268 



Bird - Lore 



buried his bride — was she? It was their 

 mating season. Had the belle of the 

 flock, after near a year's flirtation, made 

 choice of the truest heart of them all? Or 

 had the sister of the household displeased 

 by her mating? 



How quickly we read romance into all 

 that has its seeming. One thing I know, 

 when a flash of gold, or a merry per-chick-o- 

 ree brings the dastards to mind, the pic- 

 ture fades, but Sir Galahad in his lonely 

 vigil stays. He has done what he could 

 to redeem the reputation of his race. — 

 Theresa Wood, 4071 Sisson St., East 

 San Diego, Calif. 



A Leaf from a Rose-breast's Life 



One Saturday afternoon in June, 1913, 

 I discovered a tiny birdling in my front 

 yard. It was verj^ scantily covered with 

 yellowish down and so weak it could 

 flutter only a few feet along the grassy 

 lawn. I did not know what it was until, 

 after retiring to the front porch, I saw a 

 mother Rose-breasted Grosbeak intently 

 guarding it, from a buckeye tree nearby. 

 She did not feed it often; perhaps it was 

 too young to need much food. 



The next morning, on stepping out 

 onto my kitchen porch, where a plum tree 

 reaches over the doorstep, I was sur- 

 prised to see both father and mother 

 Grosbeak within a few feet of my head, 

 watching me intently and apparently with 

 great concern. 



Usually they are shy birds, but they 

 did not fly, and approached very near my 

 face. Meanwhile I was looking in every 

 direction to discover the baby bird. The 

 parents seemed so distressed I turned to 

 go in the house, when, there behind me, 

 huddled in the corner of the porch, was 

 the young bird. I hurried indoors but 

 they evidently feared for its safety and 

 soon removed it. 



Later in the day another little one, 

 weaker than the first, appeared on the 

 front lawn watched over by the mother 

 while the male guarded the older one in 

 a rose bush in the back yard. 



Monday was cold and cloudy. Soon 



after noon it grew dark and a storm 

 threatened. Mother Grosbeak guided her 

 little one under a hard maple tree near- 

 by, and, a foot or more from the ground, 

 onto a dead branch that lay under the 

 tree. 



The foliage of the tree was very dense, a 

 light shower would not have reached the 

 little bird. But the storm was very 

 severe. The wind blew violently and rain 

 poured in torrents. The dead branch 

 shook and the heavy rain beat upon the 

 tiny form; but it remained motionless 

 except as the wind shook the branch. 

 Later the wind grew less, but rain con- 

 tinued, and I think it rained all night. It 

 was very cold. 



Early next morning I looked out with 

 little hope of seeing my bird, but there it 

 was, just where it had been all afternoon 

 the day before. It was still raining and 

 the mother watched from the tree above. 



About eleven o'clock the rain ceased. 

 Then the object of my solicitude hopped 

 down as lively as you please, evidently 

 calling for an early dinner. Oh, the 

 wisdom of that mother! Had she per- 

 mitted her little one to remain on the 

 ground it would have been washed down 

 the terrace to the driveway and carried 

 out to the street gutter. 



For about twenty hours the little nude 

 creature clung to its perch, apparently as 

 lifeless as the branch on which it rested, 

 and was pelted by the cold storm. 



That afternoon the whole family dis- 

 appeared. I thought I had lost them, but 

 was delighted about two weeks later to see 

 all four of them again in my trees. Young 

 birds, like little children, love the water. 

 Again and again they came to drink or 

 splash in the pan a few feet from my 

 kitchen window. I greatly enjoyed watch- 

 ing the change in the plumage, especially 

 of the male bird, as the weeks passed. 

 The family life of the Grosbeaks seems 

 ideal. They surely enjoy each other, and 

 I saw the four in my trees almost daily 

 the rest of the summer until migrating 

 time. 



Bird students tell us of seeing so many 

 dead bodies of little birds after a storm. 



