AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



233 



IN THE OLD APPLE TREE. 



When God had made a host of them, 

 One little flower still lacked a stem 



To hold its blossom blue; 

 So into it he breathed a song, 

 And suddenly with petals strong 

 As wings, away it flew. 



John B. Tabb. 



A sweet melodious warble, a flash of 

 blue, and there upon the decayed end 

 of an apple tree bough, sits one of our 

 most welcome summer guests, the 

 Bluebird. Surely fortune smiles upon 

 us today, for the nest hole is barely 

 above our head. How could a location 

 be more convenient for the use of the 

 camera? To be sure the hole is on 

 the north side of the tree and conse- 

 quently out of the sun, but we are 

 prepared for that and soon, by means 

 of reflected light from a mirror, the 

 place is as light as if in the bright sun- 

 light. When we have the camera set 

 up in readiness for business, and the 

 mirror readjusted to make allowance 

 for the shifting of the sun, we will hide 

 behind the next tree and see what the 

 anxious parent birds will do. As the 

 male bird flits to and fro in the sun- 

 light his blue coat is dazzling in its 

 brilliancy. His sombre colored, but 

 equally melodious mate is intent upon 

 examining her household, but cannot 

 quite satisfy herself that the large box, 

 so uncomfortably close to her head- 

 quarters, is not some sort of a trap. Each successive move brings her 

 nearer to the desired goal, and at last she lights upon the edge of the nest- 

 ing hole. Instantly a sort of dazed expression comes over her. Some- 

 thing is wrong. She looks first at the dazzling reflection down in the 

 grass behind her, and then at the sun which is still doing duty in its prop- 

 er location for the time of day. Evidently the problem is too great for her 

 to solve or else she has not the time now, for she has disappeared down 

 the hole. In a moment she reappears and flits to a dead limb on the top 



Photo from life. 



