How the Blue Birds Came Back 



By Joseph Grinnell 



Yesterday the snow melted from the top of the great rocks in the woods ; 

 the evergreens shading the rocks lost their white load that had been bearing down 

 the branches for a month; the fences straggled their lean legs wide apart, as if it 

 were summer, only the tips of their toes resting on the surface snow; the north 

 roof of the barn fringed itself with icicles that tumbled down by noon, sticking 

 up at the base of the barn in tlie drifts head foremost; the top dressing of white 

 powder that for weel<s had adorned the woodpiles sifted down through the sticks 

 in a wet scramble for the bottom. 



But yesterday the south wind puckered up its lips and blew all over every- 

 thing in sight. The sun shines across the dooryard as it hasn't shone for so long, 

 making a thin coat of mud just at the edge of the chips and around the doorsteps. 

 Hut what matters? The children run in and out, tracking up the clean floors, 

 taking their scolding with good cheer. Isn't spring here, and don't they hear the 

 bluebird's note in the orchard ? 



Run and put up some more little boxes on the shed and the fence-posts. 

 Clean out the last year's nests in the hollow trees. Tell the old cat to "keep mum" 

 and "lie low," or she will be put in a bag and dropped to the bottom of the vcrv 

 first hole in the ice. Cats are all right in the dead of winter, when Old Boreas is 

 frantic in his annual mad fit. She can sit on the rug and purr to her heart's 

 content; but when the bluebirds come, if she bethinks herself of the fact, and 

 sharpens her claws against the trunk of a cherry-tree, she would better look out. 

 I'Vom the orchard comes a soft, agreeable, oft-repeated note, there is a quivering 

 of wings outspread, and "he" is here. There may be only one or two or six 

 singers. They have left the lady bluebirds in a safe place until they are sure of 

 the weather. If the outlook be bad tomorrow, the birds will retire out of sight 

 and wait for another warm spell. But spring is really here, and the good work 

 of the sun goes on. In a day or two the lady birds appear modestly, of paler hue 

 than the males, quiet, but quick and glad of motion. 



Little by little, and by very winning ways, docs this gentle blue courier pay 

 his suit of Miss Bluebird. A chance acquaintance sidles up to the same branch 

 on which the two have been sitting. Bluebird courier likes him not; he will have 

 no rival, and so he drives the intruder away as far as the next tree, returning to 

 his sweet and singing a low warble about something we do not understand. 

 Probably he is giving her to understand that he will look to the family supplies, 

 and in all things that pertain to faithful affection will prove himself worthy of 

 her. She consents, taking his word for it, and they set about the business of the 

 season. 



Now they must hurry or the wrens will come and drive them out of house 

 and home. One of the bluebirds remains in the nesting-place, or very near it; 



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