THE LAZULI BUNTING. 



You think you have seen nie 

 before ? Well, I must admit my 

 relative, the Indigo Bunting, and 

 I do look alike. They say 

 though, I am the prettier bird of 

 the two. Turn to your March 

 number, page 173, and decide for 

 yourselves. 



I live farther west than he 

 does. You find him in the 

 eastern and middle states. Then 

 he disappears and I take his 

 place, all the way from the Great 

 Plains to the Pacific Ocean. 



Some people call me the 

 Lazuli Painted Finch. That's 

 funny, for I never painted any- 

 thing in my life— not even my 

 cheeks. Would you like to know 

 how my mate and I go to house- 

 keeping? A lady who visits 

 California, where I live, will tell 

 you all about it. She rides a 

 horse called Mountain Billy. 

 He will stand still under a tree 

 so that she can peep into nests 

 and count the eggs, when the 

 mother bird is away. 



She can travel a good many 

 miles in that way, and meet lots 

 of birds. She says in her book, 

 that she has got acquainted with 

 seventy-five families, without 

 robbing one nest, or doing the 

 little creatures any harm. 



Well, one day this lady saw a 

 brownish bird flying busily back 



and forth to some tall green 

 weeds. After a while a hand- 

 some blue Bunting flew along 

 side of her, full of life and joy. 



That was my mate and I. 

 How frightened I was ! for our 

 nest was in those green weeds 

 and not very far from the 

 ground. I flew away as soon as 

 I could pluck up courage, but 

 not far, so that I could watch 

 the lady and the nest. How my 

 h^art jumped when I saw her 

 creep up, part the weeds and 

 look in. All she saw was a few 

 twigs and a sage-green nest of 

 old grass laid in a coil. My 

 mate hadn't put in the lining 

 yet ; you see it takes her quite a 

 while to get the thistle down and 

 the hair and strips of bark for 

 the inside. The next time the 

 lady passed, the house was done 

 and my mate was sitting on the 

 nest. She just looked down at 

 us from the back of Mountain 

 Billy and passed on. 



Four weeks after, she came 

 again, and there I was, flying 

 about and singing "like a bird," 

 my mouth full of insects, too. I 

 waited 'till she had turned away 

 before I flew to the nest to feed 

 our little ones. I didn't know, 

 you see, that she was such a 

 good friend of ours, oi- I 

 wouldn't have been so afraid. 



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