48 EVERYDAY BIRDS 
boy told me were kingbirds. At these my bro- 
ther and I— both of us small enough to be ex- 
cusable for such mischief — were in the habit of 
throwing green apples; partly to see how near 
we could come to hitting them, partly for the 
fun of watching them rise into the air, circle 
about with sharp cries, and then settle back upon 
the perches they had left. Sometimes we stuck 
the half-grown apple on the end of a stick, swung 
the stick round our heads, and sent the apple 
flying to a tremendous distance. Stick or no 
stick, however, we were in no danger of killing 
anything, as I am glad now to remember. 
What amazed us was that the birds did not go 
away. No matter how long we “appled ” them, 
they were certain to be on hand the next day in 
the same place. We must have been very young 
and very green, — greener even than the apples, 
— for it never occurred to us that the birds had 
nests in the trees, and for that reason were not 
to be driven away by our petty persecutions. 
Even then I noticed the peculiar flight of the 
birds — the short, quick strokes of their wings, 
and their habit of hovering. These are among 
the signs by which the kingbird can be recog- 
nized a long way off. He is dark-colored above, 
— almost black, — pure white underneath, and 
his tail, when outspread, shows a broad white 
