Tárogató, 1946-1947 (9. évfolyam, 7-10. szám)
1947-02-01 / 8. szám
16 TÁROGATÓ had nothing for them and so were we. The gate leading to the grounds by the side of the pond opened, an old gentleman came out and approached us. We wondered if we had done something wrong. But no. The squire was pleasant and said, “Would you like to feed the swans?” He handed us a number of slices of bread. “Break into small pieces and throw in a piece at a time.” We accepted his offer and did as he told us. He sat on the stone parapet and carried on an interesting conversation about swans. “These are common mute swans,” he explained. “There is a wild swan, named the whooper, because of the wild cry it makes as it flies on great wings across the sky. We were immediately interested; but we did not stop feeding little pieces of bread to the swans before us. How easily the beautiful birds glided over the water to pick them up! The old gentleman continued, “A number of swans is called a herd, not a flock as geese or ducks. The male bird is not a cock or a gander; he is called a cob. The female is a pen. Do you know what the chicks are called?” he asked. “Swanlings”, we ventured. “No,” he laughed. “The young are signets.” “Early in the spring,” he told us, “this pair of swans, cob and pen, set up housekeeping on that little island.” He pointed to a little piece of land surrounded by water, where the stream flowed into the pond. “They build a mighty nest of reeds, rushes and twigs on the mud flat, a great pile, enough to fill one of the farm carts. Then pen takes her place on the top of this and after she has laid five or six eggs, spends thirty-four days in hatching them. During this period of incubation the cob does sentry go, keeping constant watch. The young, when they are hatched, are little mites of loveliness, pearly-grey and fluffy; they float like balls of grey down on the water.” “Are the parent birds delighted?” the old gentleman wanted to know. We thought it quite likely, and he said we were right, that the cob redoubled his watchfulness, guarding the pen and the signets with jealous care. He was ready to defend them against all comers, whether bird, beast or man. He explained that the pen was very fond of her young. Said he, “She is a most doting mother. She takes good care that her little ones have plenty of good feeding on juicy water weeds and grasses, and that they do not overtire themselves.” We listened respectfully, still throwing our little pieces of bread far out into the pond, for the graceful birds to swim for. “By winter”, he continued, the herd, the two white adults and the young, which by this time are drab-hued in colour continue together, but as spring approches, the adults decide that it is time for the young to be on their own. They drive them away with savage pecks, that they themselves may get busy in raising another herd of signets. The swans sensed that we had nothing more to feed them. They moved gracefully away over the rippleless pond, their snowy wings arched above their backs; thfeir necks bent and their blacknobbed, orange beaks gleaming. We thanked the squire and said farewell to the sleepy, peaceful pond. —Canadian Boy. BREAD FROM HEAVEN When mention is made of “bread from heaven” we naturally think of the “manna” in the wilderness, which is usually looked upon as a “gift of God”, but when we consider the matter we can easily recognize that the bread which feeds the nations is just as truly “bread from heaven.” The harvest depends upon the lc&our of man and his intelligent adaptation to climate and conditions of growth, but with all our planning and with all our skill it still remains true that “God gives the harvest.” We think that the Israelites had great reason to be thankful for their “food from heaven”, but today we have just as good reason to praise our God for the gift of bread. All too often, we stress the need of human thought and foresight in the production of food, but we should never forget that heaven is still the great source of all our food. It is still “bread from heaven.” —Onward.
