944 THE STORY OF THE BIRDS. 
refusing to eat except at night, and refusing to sit in 
our laps unless his back was stroked. He never grew 
gentle and was set free. Next winter, either he or 
another like him, made the mistake about the cellar 
shaft again. Both were of the red phase, and we 
wondered if the second one were the old Scops, with 
a bad memory. 
Once a mocker wintered in the yard. It was, per- 
haps, a female turned out of a cage too late to mi- 
grate. 
Of course robins and bluebirds came about in 
abundance, and a volume could be written about their 
vagaries. Since beginning this chapter, I have seen 
two robins fighting out on or near the fence. After 
a struggle they each sat awhile on the top plank and 
rested. I admired the methodical manner of their 
madness. There was no bantering or strutting or 
feinting or swearing at each other, or calling names 
between the rounds. When they had got their breath 
they went at it again, and rolled and tumbled on the 
ground till one fled. The robin times himself well 
and impresses one as being a success. Sometimes I 
play a joke on him by pegging down one end of a 
twine string, at which he pulls as he flutters up with 
it toward his nest. It takes several attempts to con- 
vince him that some one is experimenting with his 
perseverance. 
I glanced out the other direction once and saw two 
female bluebirds fighting. One was our home bird 
with a nest in the yard, the other was a stranger try- 
ing to get the hole for herself and husband. The 
