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Bird -Lore 



not attempt to take it. Another Chickadee 

 kept coming nearer and nearer, and I 

 thought he would come to my other hand, 

 but he wanted what I was offering to the 

 lame one, apparently, so I stopped and 

 offered him a piece. He would not take it, 

 but just looked upward and pretended not 

 to see it, and then went a little away. 

 When I went back to the lame bird, he 

 returned at once, and the lame one dared 

 not take the food. Then I saw the point! 

 The strong bird was not hungry, but he 

 was determined that the lame one should 

 have no food. He kept up this persecution 

 until the other was forced to go away. 

 Later in the day, the poor little victim 

 came again when no other birds were 

 present, and then, though rather fearful, 

 he took food from my fingers as he stood 

 on the box. 



Three days later he would alight on my 

 hand for an instant. After a few more 

 days he would come to the vines and call 

 loudly for me to come out and feed him, 

 which I was glad to do. On April i6, a 

 small Hawk sailed through the yard 

 when "Lamey" and another Chickadee 

 were at the piazza. One of them uttered 

 a very high thin note. That was the last 

 time that we saw "Lamey," and I have a 

 feeling that I know his end. 



Another Chickadee we lost on March 

 31. We called this one "Little Black-vest," 

 as its breast was quite dark. The little 

 thing had been very sweet and confiding 

 that winter, showing no fear. On this 

 last day of March, he came to my hand 

 early, but seemed not to be all right. He 

 acted as if he could not see well, yet he 

 could alight where he chose. Perhaps it 

 was because he felt weak that he leaned 

 forward and gazed so earnestly before he 

 flew to me. When on my hand he showed 

 a tendency to tip backward, and though 

 he was hungry, he could not always pick 

 up the food. He ate from my hand and 

 from my husband's for some time, and 

 went away. Before 11 a.m., he returned. 

 I fed him again on my hand, but he had 

 yet more difficulty in eating. It seemed 

 hard for him to put his head down, or to 

 find the food. By and by he took a piece 



and went to the vine, flying low as though 

 weak, and finally went down on the snow 

 and tried to hold the piece with his foot 

 and eat it. Two Redpolls went near, as 

 though to take his food. He made a few 

 piping notes that apparently warned them 

 off. At last he tried to fly away, turned to 

 come back, and fell on the snow. By the 

 time I could reach him he was dead. I 

 brought him in to show to my family (for 

 he was our little friend), and soon knew 

 what was his trouble, for lice began to 

 crawl out of the feathers around his 

 head and throat.— Eliza F. Miller, 

 Bethel, Vt. 



The Predicament of a Pied-billed Grebe 



November 30, 191 2, I found one of these 

 birds stranded on the ice in the bed of the 

 old Calumet River at Miller, Ind. Several 

 wooden decoy ducks had been left out in 

 the lagoon, and had become frozen in the 

 ice, most of them, however, remaining in 

 a natural position. It seems probable that 

 the Grebe decoyed to these, and, alighting 

 on the ice, was unable to rise. My atten- 

 tion was first called to it by a rustling 

 among the sedges near shore where it 

 had taken refuge. When badly frightened, 

 the bird made very good progress over the 

 ice by violently flapping its wings, giving 

 it the appearance of running on the tips 

 of its toes, but it was absolutely unable to 

 rise into the air. The next day was warm 

 with a heavy rain, so enough water may 

 have accumulated to enable the bird 

 eventually to escape. — Edwin D. Hull, 

 Chicago, III. 



The Holboell's Grebe at Bedford, 

 Massachusetts 



A Holboell's Grebe was caught on the 

 bank of the Concord River, at the Carlisle 

 Bridge, Bedford, Mass., February 15, 

 1913. We kept him twenty-four hours, 

 then released him where he was found, 

 as he refused food, and his condition 

 showed that he had had all he needed. — 

 Winifred Thorndike Simonds, Bedford, 

 Mass. 



