64 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. g 



Then it returns to the same place to renew its watchfulness and dart again 

 upon its prey. 



It is only a few years since this little bird left the deep, dark woods and 

 came to make its home about our dwellings. In the woods it was shy and , 

 retiring — now it is one of our most fearless and familiar feathered friends. 

 It would be interesting to know how it came to change its habits, and who 

 were the first pioneers; but we cannot tell. We simply know that all at once 

 the Pewees were with us. 



They no doubt learned from first comers that they would be safer near J ; 

 our dwellings. And we are glad to welcome the modest little creatures, even 

 if they have no claim to beauty and are no musicians. But they have another 

 accomplishment — they are skilled ornamental architects. They build a 

 charming little nest, and ornament the outside with pretty colored lichens. 



One summer a pair of Wood Pewees built their nest on a small horizontal 

 limb of an oak tree, not more than three feet from a second-story window and 

 just on a level with the head of the occupant of the room, as he sat and 

 watched them. They eyed him pretty sharply at first; but as there was a 

 screen of green wire netting in the window and he was very quiet, they soon 

 went on with their work, with him as witness. 



Both birds worked at the nest, but the female was the chief director. 

 They laid the foundation on a small limb, letting it just over either side. The 

 foundation consisted almost entirely of lichens, and they manufactured a 

 kind of glue to hold them together. The glue or cement hardens, and does 

 not dissolve in water. They next used small bits of sticks and fine roots, and 

 a quantity of horsehair, which they wove in with much patience and skill. 

 Unlike the little Chipping Sparrow, which fashions the interior of its nest 

 exclusively of hair, they used other material among the hair. Sometimes a 

 tinv feather or bit of moss or other soft substance would be glued fast to the 

 hair. 



But their great achievement was in the decoration of the outside of their 

 domicile, which was entirely covered with lichens, no single piece more than 

 half an inch across. On damp mornings and in rainy weather the lichens 

 •expanded, showing their delicate colors and making the finest architectural 

 display of all the feathered builders. The neat little nest was about three 

 inches across, half as deep, and perfectly round. While the architects were 

 at work, they kept up a low, murmuring noise. Whether the sound was in 

 some way connected with the manufacture of the glue which they ejected 

 from their mouths, or whether it was a kind of bird language, the watcher 

 could not determine. 



Now, other actors appeared on the scene. A Red-eyed Vireo hung its 

 hammock-like nest on a tree near by. It was on a limb reaching out toward 



