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Updated: June 3, 2025
Quail mother-bird singing to her nest! I love that music. "Say, you play at Potlatch, frighten away the hawks; mother-birds sing. No devil dance. Say, I have been good; no harm old wah-wah. Will you will you play play that tin-tin at Potlatch under the big moon?" A great thought had taken possession of the young Indian's mind, and a great plan one worthy of a leader of a peace congress.
Round nests have come into being in a thousand secret places in the tree-tops, in the thick greenwood of the bushes, in the reeds of the marsh; ere long young living things are twittering there, the father and mother-birds call each other, singing to be of good cheer, and taking joy in caring for their young.
Doesn't the bluejay deserve some little credit for that? And is there ever any redress for the mother-bird, Padre?" "Why, the Church teaches " I began. Laurence nodded. "Yes, Padre, I know all that. But it can't teach away what's always happening here and now. At least not to the Butterfly Man and me, ... nor yet the mother-birds, Padre. No. We want to be shown how to head off the bluejays."
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