nest we made. When I tell these tales to
him, I have great trouble in ending them, for there is never a time
when he does not ask: "And what did he do then Mother?" But I am
telling you as much as I can of how everything happened, and if there
was more which I did not see and cannot describe, you will have to
make up the rest to suit yourselves.

Besides, you know, there is always much which one cannot see or hear,
but which one knows is happening somewhere in this beautiful great
world. The birds do not stop living and working and loving when they
leave us for the sunny south, and above us, around us, and even under
our feet many things are done which we cannot see. As we become
better acquainted with the little people who live in our dooryards, we
shall see more and more interesting things, and I wish you might all
grow to be like my little boy, who is never lonely or in need of a
playmate so long as a Caterpillar or a Grasshopper is in sight.

See how many tiny neighbors you have around you, and how much you can
learn about them. Then you will find your own dooryard as interesting
as mine and know that there are playmates everywhere.

    Your friend,

    CLARA D. PIERSON.

    STANTON, MICHIGAN,

    _October 30, 1902_.




    CONTENTS


                                             PAGE
    SILVERTIP                                   1
    THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD-HOUSE               12
    THE FIR-TREE NEIGHBORS                     22
    THE INDUSTRIOUS FLICKERS                   36
    PLUCKY MRS. POLISTES                       48
    SILVERTIP STOPS A QUARREL                  68
    A YOUNG SWIFT TUMBLES                      78
    THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS                 96
    THE SYSTEMATIC YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO       108
    THE HELPFUL TUMBLE-BUGS                   121
    SILVERTIP LEARNS A LESSON                 132
    THE ROBINS' DOUBLE BROOD                  145
    THE SPARROWS INSIDE THE EAVES             158
    A RAINY DAY ON THE LAWN                   173
    THE PERSISTENT PHOEBE                      183
    THE SAD STORY OF THE HOG CATERPILLAR      199
    THE CAT AND THE CATBIRD                   210
    THE FRIENDLY BLACKBIRDS                   222




    ILLUSTRATIONS


                                           PAGE
    THE KITTEN LAPPED UP HIS MILK             6
    THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD HOUSE             18
    A RED SQUIRREL ATE THEM                  34
    A VERY CRUEL THING TO DO                 38
    THE CHIMNEY-SWIFT'S HOME                 78
    THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS              100
    STUFFED IT DOWN THE WIDE-OPEN BILL      116
    MR. CHIPMUNK ON THE WOODPILE            142
    "O MOTHER, IT IS RAINING!"              175
    "YOU DESERVE TO BE EATEN"               218




SILVERTIP


A very small, wet, and hungry Kitten pattered up and down a board walk
one cold and rainy night. His fur was so soaked that it dripped water
when he moved, and his poor little pink-cushioned paws splashed more
water up from the puddly boards every time he stepped. His tail looked
like a wet wisp of fur, and his little round face was very sad.
"Meouw!" said he. "Meouw! Meouw!"

He heard somebody coming up the street. "I will follow that
Gentleman," he thought, "and I will cry so that he will be sorry for
me and give me a home."

When this person came nearer he saw that it was not a Gentleman at
all, but a Lady who could hardly keep from being blown away. He could
not have seen her except that Cat's eyes can see in the dark. "Meouw!"
said the Kitten. "Meouw! Meouw!"

"Poor little Pussy!" said a voice above him. "Poor little Pussy! But
you must not come with me."

"Meouw!" answered he, and trotted right along after her. He was a
Kitten who was not easily discouraged. He rubbed up against her foot
and made her stop for fear of stepping on him. Then he felt himself
gently lifted up and put aside. He scrambled back and rubbed against
her other foot. And so it was for more than two blocks. The Lady, as
he always called her afterward, kept pushing him gently to one side
and he kept scrambling back. Sometimes she even had to stand quite
still for fear of stepping on him.

"Meouw!" said the Kitten, and he made up his mind that anybody who
spoke so kindly to strange Kittens would be a good mistress. "I will
stick to her," he said to himself. "I don't care how many times she
pushes me away, I _will_ scramble back."

When they turned in at a gate he saw a big house ahead of him with
many windows brightly lighted and another light on the porch. "I like
that home," he said to himself. "I will slip through the door when she
opens it."

But after she had turned the key in the door she pushed him back and
closed the screen between them. Then he heard her say: "Poor little
Pussy! I want to take you in, but we have agreed not to adopt another
Cat." Then she closed the door.

He wanted to explain that he was not really a Cat, only a little
Kitten, but he had no chance to say anything, so he waited outside and
thought and cried. He did not know that the Lady and her husband
feared that Cats would eat the many birds who nested in the trees on
the lawn. He thought it very hard luck for a tiny Kitten to be left
out in the cold rain while the Lady was reading by a blazing grate
fire. He did not know that as she sat by the fire she thought about
him instead of her book, for she loved little Kittens, and found it
hard to leave any out in the street alone.

While he was thinking and crying, a tall Gentleman with a black beard
and twinkling brown eyes came striding up to the brightly lighted
porch. "Well, Pussy-cat!" said the Gentleman, and took a bunch of
shining, jingling things out of his pocket and stuck one of them into
a little hole in the door and turned it. Then the door swung open, and
the Gentleman, who was trying to close his umbrella and shake off the
rain, called first to the Lady and then to the kitten. "O Clara!" he
cried. "Come to see this poor little Kitten. Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!
I know you want to see him. Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! I should have
thought you would have heard him crying. Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"

The Lady came running out and was laughing. "Yes, John," she said, "I
have had the pleasure of meeting him before. He was under my feet most
of the way home from church to-night, and I could hardly bear to leave
him outside. But you know what we promised each other, that we would
not adopt another Cat, on account of the birds."

The Gentleman sat down upon the stairs and wiped the Kitten off with
his handkerchief. "Y-yes, I know," he said weakly, "but Clara, look at
this poor little fellow. He couldn't catch a Chipping Sparrow."

"Not now," answered the Lady, "yet he will grow, if he is like most
Kittens, and you know what we said. If we don't stick to it we will
soon have as many Cats as we did a few years ago."

The Kitten saw that if he wanted to stay in this home he must insist
upon it and be very firm indeed with these people. So he kept on
crying and stuck his sharp claws into the Gentleman's sleeve. The
Gentleman said "Ouch!" and lifted him on to his coat lapel. There he
clung and shook and cried.

"Well, I suppose we mustn't keep him then," said he; "but we will give
him a warm supper anyway." So they got some milk and heated it, and
set it in a shallow dish before the grate. How that Kitten did eat!
The Lady sat on the floor beside him, and the Gentleman drew his chair
up close, and they said that it seemed hard to turn him out, but that
they would have to do it because they had promised each other.

The Kitten lapped up his milk with a soft click-clicking of his
little pink tongue, and then turned his head this way and that until
he had licked all the corners clean. He was so full of warm milk that
his sides bulged out, and his fur had begun to dry and stuck up in
pointed wisps all over him. He pretended to lap milk long after it was
gone. This was partly to show them how well he could wash dishes, and
partly to put off the time when he should be thrust out of doors.

[Illustration: THE KITTEN LAPPED UP HIS MILK. _Page 6_]

When he really could not make believe any longer, his tongue being so
tired, he began to cry and rub against these two people. The Gentleman
was the first to speak. "I cannot stand this," he said. "If he has to
go, I want to get it over." He picked up the Kitten and took him to
the door. As fast as he loosened one of the Kitten's claws from his
coat he stuck another one in, and at last the Lady had to help get him
free. "He is a regular Rough Rider," said the Gentleman. "There is no
shaking him off."

The Kitten didn't understand what a Rough Rider was, but it did not
sound like finding a home, so he cried some more. Then the door was
shut behind him and he was alone in the porch. "Well," he said, "I
like that house and those people, even if they did put me out. I think
I will make them adopt me." So he cuddled down in a sheltered, dry
corner, put his four feet all close together, and curled his tail, as
far as it would go, around them. And there he stayed all night.

In the morning, when the rain had stopped and the sun was shining
brightly, he trotted around the house and cried. He went up on to
another porch, rubbed against the door and cried. The Maid opened the
door and put out some milk for him. He could see into the warm kitchen
and smell the breakfast cooking on the range. When she came out to
get the empty dish, he slipped in through the open door. She said
"Whish!" and "Scat!" and "Shoo!" and tried to drive him out, but he
pretended not to understand and cuddled quietly down in a corner where
she could not easily reach him. Just then some food began to burn on
the range and the Maid let him alone. The Kitten did not cry now. He
had other work to do, and began licking himself all over and
scratching his ears with his hind feet.

When he heard the Gentleman and the Lady talking in the dining-room,
he watched his chance and slipped in. He decided to pay the most
attention to the Gentleman, for he had been the first to take him up.
They were laughing and talking and saying how glad they were that the
rain had stopped falling. "I believe, John," the Lady said, "that if
it had not been for me, you would really have kept that Kitten last
night."

"Oh, no," answered the Gentleman. "We ought not to keep Cats. I think
that if it had not been for me _you_ would have kept him."

Just at that minute the Kitten began climbing up his trousers leg and
crying. "Poor little Pussy," said the Gentleman. "Clara, can't we
spare some of this cream?" He reached for the pitcher. The Kitten
began to feel more sure of a home.

"O John, not here?" began the Lady, and the Maid came in to explain
how it all happened. The Kitten stuck his claws into the Gentleman's
coat and would not let go. Then he cried some more and waved his tail.
He had a very beautiful tail, marked just like that of a Raccoon, and
he turned it toward the Lady. He had heard somewhere about putting the
best foot forward, and thought that a tail might do just as well.
While he was waving his tail at the Lady he rubbed his head against
the Gentleman's black beard.

"If we _should_ keep him, John," said the Lady, "we ought to call him
Silvertip, because he has such a pretty white tip to his tail." The
Kitten waved it again and began to purr.

"If you knew what a strong and fearless fellow he is, you would call
him Teddy," answered the Gentleman, turning over a paper which said in
big black letters, "Our Teddy Wins."

"Call him Teddy Silvertip then," said the Lady, as she reached for the
bell. When the Maid came in answer to her ring, she said, "Belle,
please take our Kitten into the kitchen and feed him." Then the Kitten
let go and was carried away happy, for he had found a home. He had
also learned how to manage the Lady and the Gentleman, and he was
always _very_ firm with them after that.




THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD-HOUSE


Under the cornice of the tool-house was an old cigar-box with a tiny
doorway cut in one end and a small board nailed in front of it for a
porch. This had been put up for a bird-house, and year after year a
pair of Wrens had nested there, until they began to think it really
their own. When they left it in the fall to fly south, they always
looked back lovingly at it, and talked over their plans for the next
summer.

"I think we might better leave this nest inside all winter," Mrs. Wren
always said. "It will seem so much more home-like when we return, and
it will not be much trouble to clear it out afterward."

"An excellent plan, my dear," her cheerful little husband would reply.
"You remember we did so last season. Besides," he always added, "that
will show other birds that Wrens have lived here, and they will know
that we are expecting to return, since that is the custom in our
family."

"And then do you think they will leave it for us?" Mrs. Wren would
ask. "You know they might want it for themselves."

"What if they did want it?" Mr. Wren had said. "They could go
somewhere else, couldn't they? Do you suppose I would ever steal
another bird's nesting-place if I knew it?"

"N-no," said Mrs. Wren, "but not everybody is as unselfish as you."
And she looked at him tenderly.

The Wrens were a most devoted couple,--all in all, about the nicest
birds on the place. And that was saying a great deal, for there were
many nesting there and others who came to find food on the broad
lawn. They were small birds, wearing dark brown feathers on the upper
parts of their bodies and lighter grayish ones underneath. Even their
bills were marked in the same way, with the upper half dark and the
lower half light. Their wings were short and blunt, and they had a
habit of holding their tails well up in the air.

People said that Mrs. Wren was very fussy, and perhaps it was true,
but even then she was not a cross person. Besides, if she wished to do
a thing over five times in order to make it suit her, she certainly
had a perfect right to do so. It was she who always chose the
nesting-place and settled all the plans for the family. Mr. Wren was
quite content to have it so, since that was the custom among Wrens,
and it saved him much work. Mr. Wren was not lazy. He simply wanted to
save time for singing, which he considered his own particular
business. Besides, he never forgot what had happened to a cousin of
his, a young fellow who found fault with his wife and insisted on
changing to another nesting-place. It had ended in his going, and her
staying there and marrying another Wren. So he had lost both his home
and his wife by finding fault.

Now the April days had come, with their warm showers and green growing
grass. A pair of English Sparrows, who had nested in the woodbine the
summer before and raised several large