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BREAKFAST AT MARCY's.

Frontispiece.

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FUNNY FRIENDS

OR

BY

OLIVE THORNE MILLER

Author of "Little Folks in Feathers and Fur," etc.

NEW YORK

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

31 West Twenty-third Street

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Copyright, 1892, By E. p. button & CO

Press of J. J. Little & Co.

Aster Place, New York

Preface

The facts of Natural History in this volume are connected with a thread of story, to please the Little People, who delight in stories that are true.

Because of that form, let no one suspect they are in any way fictitious. The facts are carefully gleaned from the best modern naturalists and travelers, and the stories of pets are well authenticated. Most of the latter occurred within my own circle of acquaintances, and the others are credited in the text to the proper authorities.

To make a delightful story about animals is by no means the aim of the book, but to tell plain facts and true stories of animals in a way to interest the Young Folk for whom it was written.

Its value is greatly enhanced by the illustrations, which, with few exceptions, were drawn for the book, and from the very animals therein described, by Mr. Jas. C. Beard, of whose merits as a delineator of animal life no words of mine are needed.

OLIVE THORNE MILLER.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. — Marcy's and the People who lived There 9

2. — Born in a Prison 31

Chapter First. Marcy S And The People Who Lived There

I NEVER knew a house that was so full of animal pets as Marcy's. One needed to have his eyes open, to avoid stepping on a tame bird, or stumbling over a sleepy cat, and timid ladies were rather shy of it, keeping a sharp eye on dark corners and under sofas, for any strange creature that might rush out at them.

The house stood in the edge of a pleasant village near New York, and I call it Marcy's, because Marcy — or Marcia, to give her full name — was the elder of the two children, and the chief keeper of the family menagerie, about which this book is written.

Ralph was perhaps as fond of pets as she, but he was apt to get '^ tired " and to '' forget," neither of which she ever did, so long as a bird needed seed, or a kitten wanted milk. She never refused to sit up all night with a sick dog, and many a time was not able to sleep, because the affectionate cat insisted on bringing her whole family of kittens on to her bed, or some grateful, but lonely, four-footed friend would not rest easy except in her arm.s.

Many things the family suffered from their pets. Cats slept on the white counterpanes, and birds spattered the carpets from their baths ; one dog insisted on sleeping between sheets, and a parrot nibbled the picture-frames ; a canary picked holes in the plastering, and a kitten tore every newspaper to bits ; foxes gnawed the shoes and rubbers, and the squirrel made holes in the carpets.

The house-mother was amused and annoyed by turns, and Patty, the cook, scolded roundly. The father only laughed, and

Uncle Karl but wait ! a whole new paragraph must go to

Uncle Karl.

This best of uncles was Marcy's great help and comfort. His home was with them, and it was he who brought the queer pets, made pictures, and told the children about them. He always knew what to feed the strangers, and how to treat them when ill. In fact, without him, Marcy's would never have been known as a home for pets, and you would never have had a book about it.

He had one habit that brought him many a curiosity. He visited every ship from strange countries that came into the city, to see what animals the sailors had to sell. On the day my story begins, he brought home from one of these visits two new pets, one of which he gave to each of the children.

Ralph's gift was a parrot, which had come in a ship from

PRANKS ON THE CLOTHES-LINE. II

Mexico, having sailed around Cape Horn, a good five months* voyage, and Marcy's was a Florida Chamelion.

Ralph named his Parrot Keeta, or rather, he named himself Parakeeta, and his master merely shortened the name ; and it was not long before he distinguished himself as a bird of great perseverance and intelligence. When he set out to do anything, he meant to do it, and it took a great deal to discourage him.

One thing he had made up his mind to do, was to cross the yard on the clothes-line. He could climb a rope better than any sailor that ever lived ; he had learned that on board the ship, where he would go up '' hand over hand," as sailors say, using his bill as a third hand, to any height he chose.

Now, why should not so accomplished a climber be able to walk a clothes-line? Keeta decided that he could, and thereupon he began. He started out bravely, walking, of course, right side up, like a professional rope-walker. When he had gone a few feet the rope basely failed him, and turned over. Keeta suddenly found himself head down, holding on for dear life.

He was not discouraged, however. He made the most frantic efforts to get up ; but no sooner would he succeed in righting himself than over it would go again. Again and again he tried it, getting quite ruffled up, and really furious about it, while the children looked on and laughed till the bird began to be tired, and then Ralph held out a finger to him, which he readily accepted, and so reached a steadier perch. As long as he lived he never really gave it up, and every little while he would have a serious time with that clothes-line.

His greatest passion was to throw things down, like a naughty child, apparently to hear the noise, or to see what happened, for he would lean over and look with interest at the fate of the object thrown. When he chanced to get on the kitchen table or shelf, he would march along, and coolly push everything he could move over the edge, till Patty drove him out of the room in a rage.

Keeta's favorite place for playing pranks was in Ralph's shop. Ralph was fond of tools, and had quite a collection in an unused room down- stairs. His father had a carpenter's bench put in, and Ralph spent many happy hours, at work or play, in that part of the house.

Of course Keeta was often with him, and seemed to be as fond of the shop as Ralph himself, though not for the same reason. He would walk solemnly along the bench, picking up every nail or tool that he could lift, and dropping it to the floor, cocking his knowing head on one side to see where it went.

The chalk-line was his special delight. Yard after yard he would throw over, watching the tangle it made on the floor, and now and then giving a quiet chuckle of delight at the mischief he had done.

Ralph, who had it to wind up again, was not so well pleased with this trick, and he thought he would teach Master Keeta a lesson. So one day he wound the line in a coil and tied it, leaving a long piece hanging from the other end of the bench.

The next time the Parrot came in, Ralph went to work at the farther end of the bench, as though he did not see him, and Keeta at once spied the tempting coil of cord. Slowly and cautiously he drew near it, keeping an eye on his master all the time.

KEETA AT HOME,

Ralph, however, seemed absorbed in his work, and very quietly Mr. Keeta crept up to the spot, and leaned over to seize it. At that instant Ralph gave a sly jerk on the loose end of the coil, and the Parrot, astounded to see life in what he thought was a dead rope, sprang two feet into the air, with a squawk of dismay.

He was suspicious, however, that Ralph had something to do with it, for he was well acquainted with ropes, and never saw one jump before. So he turned one eye on his young master, who seemed more busy than ever with his work.

The Parrot then made up his mind that he had been mistaken, and once more he turned towards the rope. Again he crept up in the most wary manner, and again it sprang from under his very claw, making him repeat his leap and cry. He tried it several times, till Ralph had to indulge in a good laugh ; but he was still not convinced that he could not take hold of the line.

A favorite perch of the Parrot's was on the edge of an old refrigerator that stood in a corner of the shop. There he could watch Ralph at his work or play, and also keep an eye on the street, through a window near by. Now his wings were clipped, of course, and sometimes in getting off this high place, poor Keeta would fall down behind the box, where he could not get out.

Then would arise the most dreadful shrieks of '' Ralph ! Ralph ! Parakeeta ! Parakeeta ! " till Ralph would come to his aid, letting down a rope, which the Parrot would seize, and climb out. He was a great talker, chatting to himself for hours ; but his language was Spanish, and excepting the name Ralph, he never spoke a word of English.

What killed him they never knew ; but one morning he was

THEY ARE WARY FELLOWS. 1 5

found dead on the floor, and his pretty white bones joined the '' collection " in the Den.

Parrots are very amusing pets, and have been kept as such almost as far back as history goes. The early Romans kept them in cages of ivory, silver, and shell, and hired tutors to teach them to say Caesar. When America was discovered, they were found as pets in the huts of the natives.

They are not petted, however, in the country where they abound. They are as full of mischief when wild as they are when tame, and they destroy great quantities of fruit and grain — much more than they can possibly eat, though they go in enormous flocks, and have very good appetites of their own.

They are wary fellows, even before they have learned by sad experience how much they need to fear man. When a flock alights in an orchard or wheat-field, they keep the most perfect silence ; they know they are stealing. But if the farmer comes near, and the watchers they always have, announce it by a scream, they all rise in the air with fearful shrieks.

The funniest thing about wild parrots is the way they live. They always have some spot for a bedroom. On the coast of Africa, as Du Chaillu tells us, there is a place of this sort called Parrot Island. In other places it will be in a bamboo thicket or some deep woods, generally where there are many hollow trees.

There they come every night, beginning to arrive at about four o'clock in the afternoon, and flying in vast flocks, so many and so fast that even the flocks cannot be counted. All are chattering and screaming, and making such a noise that they even drown the sounds in a noisy market.

The fearful din is kept up for a long time. Evidently they are telling the news of the day, where they have been, what they

THE AFRICAN COUSIN.

THE PARROTS' BEDROOM. 1 7

have seen, where the wheat is ripe, and whose orchard has the most fruit. One by one they retire for the night, into hollow trees, where they will crowd till there's not room for another claw.

Early in the morning, before people want to wake up, the whole parrot city is awake, making plans for the day ; while one after another the flocks will go off in every direction, to eat and enjoy themselves all day. About noon they seek some water where they may bathe, getting soaking wet in the operation, and hiding during the hottest hours in the deepest shade they can find.

Noisy as they always are, they are not so careless as to let a stranger come near. They are as curious as monkeys, and the moment a person approaches the woods where they are, every sound is stopped as if by magic, not a whisper to be heard, and every parrot draws closer to the trunk of the tree, to be hidden. If the stranger shoots, they all fly with screams.

All these sociable and lively times cease when nesting time comes, and each pair finds, or makes for itself, a cozy home in a hollow tree. There the mother-bird sits on her two round white ^gg^j while the father feeds her, till the ugly little blind babies come out, and then she joins him in hunting food for the hungry little fellows.

They are not able to eat hard food, so it is softened in the crop of the parent, and the young ones are fed at regular hours, twice a day, at eleven, and at five o'clock. The parents are attentive and loving, and in eight or ten days the babies have their eyes open, and soon are able to fly about and help themselves. Then the families unite in flocks once more, and gay life begins in the parrot world.

l8 QUEER PETS AT MAR CVS.

Parrots, when tame, learn to eat and drink whatever people do, even coffee and tea and wine. They not only learn to talk everything, but they really seem to know what it means, and in fact they are extremely wise birds. One that I read of, put out a fire started by a cigar end carelessly thrown down, by turning over his drinking cup, and spiUing the water on the fire.

One that Mr. Wood tells about, got away after being taught to speak, in Brazil, and was afterwards seen in the woods teaching a crowd of his wild relations to speak Portuguese. He would say a short sentence, and they would all say it after him ; then he would give them another, which they would repeat as before. Then he would vary the lesson by dancing, and rolling his head, and at once the whole crowd would fall to dancing and rolling their heads.

It was the funniest sight you can imagine. Perhaps, with such a school teacher, the Brazilian parrots may all learn to talk Portuguese — who knows ?

Another story that Wood tells is of a parrot who liked to be dressed in a doll's cloak and hat. He would strut around and admire himself, go to sleep to order, and in many ways show his delight. But when Dolly was dressed in the clothes herself, Polly was very angry ; he would untie the strings, and jerk them off of her, as if she had been a thief. However, Dolly didn't care, so there was no harm done.

The parrot's greatest enemy, wild or tame, is a monkey, because of an insane desire in every monkey's mischievous head to pull out the beautiful tail feathers of the bird. Whenever they meet, the naughty monkey at once pounces on the feathers, and as he is the stronger, poor Poll has a sad time.

Parrots are affectionate to each other. If one is shot, out of

A BIRD WITH A FAMILY OF SLAVES. 1 9

a flock, the rest will not leave him, but will hover around and show their distress, so faithfully, that the whole flock may be shot, one after another. Not one will fly away.

They nestle lovingly together in the trees, scratch each other's head and neck, and sometimes sleep with their heads under a neighbor's feathers.

Living in New York at this moment is a bird of the parrot family who has a strange story, which his master has written for a daily paper. I was about to say that he lives with a family, but it would be more correct to say that the family live with him, for if ever one small green bird ruled a household, and owned a whole family of human slaves, this is the bird.

He is a paroquet, six or seven inches long, and his name is Pick.

The way he came to adopt the family was this : He was one day flying about in the air of his native Florida, with a flock of his friends, screaming and having a fine noisy time, when a hunter came along, and — as hunters usually do — began to shoot.

One fell dead, and the rest came about him, for the parrot family, as I told you, never desert a friend in trouble. One after another fell before that terrible gun, till only two were left, and these were found clinging to the willows, one fatally wounded, but the other only hurt by the breaking of a wing feather. This is not a pleasant part of the story to any but a hunter. Let us hurry over it.

The unhurt bird was a little fellow, dressed in beautiful satiny dark green, with gold-colored cap on his head, and a sharp temper of his own. He had not vet fixed his heart

Upon the hunter, and he fought and screamed when he was smothered in a handkerchief, and carried off to a house.

The captive was a bird of ideas, and when he reached the porch of the hotel, he had evidently made up his mind to submit to his fate, and see what would come of it. He stepped from his bonds with the most perfect calmness, picked up a straw and began to play with it, ran after a beetle, and in other ways made himself entirely at home. He w^as not afraid of anybody. He decided to stay, and he was at once named Pick.

What to eat was the first thing to be thought of, for the bird was not yet used to human food. Acorns were the only thing he seemed to like, and of course his devoted friend, the man who had shot him, tramped miles through the woods to get them.

One day Pick found a pine cone and ate the seeds, and after that he tried experiments. First he ate nuts, walnuts, pecan nuts, peanuts, and others, and at last he hit upon his choice of food, which he never changed, though before long he ate everything. His choice was almonds, and almonds are kept in convenient places to this day.

He never tried to get away. Before his wing was well, he had lost all desire to do so, and he never was tamed. His master, or more properly his friend, became his idol, and a more adoring soul never lived than this small green bird.

He learned to eat like anybody, came to the table, dipped into anything he chose, devoured onions, bacon, eggs, honey, preserves, and cheese. He drank tea and coffee hot, and lemonade cold. In fact, he did as nearly what his friend did as a small bird could, and attached himself to him in every way.

When he went out in a boat, Pick would climb to the top of the little mast, and enjoy the fishing in the liveliest and most excited way. His wing got well, and he could fly, and then he would go off on short excursions to the groves ; but never out of hearing, and he always came when called.

Perhaps the greatest trouble at first was to find a comfortable sleeping place, and he never really suited himself till he shared the bed of his friend. He would creep under the blankets, and sleep close to his idol.

Pick was not gentle in his manners ; he was a born tyrant. When he wanted his head scratched — which he often did — he would walk up to somebody and lower his head in a way that said as plainly as words could do, '' Scratch my head."

One day he invited a small dog to do this service for him. The dog of course paid no attention to the demand, and, after one or two sharp orders. Pick rushed at him, gave him a severe bite through the paw, then flew out of the dog's reach, and watched his cries with delight.

Pick had one attack of homesickness — it was the last. His wing had been well for weeks, and one evening he flew away to the woods. He had tried human society for three months, and now he apparently longed for the wild, free life of his youth.

He was gone six days ; but he did not find the old life, for his friends were all dead, and a flock of these birds will not let a stranger come among them. One evening he came flying back, and alighted on the shoulder of his friend, thin, worn, and rumpled, looking very little like the trim, well-fed little fellow that flew away.

He was nearly starved, too, and, after eating his fill of almonds, he went to bed under the bolster, and slept till ten

PICK'S PLAYTHINGS. ^3

o'clock the next morning. That day he gave to making himself nice once more. He bathed twice, and spent hours cleanmg and arranging his feathers.

After that time, Pickalways insisted on a mornmg bath and the wash-bowl was his chosen tub. He would walk up and demand his bath, and if there was no water, he would seat himself in the pitcher, and scream till some was brought.

After all, little Pickie, though he looked so wise and grave, was but a baby, and was fond of toys. Anything bright hke a silver thimble, a button, or a bit of tin, he at once pounced upon and carried off to play with. Finally, a basket was filled with little things he fancied, and set apart for him. He knew th>s basket, and knew that it was his, as well as any child could. He never allowed a stranger to touch it, and he amused h.mself by the hour, turning over the- things and throwing them «" t° ^^e floor The favorite plaything was a steel watch-chain, which he would wind around his legs, or lie flat on his back and roll over and over on the floor to play with.

He was extremely curious, anxious to go through every door, and into every drawer or trunk that was opened. Whatever was going on, sewing, writing, or crochet, Pick had a hand in the business, and was always ready to express his opinion and give

his help. , , .

When the time drew near for Pick's family to go back to their

home in New York, they began to prepare him for the journey

by bringing in a cage. It was a strong affair of wire and the

bird at once looked on it with suspicion, and could not be coaxed

to go near it. If he was put into it after dark, he would scream

and work at the fastenings till he opened the door, or let down

the bottom and got out.

It was three weeks before he would stay an instant in the cage, if he could help it, and it was months before he was contented to be left there. He would scream loud enough to alarm the household, and his voice was anything but pleasant.

By the patient work of his friend, who would lie on the floor and talk to Pick by the hour, he was at last brought to submit more quietly. He would cling to the wires while his friend wrapped bird, cage, and all in a blanket, and then sat down to play him to sleep with a guitar, of which he was very fond. Pick would listen and chirp, and at last go to sleep, and his tired — but always devoted — slave would slip out of the room.

Pick came to New York with his friends early the next spring. The sights and sounds of the great city amazed him. He would sit on the window-sill for hours, and watch the people, and listen to the sounds about him.

He was no more shut up in a cage, but flew about the house as he chose. Sand-paper was tacked to the wall, on which to sharpen his bill, and boxes of almonds were placed here and there in convenient places, and Master Pick set up housekeeping.

The next winter they all went back to Florida, and the bird knew the place as well as the man. He was not confined at all, and he visited his old haunts with delight, going out gunning with his friend, and calmly sitting on the gun while it was fired.

He made no attempt to go back to the woods ; but one day two wounded paroquets were brought to the house. Pick was delighted, and at once welcomed them like a prince. He put the best of everything before them, and tried in eveiy way to make them his friends.

PICK IS POISONED. 25

The strangers were wrapped up in each other, and would pay no attention to Pick. He set food before them, which they did not eat ; he offered to plume them, and in every way showed his desire to be hospitable and polite. But they would not look at him nor accept any civility, and at last poor Pick got angry. He bristled up and flew at them. He pulled out their feathers and pecked their heads, screaming at them like an angry child.

At this point the strangers were taken away, and Pick was once more alone. But it was a month before he became his old, careless, cheerful self again. His feelings had been deeply hurt, and never from that day did he ever pay the least attention to any bird.

Pick had adventures in the city. Three times he got out of the house and was lost. The first time he was found in a bird store, having been caught by street boys and sold. Another time he was found on the shoulder of a man in a tenement-house, and the third time, after being chased and stoned by boys, he came back himself.

He had several narrow escapes from death by hawks and cats, by closing doors and dumb-waiters. But the worst was death by poison. A meerschaum pipe had left on the mantel a little stain of nicotine, and in his curiosity Pick put his droll little thick tongue to it. In an instant he fell over as if dead.

There was great commotion in the house, and a messenger was sent to Pick's friend, who came in hot haste to his aid. Books were hurriedly searched, and finding that tea was an antidote, hot tea was forced into his mouth. He got well ; but he never touched a yellow stain again.

Pick has spent five years with his friend, In the pleasant country in the summer, and in Florida or New York in the winter, and he still has his home in New York, in a house carefully arranged for his comfort.

Every door and window is protected with wire or springs, for his safety. Not because he wants to get away, but he gets lost in the city. No cat is allowed to show her head inside the door, and no cook can stay an hour in the kitchen, unless she can cheerfully accept Master Pick's help in everything she does.

He insists on walking over the kitchen table, inspecting her work, tasting and pulling over everything she handles. If she objects, he will scream, and that brings the mistress from above, as quickly as if it were the cry of a baby.

There's no use denying it, Pickie rules that house from attic to cellar.

The devouring passion of the bird's whole life is love of his one best friend; from* the first he has been his idol. While he is in the house Pick never leaves him, but sits on his shoulder rubbing against his face, creeps into his pockets or his bosom, or performs antics for his amusement, such as walking lame, fluttering his wings, bowing and twisting his body, and other things, always insisting on his notice.

At five o'clock in the morning he wakes and rattles the bars of his sleeping cage, till the door is opened and he can get to his friend in the bed, when he creeps close to him, or under the pillow, and is happy.

He takes his meals with him, trying every dish on the table, and determined to like everything his idol eats. He will obey him too. If told not to touch a certain dish. Pick will leave it ; and when informed that he may chip the frame of a certain picture, he will exercise his strong bill on that one, and no other.

HE NEVER SEES THE PARROT. 27

He likes to help in the toilet of his friend, bringing him a neck-tie, and trying to lift a hair-brush. The mirror is his delight ; he passes hours before it, pluming himself, and seeming to know that it is not another bird, but himself, that he sees.