Just a reminder that there is an index to all of Verrill's stories here.
Toto the Toucan
By A. Hyatt Verrill
IN a deep hole far up in a
dead tree Toto the Toucan was
hatched—an ungainly, bluish, naked, pot-bellied chick, the
ugliest little creature you can imagine.
But his mother and father
thought him the finest and most
beautiful baby in the world and
clattered and croaked the news of
his arrival to all the denizens of the forest round about. They had little time to
think of his appearance, however, for Toto was a very hungry little chap and
his parents were kept busy, flying back and forth from the
nest to the vast green forest and
bringing bits of fruit and squirming insects to fill their
baby's ever-open mouth.
Toto grew rapidly, and very
soon he was able to crawl to the
edge of the hole where, sticking his
funny big beak through the opening
and cocking his bright blue head on one side, he could look about at the world far below. For the
toucans' nest was a hundred feet and more above the
earth, and Toto could gaze upon many miles of the
wonderful jungle and the great,
winding, silver river that flowed near. Overhead in the
blue sky he could see great black vultures wheeling on motionless wings and
looking for all the world like
aeroplanes. Beneath him in the
tree-tops he could see monkeys scampering about and chattering, and gaudy red
and blue macaws flying hither and
thither, and with his sharp ears he
could hear the screams of parrots, the songs of countless birds, and the wild howling of the
babboons.
It seemed a very wonderful
and beautiful world to Toto, as indeed it was, for the
toucans' nest was in the heart of the great Guiana forest in South
America, where there
are many wonderful and beautiful things to be seen. But it was a very dangerous
world, as well, for while the baby
toucan was quite safe from furred or feathered
foes, far above their reach in the hole in the
dead tree, yet there were plenty of
hungry creatures ready to gobble him down should he tumble or scramble from his
lofty home. The squawking, complaining Caracara hawks would have thought him a
welcome breakfast; the great boas
and anacondas would have seized him in an instant; the
prowling ocelots would have licked their
chops as they crunched such a tidbit
in their sharp teeth, and even the lazy green iguanas and the
ugly alligators beside the river would
have snapped him up before he had time even to squawk for help.
There was one danger, however,
which Toto's parents had not thought of and against which the high dead tree was no protection. This danger came
paddling down the river in a narrow dugout
canoe, a bronze, naked figure with keen, black eyes and with a scarlet
loincloth about its waist and a long bow and arrows by its side. In other words, this danger was an Indian, and his sharp
eyes, seeking among the forest trees
for game, soon spied the baby
toucan's beak projecting from the
hole in the dead tree-trunk.
With a smile of satisfaction the Indian ran his canoe ashore, and stepping upon the bank, hewed his way through the jungle to the
foot of the tree. It seemed
impossible that any man could climb that great, bare, polished trunk, but to the Indian it was a simple matter. Cutting a piece
of tough vine, he tied loops in the
ends, passed the ropelike creeper
around the tree and slipped his feet
through the loops. Then, grasping the trunk with his hands, he jerked up his feet and the rope, braced his toes against the tree, and straightening up secured a new hold
with his hands.
Over and over again he repeated
this funny froglike motion, and each time he rose higher and higher on the tree.
Hardly had he commenced to
climb before Toto's parents realized that their
baby was in danger, and with loud cries and clattering, snapping beaks they flew anxiously about with a queer, jerky
flight, arousing all the toucans far
and near. But the Indian gave no
heed to them, for the baby toucan would mean a new knife for himself
or a string of beads for his own brown baby, for at his village was a white man
who bought all manner of strange things from the
Indians and who particularly wished a live toucan.
At last the Indian reached the
nest and thrusting his hand in the
hole drew Toto forth, squawking and struggling. Tucking the
frightened toucan in his deerskin pouch, the
Indian slid quickly down the tree.
An hour later Toto was eating bits of banana from the
white man's hand while Komahri sharpened a brand new knife and gazed fondly at
his fat, brown baby with a string of shiny, glass beads about its chubby neck.
But Komahri and his wife were
not half as pleased with what they
received for Toto as were the white
man's daughters when, on returning from his long journey through the "bush," he brought them the
funny bird with the wise, brown eyes
and gigantic bill.
And a very funny and
interesting pet he was, or rather
is, for Toto is a real bird and while I am writing his story he is hopping
about and begging to be petted and played with, as much at home as if he were
in the South American forest, and
far safer than he would be there.
No longer is he an ungainly,
ugly, naked baby, and I doubt if his own mother
or father would know him if they saw him now. His body is covered with a coat of
glossy, blue-black feathers, there is a patch of yellow over his tail and a patch
of scarlet below, and his throat is snowy white with an edge of crimson, which
makes him look, as Valerie says, "like a man in evening clothes with a white shirt bosom and fancy red
vest." About his eyes the skin
is bare and sky-blue, and his enormous bill is gay with scarlet, orange,
yellow, green, and blue.
But funny as he looks, his
appearance is not half as comical as his ways are. He barks like a dog and
whistles like a boy and sometimes makes a sound like a bell, and when he wants
to be petted or fed he makes a queer, complaining little noise in his throat
which sounds precisely like a dog barking a long way off.
He is very fond of being
petted and loves to play, and if you could see him, hopping about on his big,
blue feet and investigating every thing by tapping it with his gaudy bill, you
would burst out laughing, for Toto doesn't walk or hop like other birds, but moves by great leaps, more like a
kangaroo than a bird.
Perhaps you think that his
big, bright-hued bill is clumsy and a nuisance. Not a bit of it. Toto can pick
up the smallest object in the daintiest manner and can move so quickly and use
his bill so deftly that he captures flies in mid-air and, large as it is, he
can use his bill as well and can preen his feathers
as readily as any other bird.
How do you suppose this funny
bird eats? He seizes his food in the
tip of his bill, tosses it in the
air, and with bill wide open catches the
food in his throat. A wonderfully elastic throat it is too, and Toto makes no
difficulty of swallowing a whole banana at a single gulp; but whether it is a banana, a spider, an ant, or any other tidbit, he never thinks of swallowing it
without first throwing it up and catching it in this way.
There is nothing he loves better
than to have some one stand at a distance and toss him bits of fruit or
dainties so that he can catch them.
Very seldom indeed does he miss, and if he is not hungry, he is just as fond of
catching a wad of paper or any other
light object, for Toto never tires of playing ball and showing his skill as a
catcher.
Perhaps the funniest thing about Toto is his tail, for when
he is excited or pleased it snaps up over his back as if it worked by a spring.
When he goes to bed, Toto places his big beak upon his back, spreads his tail
like a fan, snaps it up over his bill, and standing on one foot goes to sleep,
looking like a big, round, black ball.
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