Prevod
V dneh, ko so v gnezdu ležala štiri prelepa zelenomodra jajčka, se je gospa Drozdovka zadrževala predvsem doma. Govorila je, da je to prav imeniten kraj, saj lahko greje jajčka in obenem vidi vse, kar se dogaja. Konec prečke, na katerem sta si zgradila gnezdo, je segal na travniško stran ograje, nad najvišje trave in vitka stebla zlate rozge. Tu je kača Podveznica vlekla svoje bleščeče telo skozi prepleteno zelenje in sem je pogosto prihajala Rega, da bi v miru zadremala.
Tik ob zunanji strani ograje so rasle svilnice in vsak njihov široki, bledozeleni list je bil po pomladni navadi poševno obrnjen navzgor. Tu so se hranile svilnične gosenice in tu so tudi svilnični metulji posedali ves dan, ko so s stebel visele velike krogle drobnih, zamolklo rožnatih cvetov. Po tihi, s travo porasli poti so vozile vse vprege, ki so odhajale s kmetije, pa tudi tiste, ki so bile namenjene nanjo. Ko je gospa Drozdovka zagledala prihajajočo vprego, se je vselej pogreznila globlje v gnezdo, da se ni videlo niti eno opečnato rdeče peresce na njenih prsih. Nato je sedela povsem pri miru in obračala glavo le toliko, da je lahko opazovala vprego, ki se je bližala, šla mimo in po poti izginila izpred oči. Včasih ji glave sploh ni bilo treba obrniti, saj je lahko, če je bila po naključju obrnjena proti poti, z enim očesom gledala, kako se vprega bliža, z drugim pa, kako se oddaljuje. Saj veste, nobenemu ptiču ni treba ničesar gledati z obema očesoma hkrati.
Ko so mladi drozgi prerasli svoje lupine, jih razbili in odvrgli, so bili goli, rdeči in slepi. Ležali so na kupu na dnu gnezda in se tako prepletli med seboj, da bi samo ptič lahko razločil, kateri je kateri. Če so zaslišali očeta ali mater, ki je priletela k njim, so iztegnili vratove in odprli kljunčke. Tedaj je vsakemu od njih eden od staršev potisnil nekaj hrane v grlo, potem pa je mirno ležal, dokler ni dobil novega grižljaja.
Ko so odprli oči in se jim je začelo razraščati puhasto perje, so bili pridni mali drozgi in so naredili natanko tako, kot jim je bilo naročeno. Tedaj ni bilo težko biti priden, saj še niso bili dovolj močni, da bi si želeli kam drugam, hrane pa so imeli, kolikor so je hoteli. Ponoči je mati sedela v gnezdu in jih pokrivala s svojim mehkim perjem. Tako je storila tudi, kadar je deževalo. Bila je ljubezniva in zelo marljiva mati. Gospod Drozd se je trudil prav toliko kot ona in je bil neznansko ponosen na svojo družino.
Ko pa jim je začelo rasti perje in so ostre tulke vsakega mladega drozga zbadale njegove bratce in sestrice, če so se stiskali k njemu, ni bilo več tako lahko biti priden. Štirim odraščajočim otrokom je bilo v eni sami majhni okrogli posteljici včasih precej tesno. Nekega večera je gospa Drozdovka rekla možu: »Čisto sem izčrpana. Ves dan, dokler je svetlo, iščem hrano za te otroke in nikakor ne morem biti dovolj tukaj, da bi jih česa naučila.«
»Potem se morajo naučiti sami skrbeti zase,« je odločno rekel gospod Drozd. »Prav gotovo so že dovolj stari.« »Saj so vendar še dojenčki!« je vzkliknila njegova žena. »Komaj kaj repkov imajo.«
»Za hranjenje ne potrebujejo repkov,« je rekel, »in prav lahko začnejo že zdaj. Ne bom dovolil, da se tako izčrpaš zaradi tega enega zaroda.« Gospa Drozdovka ni rekla nič več. Pravzaprav ni bilo več kaj reči, saj je dobro vedela, da njeni otroci ne bi jedli z repki, tudi če bi jih že imeli. Svoje malčke je tako ljubila, da ji skoraj ni bilo všeč gledati, kako odraščajo, vendar je vedela, da je prav, da zapustijo gnezdo. Bili so že tako veliki, da so segali čez njegove robove, in morali so se naučiti skrbeti zase, preden bi prišel čas, da vzredi svoj drugi zarod.
Naslednje jutro so morali vsi štirje otroci skočiti iz gnezda na prečko. Njihove nožice še niso bile prav močne in prstki so se jim šibko razlezli na vse strani. Včasih so se zamajali in skoraj padli. Preden so zapustili gnezdo, so se počutili velike in zelo pomembne; zdaj pa so se nenadoma počutili majhne, mlade in nebogljene. Tu in tam je kateri od njih s slabotnimi poskoki napredoval za nekaj korakov po prečki. Potem je prestrašeno začivkal, spustil glavico nad svoje pegaste prsi, zagrnil oči z vekami in čakal, da mu prinesejo še kaj hrane.
Kadar koli je šla mimo vprega, je najstarejši otrok zaprl oči. Mislil je, da ga tako ne morejo videti. Drugi otroci so imeli oči odprte in so opazovali, kaj se dogaja. Oče in mati sta jim naročila, naj opazujejo, toda plašni mladi drozg je kljub temu vedno zaprl oči.
»Z njim bova imela težave,« je rekla gospa Drozdovka, »vendar mora ubogati, tudi če ga je strah.« Ob teh besedah je zelo trdno stisnila kljun in gospod Drozd je vedel, da ji lahko brez skrbi zaupa vzgojo svojega plašnega sina.
Gospa Drozdovka mu je prigovarjala in prigovarjala, a še vedno je zaprl oči vsakič, ko se je prestrašil. »Ne morem jih imeti odprtih,« je govoril, »ker me je vedno strah, kadar se prestrašim, in ne morem biti pogumen, če me je strah.«
»Prav takrat moraš biti pogumen,« je rekla njegova mati. »Nič ne pomaga biti pogumen, kadar se nimaš česa bati, in veliko več poguma je treba, da si pogumen, kadar te je strah, kakor pa takrat, ko te ni.« Vidite lahko, da je bila zelo modra drozdovka in dobra mati. Strašno bi bilo, če bi mu pustila odrasti v strahopetca.
Naposled je prišel čas, ko naj bi mladi ptiči poleteli na tla in odskakljali čez pot. Oče in mati sta bila oba tam, da bi jim pokazala, kako se to stori. »Spustiti morate prečko,« sta rekla. »Nikoli ne boste poleteli, če je ne spustite.«
Trije otroci so zaprhutali, se zamajali in poleteli navzdol. Plašni mladi drozg ni hotel niti poskusiti. Oče mu je ukazoval in mati ga je pregovarjala, on pa se je le še tesneje oprijemal svoje prečke in govoril: »Ne morem! Strah me je!«
Nazadnje je mati rekla: »Prav. Ostani tam, dokler hočeš, vendar midva ne moreva ostati s teboj.« Nato je začivkala možu in skupaj s tremi pogumnimi otroki sta se odpravila čez pot ter jim med potjo prigovarjala. »Previdno!« je govorila. »Zdaj pa še en skok! To je bilo odlično! Zdaj pa še enega!« Oče pa je prhutal naokrog in govoril: »Dobro! Dobro! Še preden se boste zavedeli, boste odrasli.« Ko so bili na drugi strani, sta starša poiskala hrano in nahranila svoje tri pogumne otroke ter jim potiskala grižljaje globoko v široko odprte kljunčke.
Plašni mali drozg na ograji se je počutil zelo, zelo osamljenega. Tudi lačen je bil. Kadar koli je videl, da je mati pobrala grižljaj hrane, je glasno začivkal: »Meni! Meni! Meni!« Želel je namreč, da bi ga prinesla njemu. Dolgo se ni zmenila zanj. Potem je zaklicala: »Misliš, da lahko poletiš? Misliš, da lahko poletiš? Misliš?«
Plašni mali drozg je naredil nekaj poskokov in začivkal, kril pa ni niti dvignil. Nato je mati vsakemu od drugih otrok dala velik grižljaj.
Drožek na ograji se je stisnil v žalosten kupček in si mislil: »Prav nič jim ni mar, ali bom sploh kdaj dobil kaj jesti. Ne, ni jim mar!« Tedaj je zaslišal šum kril in pred njim je stala mati s kupčkom hrane v kljunu, namenjenim njemu. Poskočil je proti njej, ona pa je stekla stran. Tedaj je sedel in zajokal. Priskakljala je nazaj in ga ljubeče pogledala, govoriti pa ni mogla, ker je imela tako poln kljun. Na drugi strani poti je oče Drozd ostal pri svojih pogumnih otrocih in klical: »Prisluži si ga, sin moj, prisluži si ga!«
Mladi drozg je iztegnil vrat in odprl kljun — toda mati je odletela na tla. Bil je tako lačen — tako zelo, zelo lačen — da je za trenutek povsem pozabil na strah, se nagnil proti njej in se prekucnil. Ne da bi pomislil, je zaprhutal s krili in, še preden se je prav zavedel, priletel na tla. Komaj je pristal, že ga je mati hranila, oče pa je pel: »Veš, kaj si storil? Veš, kaj si storil? Veš?«
Še preden mu je zrasel rep, je plašni drozg postal prav tako pogumen kot kateri koli od drugih otrok, kajti veste, ko enkrat začneš biti pogumen, si vedno želiš tako tudi nadaljevati. Toda kača Podveznica pravi, da je gospa Drozdovka najpogumnejša v družini.
Izvirnik
During the days when the four beautiful green-blue eggs lay in the nest, Mrs. Robin stayed quite closely at home. She said it was a very good place, for she could keep her eggs warm and still see all that was happening. The rail-end on which they had built was on the meadow side of the fence, over the tallest grasses and the graceful stalks of golden-rod. Here the Garter Snake drew his shining body through the tangled green, and here the Tree Frog often came for a quiet nap.
Just outside the fence the milkweeds grew, with every broad, pale green leaf slanting upward in their spring style. Here the Milkweed Caterpillars fed, and here, too, when the great balls of tiny dull pink blossoms dangled from the stalks, the Milkweed Butterflies hung all day long. All the teams from the farm-house passed along the quiet, grass-grown road, and those which were going to the farm as well. When Mrs. Robin saw a team coming, she always settled herself more deeply into her nest, so that not one of her brick-red breast feathers showed. Then she sat very still, only turning her head enough to watch the team as it came near, passed, and went out of sight down the road. Sometimes she did not even have to turn her head, for if she happened to be facing the road, she could with one eye watch the team come near, and with the other watch it go away. No bird, you know, ever has to look at anything with both eyes at once.
After the young Robins had outgrown their shells and broken and thrown them off, they were naked and red and blind. They lay in a heap in the bottom of the nest, and became so tangled that nobody but a bird could tell which was which. If they heard their father or their mother flying toward them, they would stretch up their necks and open their mouths. Then each would have some food poked down his throat, and would lie still until another mouthful was brought to him.
When they got their eyes open and began to grow more down, they were good little Robins and did exactly as they were told. It was easy to be good then, for they were not strong enough to want to go elsewhere, and they had all they wanted to eat. At night their mother sat in the nest and covered them with her soft feathers. When it rained she also did this. She was a kind and very hard-working mother. Mr. Robin worked quite as hard as she, and was exceedingly proud of his family.
But when their feathers began to grow, and each young Robin's sharp quills pricked his brothers and sisters if they pushed against him, then it was not so easy to be good. Four growing children in one little round bed sometimes found themselves rather crowded. One night Mrs. Robin said to her husband: "I am all tired out. I work as long as daylight lasts getting food for those children, and I cannot be here enough to teach them anything."
"Then they must learn to work for themselves," said Mr. Robin decidedly. "They are surely old enough."
"Why, they are just babies!" exclaimed his wife. "They have hardly any tails yet."
"They don't need tails to eat with," said he, "and they may as well begin now. I will not have you get so tired for this one brood."
Mrs. Robin said nothing more. Indeed, there was nothing more to be said, for she knew perfectly well that her children would not eat with their tails if they had them. She loved her babies so that she almost disliked to see them grow up, yet she knew it was right for them to leave the nest. They were so large that they spread out over the edges of it already, and they must be taught to take care of themselves before it was time for her to rear her second brood.
The next morning all four children were made to hop out on to the rail. Their legs were not very strong and their toes sprawled weakly around. Sometimes they lurched and almost fell. Before leaving the nest they had felt big and very important; now they suddenly felt small and young and helpless. Once in a while one of them would hop feebly along the rail for a few steps. Then he would chirp in a frightened way, let his head settle down over his speckled breast, slide his eyelids over his eyes, and wait for more food to be brought to him.
Whenever a team went by, the oldest child shut his eyes. He thought they couldn't see him if he did that. The other children kept theirs open and watched to see what happened. Their father and mother had told them to watch, but the timid young Robin always shut his eyes in spite of that.
"We shall have trouble with him," said Mrs. Robin, "but he must be made to do as he is told, even if he is afraid." She shut her bill very tightly as she spoke, and Mr. Robin knew that he could safely trust the bringing-up of his timid son to her.
Mrs. Robin talked and talked to him, and still he shut his eyes every time that he was frightened. "I can't keep them open," he would say, "because when I am frightened I am always afraid, and I can't be brave when I am afraid."
"That is just when you must be brave," said his mother. "There is no use in being brave when there is nothing to fear, and it is a great deal braver to be brave when you are frightened than to be brave when you are not." You can see that she was a very wise Robin and a good mother. It would have been dreadful for her to let him grow up a coward.
At last the time came when the young birds were to fly to the ground and hop across the road. Both their father and their mother were there to show them how. "You must let go of the rail," they said. "You will never fly in the world unless you let go of the rail."
Three of the children fluttered and lurched and flew down. The timid young Robin would not try it. His father ordered and his mother coaxed, yet he only clung more closely to his rail and said, "I can't! I'm afraid!"
At last his mother said: "Very well. You shall stay there as long as you wish, but we cannot stay with you."
Then she chirped to her husband, and they and the three brave children went across the road, talking as they went. "Careful!" she would say. "Now another hop! That was fine! Now another!" And the father fluttered around and said: "Good! Good! You'll be grown-up before you know it." When they were across, the parents hunted food and fed their three brave children, tucking the mouthfuls far into their wide-open bills.
The timid little Robin on the fence felt very, very lonely. He was hungry, too. Whenever he saw his mother pick up a mouthful of food, he chirped loudly: "Me! Me! Me!" for he wanted her to bring it to him. She paid no attention to him for a long time. Then she called: "Do you think you can fly? Do you think you can fly? Do you think?"
The timid little Robin hopped a few steps and chirped but never lifted a wing. Then his mother gave each of the other children a big mouthful.
The Robin on the fence huddled down into a miserable little bunch, and thought: "They don't care whether I ever have anything to eat. No, they don't!" Then he heard a rush of wings, and his mother stood before him with a bunch in her bill for him. He hopped toward her and she ran away. Then he sat down and cried. She hopped back and looked lovingly at him, but couldn't speak because her bill was so full. Across the road the Robin father stayed with his brave children and called out, "Earn it, my son, earn it!"
The young Robin stretched out his neck and opened his bill--but his mother flew to the ground. He was so hungry--so very, very hungry,--that for a minute he quite forgot to be afraid, and he leaned toward her and toppled over. He fluttered his wings without thinking, and the first he knew he had flown to the ground. He was hardly there before his mother was feeding him and his father was singing: "Do you know what you did? Do you know what you did? Do you know?"
Before his tail was grown the timid Robin had become as brave as any of the children, for, you know, after you begin to be brave you always want to go on. But the Garter Snake says that Mrs. Robin is the bravest of the family.
