: The Jay Bird Who Went Tame by Breck John Andrews William T Illustrator - Animals Juvenile fiction; Birds Juvenile fiction; Cows Juvenile fiction; Temper Juvenile fiction; Farms Juvenile fiction

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- Louie Thomson and his tame Jay Bird - Tad catches the rat that was killing the chickens - Chaik begins to find out that living with house-folks is really great fun - Doctor Muskrat examines the White Cow's drinking pond - Doctor Muskrat makes friends with the ducks - Killer wasn't enjoying his visit to the Woods and Fields a bit - Killer climbs the big hickory tree after Chatter Squirrel - The Woodsfolk began bursting out of the straw pile, in and out and up and down

The Jay Bird Who Went Tame

Prob'ly you're all wondering what happened to Chaik Jay and Tad Coon when the big rain began to fall. Chaik had hurt his wing. He'd have had a bad time with it if he'd tried to stay in the pickery thorn bush, in the Quail's Thicket, down by Dr. Muskrat's Pond. Tad Coon knew a thing or two when he advised the bird to let Louie Thomson catch him. Well, when Louie burst into his mother's kitchen with Chaik holding on tight to his fat, warm finger he was 'most bursting with pride. You know just how you'd feel if you were Louie. Chaik felt just a little fluttery, but he knew he was safe so long as the little boy held him. He waved his well wing and put up his crest, but he never let go his hold on the funniest perch he'd ever sat on.

Of course, Louie's mother forgot all about the supper she was cooking. "Oh, wherever did you catch him?" she asked. "Isn't he a pretty thing? I never knew they had purple on their necks--just like grapes hanging in the sun. How do you s'pose he keeps all that white in his wings so clean?"

"He takes a bath every morning," said Louie. "I've seen him."

Tad was out in the woodshed, by the pussycat's dish, snubbing his shiny black nose against the screen. He was sniffing the hot Johnnycake he could smell baking in the oven. You know Louie promised him some--with syrup on it, too. Pretty soon Chaik had his beak pointed at the stove; he knew what Johnny cake was, because he'd had a taste of the piece Louie brought to the pond. He was 'most as interested as Tad Coon.

Then Louie's mother smelled it. "Heavens!" she exclaimed. "I clean forgot my oven!" She opened the door and took the Johnnycake out, hot and steaming. Louie took a nice crusty corner, right away quick. Of course Chaik thought that this was the signal for him, so he picked up a crumb--and his eyes fairly popped because he wasn't used to eating hot things. Then didn't she laugh! "The smart thing!" said she. "He's just like folks. But your pa'll be here in a minute and he won't think this kitchen's any place for birds--not if I know him. Quick, Louie! Put him down cellar in the cage so the cats can't get at him. Here's enough for him and the coon."

Down cellar they went, but Louie was careful to leave the door open so Tad could run down and see him. And Chaik didn't mind the cage so very much.

In fact, he was as comfortable as though he'd been at home. More comfortable, maybe, because it was pretty scary sleeping in the woods with Killer the Weasel sniffing about to find his hiding holes. Anyway, he was too full and too sleepy to think about it.

But Tad Coon wasn't sleepy a bit.

He licked the last crumb of Johnnycake, and the last drop of syrup Louie had put on it, out of his whiskers, and was just cleaning the stickiness off his little handy paws when he heard something that pricked his ears straight up. "Huh! That's a funny noise in the henhouse," he said to himself. "It isn't Louie, and it isn't his father--I believe I'll take a look." So off he marched, stepping most carefully in the hard middle of the path where the men walk so he wouldn't make his tracks plain for any one to follow.

"Hey! If this happened to our quail folk out by the pond there would be a fine goings on!" For it was the remains of a chicken. He craned his neck to see who had put it there, but he couldn't notice anything but the feather smell. "That bird wasn't killed to-night," thought he. "That was last night's work. It wasn't any owl. It wasn't a cat--they're horrid, spitty creatures, but they don't steal. Hist! I'll know who it was in about two whisks of a mouse's tail--he's doing it again!"

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