ii6 Bird -Lore 



Sometimes I would not get out very early with fresh nuts for the trays. 

 Then some of these little friends would appear at my window and peck at 

 the glass, as much as to say, "Where is our breakfast ? " Soon these bird 

 neighbors become so friendly that, when I opened my windows and held out 

 my hands filled with nuts, down they would fly with a chickadee-dee for 

 good-morning, and take the nuts from my fingers. 



This spring I had the pleasure of finding a flock of ten red Crossbills. 

 They were first observed April 30, in some apple trees near our cottage. 

 They were very tame, and I was able to sit down within six feet of them 

 and watch them. Three of the males were in full spring dress, and were 

 beauties. Two more had a quantity of red in their plumage. When startled, 

 they would fly a short distance away, uttering twittering notes as they flew. 

 I watched them for more than an hour with my glass, and found they were 

 extracting the seeds from some apples which had been left on the trees all 

 winter. The next morning when I looked out, lo, there they were again 

 to greet me! Reading in Mrs. Bailey's 'Birds of Village and Field' that 

 these birds were very fond of salt pork, I tied bits of this meat to the limbs 

 of the trees hoping to keep them after the apple seeds failed. This suc- 

 ceeded beyond my expectation, for morning and afternoon of nearly every 

 day until June 8 that little flock came to the orchard. On that day they 

 disappeared and were not seen again. While feeding, they gave a sort of 

 whistling note. They seemed very happy and very much at home. At 

 intervals one would stop feeding and sing a sweet little song, not powerful 

 or very loud, but varied and exceedingly pleasing. 



While watching the Crossbills one morning (May 4), a Ruby-crowned 

 Kinglet flew into a near-by tree. At first he fed in silence, then began to 

 flit from twig to twig in such a pretty, graceful fashion, and suddenly broke 

 out into song. This was the first time I had ever heard the spring song of 

 this tiny bird, and it was, truly, a red-letter day for me. The song is quite 

 wonderful — or so it seemed to me — a prolonged and varied warble, mellow 

 and flute-like, with such sweetness and purity of tone! The bird is so 

 small, and the song so loud, and rich and full, that at first I looked about 

 for a larger bird. 



One morning, about the middle of June, a Robin, seemingly in great 

 distress, came into the vine near my chair. When I started up, expecting 

 to see a cat about, the bird flew to her nest at the other end of the veranda 

 and then back to me. Placing a chair under the nest, I climbed up and 

 looked into it. Half in and half out of that nest hung a young Robin! In 

 some way a piece of string had become twisted about his neck. I hastened 

 to get my scissors and cut him down, to the great joy of his mother, who 

 kept close at hand while I released her child and placed him safely back in 

 the nest. She seemed to know 1 was doing her a good turn. The young 

 bird, after he got his breath again, appeared to have suffered no great harm. 



