J^otes: from JFielti anti ^tutjp 



A Strange Partnership 



I cannot remember the time when a 

 brood of young House Wrens was not 

 raised in our garden, and even this year 

 we had the Wrens and their bubbling 

 song all through the spring and early 

 summer, and the loss of the young is 

 partly atoned for in the strange partner- 

 ship entered into between the Wrens 

 and a pair of English Sparrows. 



Early in the spring, I put a box, having 

 a removable side, on the side of the barn, 

 an invitation to any pair of Sparrows 

 coming along, as I wished to put a Cow- 

 bird's egg in their nest, to study and 

 photograph results. 



In early April, a pair of Sparrows began 

 carrying grass and hay into the box 

 until it was half-full, when they stopped 

 building, though still hanging about 

 near the nest. 



The Wrens came back to the garden 

 during the morning of April 28, and went 

 singing about, inspecting their ancestral 

 home on the end of the grape arbor. 

 They had half a mind to build in the 

 Woodpeckers' hole in the birch stub, 

 until the Bluebirds asserted their right 

 of possession, and drove the Wrens away. 



The W^rens found the Sparrows' box 

 with the half-built nest, and built a nest 

 of sticks on the Sparrows' foundation 

 of ha}-. The Sparrows did not interfere 

 with the Wrens; in fact, one might have 

 believed that they had given up the nest, 

 or else looked upon the Wrens' finishing 

 their nest as one huge joke, and in their 

 apology for a song were saying, "He sings 

 best who sings last." 



The nest finished to the Wrens' liking, 

 the Sparrows gave it the finishing touch 

 by adding a lining of chicken feathers 

 from the yard next door. 



Buffeted and bullied, and driven from 

 much of their former range by the Spar- 

 rows' interference at nesting-time, it was 

 a strange sight to see the Wrens and the 

 Sparrows building a partnership nest; 



but surely, now that it was finished, there 

 would be a falling out and a fight for 

 possession with the odds in favor of the 

 Sparrows. 



Strange to say, there was no fighting. 

 Both pairs of birds sang as though nothing 

 unusual was happening, and on the morn- 

 ing of May 24 I found that the Wren was 

 a point ahead of the Sparrow in the race, 

 with the first egg in the nest; and the 

 next morning she was still ahead, with 

 two eggs to the Sparrow's one. 



Before seven o'clock the next morning, 

 there was another Sparrow's egg in the 

 nest; but at noon the Wrens were ahead 

 again, with three eggs to the Sparrows' 

 two. 



The following day the Sparrow laid 

 another egg and the Wren rested; and 

 the nest day both Sparrow and Wren 

 laid another egg, — and they were still 

 even, four each. 



Four small, finely speckled, pinkish 

 Wren's eggs hopelessly jumbled with the 

 Sparrow's eggs in the fluffy mass of 

 feathers. 



It gave one much the same feeling as, 

 when finding some dainty Warbler's nest, 

 to see one or more of the eggs of the 

 vagrant Cowbird crowding the Warbler's 

 eggs out of position. I could have re- 

 moved the Sparrow's eggs with as good 

 grace as I would the Cowbird's eggs from 

 the Warbler's nest, but I wanted to see 

 the end of the partnership, and to know 

 which bird, or if both birds, would feed 

 the mixed brood. 



The Sparrow flushed from the nest the 

 next morning when I looked in the box. 

 She had laid another egg, and all nine 

 eggs were carefully arranged in the nest, 

 the Sparrow's eggs on the outside, and 

 it was evident that the Sparrow was 

 incubating. 



The Wrens stayed near the nest during 

 the days of incubation, and their song 

 sounded as jolly as ever, as though they 

 were now saying, "The joke is on the 

 Sparrows now. We are spared the long 



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