appeared to notice that nobody played ball on the greensward, nor threw stones 

 at stray chickens. Altogether circumstances seemed favorable to Sir Grosbeak, 

 and he brought Madam along down from the mountain canons. 



By midsummer of the second season the two were seen at sunrise as low 

 as the tallest of the orange-trees, but they flew higher or disappeared if the 

 door were opened. It was the year that we first planted the row of Logan 

 berries, a new cross between the blackberry and raspberry. It was between 

 the orange and lemon trees, in a quiet corner of the orchard, and the grosbeaks 

 espied them, reddening a month before they ripened. By getting up at dawn we 

 made sure that nesting operations had begun with twenty feet of the Logan 

 berries. But which way? It was not until the eggs were laid that we found the 

 site on a low limb of a fig tree adjoining the berry row. The nest was made 

 solely of dry dark-leaf spines, and so transparently laid that we could distinguish 

 the three eggs from below. There was no lining, plenty of ventilation in this 

 and other of these grosbeaks' nests obser\-ed in the foothills being the rule. Per- 

 haps the climate induces the birds to this sanitary measure. Certain it is that 

 this nest could be no harbor for those insect foes that too often make life 

 miserable for the birdlings. 



The summer passed, and we gave up the row of berries to the grosbeaks. 

 There were but few anyway, and we wanted the birds. And there was other 

 fruit they were welcome to. 



This season the grosbeaks have brought off three broods within fifty feet 

 of the house. The male sings in the low bushes and trees, and does not think of 

 punctuating his notes with stops and pauses, even though we stand within a 

 few feet of him. In fact, the birds are now as tame as robins. Young striped 

 fledglings grope aJMut in the clover, or flutter in the bushes as fearless as 

 sparrows. If we pick them up they will support themselves by a grip on the 

 hand and swing by their strong great beaks, screaming at the top of their shrill 

 voices to "let go !" when it is themselves that are holding on with might and 

 main. If they scream long enough, and their beaks do not weaken in their 

 clutch, the mocker comes to the rescue and scolds us, while we explain the 

 situation, extending our hands with the grosbeak clinging to the palm. 



So far as we have known, all the nests in our grounds have been built in 

 the crotch of a fig tree. The fig has sparse foilage and afifords little shelter. 

 But then there are figs that ripen most of the summer — and figs are good for 

 baby grosbeaks. Once we discovered a nest by accident. The bees at swarming- 

 time settled in the top of a fig tree, a place not at all suitable, in our opinion. 

 We were busily engaged in tossing dust into the tree to frighten the bees out, 

 when a grosbeak appeared, scolding so hard in her familiar, motherly tone that 

 we knew we were "sanding"' her nest as well as the bees. And we found it all 

 right! She went on with her work after we had attended to the bees. 



On account of the fondness of the birds for fruit and buds, the grosbeaks 

 might easily become resident in any home grounds. Low shrubbery they love when 

 once they have become familiar; unlike the thrushes, not caring particularly 

 for damp places. Dry, baked-in-the-sun nooks, crisp undergrowth, and especially 



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