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Bird - Lore 



bird pokes its bill deep into the grasses of the nest's bottom, poking and shov- 

 ing hard against the lining until I can plainly hear the impact." The Nash- 

 ville's chestnut crown, so prominent in the descriptions of the bird-books, is a 

 more or less concealed patch, like the Kingbird's, or perhaps the male alone 

 shows it to advantage and I was wrong in supposing that he shared in the 

 domestic duties. I never saw a real touch of brown, or even a suggestion of it, 

 except once, and then before I could make sure the bird had flown, this, too, 

 although my observations were made at a distance of twelve inches. The 

 Nashville was not an expert at broken winged tactics when driven from the 

 nest, but soon desisted and flew into a nearby bush, where she lisped a 

 monotonous protest. There were few disturbances in the bird-life of the birch 

 hillside. Once, at a most awful outcry among the denizens of the open 

 glade, I lifted the tent flap, whereat a big Red-shouldered Hawk vaulted 

 upward from a low birch tree and left for fresh woods and pastures new. 



I used the blind at intervals during three days, and then, having secured 

 as many pictures as I wanted, I picked up my tent and wandered out of the 

 birch thickets into the dusty road. The nesting season was over as far as I 

 was concerned, and, in spite of the mosquitos and exploring ants, I was sorry. 

 But before many days I paid a farewell visit to the Nashvilles. Where the 

 azaleas gave way before the ranks of the white birches, there was desolation 

 wrought. Whether a stray cat, curiously following the trail of a man, had in 

 the stillness of the nighttime scooped Nashville mother and half-fledged young 

 from the depths of their grassy nest, only the birch trees know. 



THE BLUE JAY'S WHEATLESS DAY 

 Photographed by Ansel B. Miller, Springs, Pa. 



