Oregon Notes 301 



flock would become infected with her bad temper, and they would all fight 

 with bill and wing. I have often wondered if she ever found a mate, or if her 

 temper softened when mating-season drew near. 



The Robins which remain in the mountains all winter (they may not be 

 our own but those nesting farther north) occasionally visit the outskirts of 

 town, and are fond of frozen apples, too, coming to our yard to feast on them. 

 No sooner would one begin to enjoy itself than the Grosbeaks would begin to 

 hunger for that particular apple, and drive the poor, meek bird away. Even 

 the little Juncos seemed prejudiced against them, and if one would try to 

 eat barberries, which the Juncos themselves disdained, they would surround it 

 and chase it away. However, when the Red-shafted Flickers visited us, the 

 Grosbeaks, as well as the Juncos, attended strictly to their own affairs and 

 kept their distance. Why, I do not know, unless they were afraid of the long, 

 sharp bills of the Flickers, for I never saw more peaceful birds. 



After the Grosbeaks had become well established on our shelf, I became 

 possessed with the ambition really to tame them, and caught a miserable 

 cold standing in the open window, trying to get them to eat from my hand. 

 They would come to my hand, but never on it. After catching the cold, I hit 

 on another plan, and, sliding open the window, which opened sideways, I 

 scattered seed along the sill, and so lured the birds into the house to eat. Again 

 I tried to persuade them to eat from my hand, but, although they would take 

 the seed lying by it, they would never eat from it. Once when I was experi- 

 menting, only one bird, a male, seemed hungry, and he would hop in, take a 

 seed from the sill by my hand, hop outside to eat it and return for another one. 



One bitterly cold day, I opened the window only about six inches. One 

 female, feeding longer than the rest, became bewildered and could not find 

 the opening, and flew to another window where I tried to pick her up. She 

 pecked me, so I let her go, and she flew into the dining-room and clung to a 

 basket in another window. There my mother picked her up and held her for 

 a minute in her hands. She sat perfectly quiet until the front door was opened, 

 then, as the cold air struck her, she made a spring for freedom; but mother 

 did not let her go until she reached the end of the porch. She flew from mother's 

 hands, seemingly not so much frightened as angry, and scolded all the way to 

 the box elders where the rest of the flock were feeding. I did not again coax 

 the birds into the house for fear one might alight on the range. 



We have short days in our mountain-encircled valley, especially in winter, 

 when the sun drops behind the mountains a little after three. The Grosbeaks 

 always left about sundown, probably sleeping in the sheltering pines and firs 

 on the hills. They always returned early in the morning, however, as I well 

 remember. 



We tried to photograph the birds, but only one picture was clear enough 

 to show what the birds were. One picture of the shelf was good, but the birds 

 were flown before the camera was snapped. 



