IN THE ORCHARD 285 



springtime. No sooner are the youngsters of the 

 first brood flying about in their speckled suits, 

 than the mother, leaving to the father the task 

 of solving the food problem for the family, goes 

 back to rear a second brood, and late in July the 

 two families unite in a happy band of rovers. 



Of all the Robins that gather here in early 

 spring, usually but a single pair remains, build- 

 ing their rude nest in the fork of a tree, often not 

 more than five or six feet above the ground. A 

 prowling cat or weasel would have a fine feast 

 on a nestful of the tender fledglings, but in spite 

 of the exposed position of the nest the brood is 

 usually reared in safety, and by mid-June they 

 are flying freely about in their short-tailed suits 

 of spotted brown. Soon five more blue eggs are 

 laid and a few weeks later the second family 

 joins the first, the industrious parents appearing 

 very proud of their sturdy flock. 



These highly prized friends of man show so 

 little sagacity in concealing their nests, the won- 

 der is that the young are not all destroyed. But 

 a kind Providence seems to protect them, for 

 among all the Robins' nests I find during a 

 season, probably a dozen or more, not often do 

 I discover a tragedy. Yet among the nests of the 

 other varieties which I observe, the destruction 

 from one cause or another is sometimes very 

 great. 



By the first of May all the Redwings abandon 

 the orchard, taking themselves to the lowlands 

 where in the bushes about the brook mouth and 

 cove, they settle down for the summer. Last 

 year many nests built in the low bushes came 



