The Reaches of the Prairie 137 



father and a mother cuckoo have four lusty young ones in the 

 nest, as was finally the case with this Grand Prairie pair, they 

 will do more good in the way of caterpillar-slaying than will 

 four pairs of any other bird species under the sun. There is 

 something uncanny about the cuckoo. Its movements as it 

 glides along the branches through the thick foliage suggest 

 the wanderings^of a restless spirit. The bird can make plenty 

 of noise when it chooses, but when it is being watched it 

 usually preserves a silence that strengthens the uncanny feel- 

 ing that its movements impart. 



There are thirty-five kinds of American cuckoos, so it is 

 said, but only two of them, the black-billed and the yellow- 

 billed, are familiar to those of us who search the northern 

 fields of the Middle West. In general appearance the two 

 birds are much alike, the main difference being expressed by 

 their respective names. The yellow-billed cuckoo is much 

 the more common in nearly all places. The chances are that 

 you will hear the bird before you see it, for its note attracts 

 instant attention. Do not expect the American cuckoo to 

 say "Cuckoo." It won't; the utterance of that well-known 

 note is left to the English bird, and to the little wood and 

 metal creatures that poke their heads out of the tops of Swiss 

 clocks every hour and proclaim the time. The cuckoo's note 

 sounds almost exactly like the first four or five utterances of 

 a stuttering person who^ is trying hard to twist his tongue 

 into shape to say some simple word. When you hear from 

 the heart of some thick-leaved tree a sound like "uk-uk-uk- 

 uk-uk-uk-uk-uk," you may make up your mind that the 

 cuckoo has stopped long enough from his laudable work of 

 caterpillar eating to attempt to say a few words. In many 

 farming districts the cuckoo is known as the rain crow, because 



