while the most dreadful woes. The female is a close sitter, and portraits 

 (in nido) are not difficult to obtain. 



Nesting sites are various, but the bird shows a decided preference for 

 those which are naturally defended by thorns Nearly every full sized Crategus 

 (thorn apple) has at one time harbored a nest. Hedges of osage-orange are 

 well patronized almost exclusively so in the prairie states further west — 

 and the honey-locust tree is not forgotten. Next after these come wild 

 plum thickets, grape-vine tangles, brush heaps, fence corners, and last of all, 

 the ground. 



From "Birds of Ohio" by Permission. 



Birds in Winter Fields 



By Edward B. Clark 



A crow was calling from the Skokie,* while from the oak at the door- 

 step a bluejay, in a voice more grating than usual, answered the salutation 

 with the epithet "thief," twice repeated. It may seem strange that the sum- 

 mons of two harsh bird-voices should be potent enough to draw one to the 

 outdoor world from the front of a pile of genially crackling birch-logs, when 

 the thermometer is dangerously near zero. There are some people, however, 

 to whom a jay and his jargon, and the call of a bird as common as a crow, 

 are preferred to the warmth of a hearth, though the fire be of birch. The 

 same persons who tell you that since the English sparrow was imported 

 every other winged thing except the mosquito and the house-fly has disap- 

 peared, will tell you also, even if they admit the presence of a few songsters 

 in summer, that there are no more birds in winter than there are in last 

 year's nests. There are winter birds, however, and interesting winter birds 

 at that. Those who will take the trouble and who will learn how to look, 

 will find them lurking in the shrul)bery just beyond the snow which banks 

 the doorstep, or it may be, calling with voices as blithe as of the summer 

 from the bare apple-boughs of the orchard. 



When the crow called me that cold January morning. I struck out for a 

 tramp through the Skokie swamp, and all the country that lay between it 

 and the hill on the east. It was a bitter morning, and cvon the owl, hidden 

 in the hole in the oak, "for all his feathers was a-cold." I halted at the foot 

 of the dooryard steps, and cast an anxious look upward to see if the jay 

 which I had heard from the fireside had deserted. I am superstitious enough 

 to think that it augurs well for the success of a bird-hunting trip to see 

 some feathered character at the start. This bit of superstition is. I believe, 

 common to all bird-students. The jay was still there. It is perhaps the 

 commonest bird of this locality, both in winter and summer. You can 



•Few miles north of Chicago. 



