By George Wharton James Author of “In and Around the Grand Canyon,” “In and Out of the Old Missions of California,” “The Wonders of the Colorado Desert,” etc. Illustrated from Drawings by Sears Gallagher and from Photographs Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1906 Copyright , 1906 , By Edith E. Farnsworth . ——— All rights reserved Published October, 1906 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A....

Most of our Indians have a tradition that in the days of old animals and man had a common speech. Each was able to understand the other, and thoughts and language were common to all. It was not until man began to regard himself as superior to the animals and think of them as “lower” that this oneness of speech and relationship was lost. Since then envy, jealousy, anger, on one side, and conceit, pride, and contempt on the other have widened the breach, while Love has stood with tearful eyes look

I was only a little baby song-sparrow, and from the moment I came out of my shell everybody knew there was something the matter with me. I don’t know what it could have been, for my brother and sister were well and strong. Perhaps I was out of the first egg that was laid, and a severe spell of cold had come and partially frozen me; or a storm had shaken the bough in which our nest was, so that I was partly “addled.” Anyhow, no matter what caused it, there was no denying the fact that when I was

My first week in-doors was very painful and distressing to me. Though my father and mother had never been kind, still they were my father and mother. But now I was all the time with strangers,—great, monstrous, tall human beings, and I was such a tiny little bird! How could I feel at home with them? It scared me just to see them. Still, scared or not, what was I to do? I had to stay there, for, unlike my home in the nest in the tree, here everything was shut up. The air was warm and close, and i

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 i

From now on we went out every day when it was fine, and we grew to understand each other more and more. When Fessor came into the den I used to chirp and tell him how glad I was to see him. Then he would snap his fingers and I would run towards him, and when he put his hand down to the floor, I would jump in, and he would lift me up to the desk. Then, if he had a few minutes to spare, he would chew up pinion nuts for me and let me eat them from his lips; or, if he felt hurried, he would give me

Fessor used to spend an awful lot of time at his desk. The time he wasted there was more than I could ever tell, for he would be hours at a time doing nothing but moving that pen across the paper, making those nasty little dark scratches that in time I learned were called writing. When he came into his den and sat down at the desk I would come to his feet and call, and he would lower his hand for me to jump into, and then he would lift me up on the desk. I generally hunted first for a few pinion

I don’t know what it was that made Fessor laugh so when I tried to “spruce up” and make myself look as pretty as possible. Of course, I know full well that I was not a pretty bird. Perhaps I ought to tell you just exactly how I did look. Now you needn’t laugh and think I don’t know, for I do. I’ve seen myself in the mirror lots of times. Fessor and Edith used to take me and stand me before the glass, and while at first I thought it was another little bird, and I tried to talk to and play with it

Now I must tell you about some of our daily walks. Fessor used to say to me: “Scraggles, you must go out of doors more, and watch the other birds and learn to fly. I want you to fly. How can I turn you loose to be a happy little bird in God’s great free out-of-doors if you don’t learn to fly? Come along now and see how the other birds do it, and then try for yourself.” Then he would snap his fingers for me and I would come and jump into his hand and he would carry me out of doors where the sparr

As a rule, Fessor was at work at his desk long, dark hours before I was ready to get up in the morning. I would hear him come quietly into the den, so as not to wake Mamma and Edith, and then the clock would strike twice, or three times, and I soon learned that that meant it was a long time before I had to get up. But some mornings he would be quite late, and once or twice he went down to the office (as he called it when he went away to be gone all day) and never saw me at all until night. Well,

From all this you can see how dear friends we had already become. So much so, that I was always very lonesome when Fessor had to go away; and several times after he had left the den, and the door downstairs had shut to, I would go out into the hall and call for him, and see if I could find him anywhere. Mamma and Edith were down in the kitchen, so they never heard me; but one day Fessor found out that I was in the habit of looking for him, for he went to the bath-room at the end of the great, lo

One day Mamma came up-stairs to the den and said her brother Herbert was coming. Fessor and Edith were both glad, and as Edith called him Uncle Herbert, I always thought of him in the same way. We were all quite excited when he came. Such huggings and kissings and shaking of hands. I could see it from the top of the stairs, and hear what was going on. By and by Edith said to Fessor that he must show Scraggles to Uncle Herbert. So Fessor brought me down in his hand. I don’t think Uncle Herbert ca

Soon after Uncle Herbert’s visit I was taken quite ill. You see I never was very strong, and every little thing, such as a change in the weather, affected me. Yet when I think about it, it was almost worth while to be sick to feel the tender love Fessor gave me at that time. As soon as he found I couldn’t eat, he went and bought some stuff in a bottle called “bird-food,” and placed it in a saucer on the floor for me. But somehow I could not make up my mind to eat any of it until he came and carr

It was Thursday, August 3, 1905. We (that is, Scraggles and I) had had a good day together. We went out and I dug worms for her, and she seemed happy and improving in health and appearance. During the day she followed me out to the bath-room and all around several times, and when I went to lie down and read she came and insisted upon my holding her, or allowing her to sit on my hand. When I moved to turn the page she jumped upon my sleeve and hopped up to my shoulder and neck, where she stayed f

The book I was writing when Scraggles came to me was “In and Out of the Old Missions of California.” These interesting buildings were founded by Saint Francis of Assisi, whose love for the birds and lower animals has already become almost a proverb. It was just as I was finishing one of the last chapters of the book that Scraggles’ life went out. Was it not singular that, while dealing with a subject so intimately associated with this great lover of birds, one of these tiny, helpless, feathered