Policeman Bluejay — Reading Notes

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Baum, L. Frank (Lyman Frank), 1856-1919, Barney, Maginel Wright, 1877-1966 [Illustrator] Project Gutenberg 2009 Not confirmed
Fantasy literature; Birds -- Juvenile fiction; Nature -- Juvenile fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 32,821
Reading time 143 min
Text sections 5

The source record for Policeman Bluejay — Reading Notes measures this digital text at 32,821 words, 2 hr 23 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 17.9 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Fantasy literature,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

In this bird fantasy, Twinkle and Chubbins become child-larks under Policeman Bluejay's watch. The excerpts show tensions between natural bird habits and human-like care, as the children struggle to feed orphaned goldfinches and confront the limits of their new forms.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

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  • Title & short description10 pts
  • Source metadata20 pts
  • Text length15 pts
  • Chapters / structure15 pts
  • EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

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Read the Text

Chubbins looked too, but only heard a flutter and a mocking laugh coming from the trees.

"If I get my eye on that bird, it will never speak again," exclaimed the creature, in a voice of fury very different from the sweet tones it had at first used; and perhaps it was this fact that induced the children to believe the warning was from a friend, and they would do well to heed it.

"Whether you are the tuxix or not," said Twinkle, "I never will touch you. You may be sure of that."

"Nor I," declared Chubbins, stoutly, as he came closer to the girl and grasped her hand in his own.

At this the horrid thing bristled all its sharp prickers in anger, and said:

"Then, if I cannot conquer you in one way, I will in another. Go, both of you, and join the bird that warned you, and live in the air and the trees until you repent your stubbornness and promise to become my slaves. The tuxix has spoken, and her magical powers are at work. Go!"

In an instant Twinkle saw Chubbins shoot through the air and disappear among the leaves of one of the tall trees. As he went he seemed to grow very small, and to change in shape.

"Wait!" she cried. "I'm coming, too!"

She was afraid of losing Chubbins, so she flew after him, feeling rather queer herself, and a moment after was safe in the tall tree, clinging with her toes to a branch and looking in amazement at the boy who sat beside her.

Chubbins had been transformed into a pretty little bird--all, that is, except his head, which was Chubbins' own head reduced in size to fit the bird body. It still had upon it the straw hat, which had also grown small in size, and the sight that met Twinkle's eyes was so funny that she laughed merrily, and her laugh was like the sweet warbling of a skylark.

Chubbins looked at her and saw almost what she saw; for Twinkle was a bird too, except for her head, with its checked sunbonnet, which had grown small enough to fit the pretty, glossy-feathered body of a lark.

Both of them had to cling fast to the branch with their toes, for their arms and hands were now wings. The toes were long and sharp pointed, so that they could be used in the place of fingers.

"My!" exclaimed Twinkle; "you're a queer sight, Chubbins!"

"So are you," answered the boy. "That mean old thing must have 'witched us."

"Yes, we're 'chanted," said Twinkle. "And now, what are we going to do about it? We can't go home, for our folks would be scared nearly into fits. And we don't know the way home, either."

"That's so," said Chubbins, fluttering his little wings to keep from falling, for he had nearly lost his balance.

"What shall we do?" she continued.

"Why, fly around and be gay and happy," said a clear and merry voice beside them. "That's what birds are expected to do!"

[CHAPTER II] _The Forest Guardian_

Twinkle and Chubbins twisted their heads around on their little feathered necks and saw perched beside them a big bird of a most beautiful blue color. At first they were a bit frightened, for the newcomer seemed of giant size beside their little lark bodies, and he was, moreover, quite fierce in appearance, having a crest of feathers that came to a point above his head, and a strong beak and sharp talons. But Twinkle looked full into the shrewd, bright eye, and found it good humored and twinkling; so she plucked up courage and asked:

"Were you speaking to us?"

"Very likely," replied the blue bird, in a cheerful tone. "There's no one else around to speak to."

"And was it you who warned us against that dreadful creature below in the forest?" she continued.

"Then," said Twinkle, "we are very much obliged to you."

"Don't mention it," said the other. "I'm the forest policeman-- Policeman Bluejay, you know--and it's my duty to look after everyone who is in trouble."

"We're in trouble, all right," said Chubbins, sorrowfully.

"Well, it might have been worse," remarked Policeman Bluejay, making a chuckling sound in his throat that Twinkle thought was meant for a laugh. "If you had ever touched the old tuxix she would have transformed you into toads or lizards. That is an old trick of hers, to get children into her power and then change them into things as loathsome as herself."

"I wouldn't have touched her, anyhow," said Twinkle.

"Nor I!" cried Chubbins, in his shrill, bird-like voice. "She wasn't nice."

"Still, it was good of you to warn us," Twinkle added, sweetly.

From its opening pages, Policeman Bluejay establishes a peculiar tension between natural history and fairy tale. L. Frank Baum, writing as Laura Bancroft, admits in the preface that the story is “fantastical, and intended to amuse rather than instruct,” yet he also claims that “many of the traits of the feathered folk, herein described, are in strict accordance with natural history teachings.” This double stance sets up a recurring pattern: the child protagonists, transformed into larks, must navigate a world where bird instincts and human sensibilities constantly collide.

Feeding the Orphans: Human Care vs. Bird Instinct

When Twinkle and Chubbins take charge of baby goldfinches, their efforts reveal a persistent mismatch between human logic and avian reality. The children stuff the nestlings until “a big bunch in front of each little breast” proves a full crop, yet the babies keep their bills open and cry for more. Twinkle’s exasperated comment—“Wouldn’t you think they’d get tired stretching their bills that way?”—shows her applying human expectations to bird behavior. Chubbins compares the nestlings to his dog, who howled when shut up, and suggests leaving them alone to “shut their mouths.” The episode ends with the children relieved to hand the orphans to Mrs. Chaffinch, a widow who “declared she would be delighted to become a mother.” The text frames this transfer as sensible, but the children’s earlier anxiety lingers: they cannot reconcile the birds’ endless hunger with their own sense of enough.

Policeman Bluejay’s Authority and the Limits of Child-Lark Judgment

Policeman Bluejay functions as a figure of order, but his authority often overrides the children’s instincts. When Twinkle hesitates to give up the goldfinches, the bluejay “hinted that he considered the widow’s experience would enable her to do more for the baby goldfinches than could a child-lark who had never yet laid an egg.” This blunt appeal to biological expertise silences Twinkle. The children’s own judgment is repeatedly questioned: they are larks, but inexperienced ones. Later, Chubbins’s fear that the maple tree might be haunted by “the ghosts of the gray owl, Wisk, and Mrs. ’Possum” is dismissed by the narrative as groundless—“either the poor things had no ghosts or they were too polite to bother.” The story thus maintains a delicate balance: the children are learning, but their human fears and sympathies are not always validated by the bird world’s practical rules.

The Forest as a Stage for Contrasting Voices

The excerpts repeatedly juxtapose the children’s colloquial speech with the formal, slightly archaic language of the bird community. Twinkle and Chubbins speak in a relaxed, conversational tone—“Seems to me, Chub, that we’re lost”—while the bluejay uses measured, almost legal phrasing: “I consider the widow’s experience would enable her to do more.” The narrator’s own voice, especially in the preface, adopts a playful yet didactic register, addressing “my little friends” and defending fairy tales against modern skepticism. This layering of voices creates a textured world where the children’s perspective is central but not dominant. The forest itself is filled with “merry” calls and “brisk, businesslike” chipmunk chirps, suggesting a community with its own rhythms. The children must learn to listen—not just to the bluejay’s commands, but to the subtle cues of their new environment.

Readers will find that the story’s interest lies less in plot twists than in the small, awkward moments when human and bird perspectives fail to align. Pay attention to how the children’s language shifts as they spend more time in feathers, and note which bird characters are allowed to be wrong or foolish. The preface’s warning—that in a fairy tale “it does not matter whether one is awake or not”—invites a relaxed approach, but the text itself rewards close attention to its carefully observed details of bird life and human limitation.

There’s a peculiar ache in watching Twinkle and Chubbins try to mother those orphaned goldfinches—their human tenderness colliding with feathered limits. It reminded me of another kind of collision, the one in A Son of Perdition: An Occult Romance — A Reader’s Guide, where wanting to care fiercely for something just out of reach leaves its own quiet scar. Both linger that way.

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  • ...
    John James Hernandez - 1 month ago
    Policeman Bluejay is a charming and whimsical tale that cleverly blends fantasy with social commentary. The story's imaginative world and endearing characters, especially the vigilant bluejay, kept me thoroughly engaged. L. Frank Baum's storytelling is as delightful as ever, making this a must-read for fans of classic children's literature and anyone seeking a heartwarming adventure with a subtle moral message.

  • ...
    Cheryl Jones - 3 weeks ago
    Policeman Bluejay struggles with dated language and a convoluted plot that may confuse modern readers. The moral lessons feel overly didactic, and the character development is shallow. Compared to Baum's other books, this one lacks the same magical charm and coherence. I wanted to like it, but the execution fell short—it reads more like a forced allegory than a natural story.

  • ...
    Richard Levine - 1 week ago
    Policeman Bluejay offers a creative plot and vivid imagery, but the pacing feels uneven in places. While the central concept is intriguing, some chapters dwell too long on descriptions, slowing the narrative. However, the whimsical tone and the endearing protagonist make it a pleasant read for those who enjoy early 20th-century children's fantasy. Overall, it's a decent addition to Baum's works.


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