THE BRONZED CRACKLE. 



You can call me the Crow 

 Blackbird, little folks, if you 

 want to. People generally call 

 me by that name. 



I look something like the Crow 

 in the March number of BIRDS, 

 don't I ? My dress is hand- 

 somer than his, though. Indeed 

 I am said to be a splendid look- 

 ing bird, my bronze coat show- 

 ing very finely in the trees. 



The Crow said Caw, Caw, 

 Caw ! to the little boys and 

 girls. That was his way of 

 talking. My voice is not so 

 harsh as his. I have a note 

 which some people think is 

 quite sweet ; then my throat 

 gets rusty and I have some 

 trouble in finishing my tune. I 

 puff out my feathers, spread my 

 wifigs and tail, then lifting 

 myself on 1 the perch force out 

 the other notes of my song. 

 Maybe you have seen a singer 

 on the stage, instead of a perch, 

 do the same thing. Had to get 

 on his tip-toes to reach a high 

 note, you know. 



Like the Crow I visit the corn- 

 fields, too. In the spring when 

 the man with the plow turns 

 over the rich earth, I follow 

 after and pick up all the grubs 

 and insects I can find. They 

 would destroy the young corn 

 if I didn't eat them. Then, 

 when the corn grows up, I, my 

 sisters, and my cousins, and my 

 aunts drop down into the field in 



great numbers. Such a picnic 

 as we do have ! The farmers 

 don't seem to like it, but cer- 

 tainly they ought to pay us for 

 our work in the spring, don't 

 you think ? Then I think 

 worms as a steady diet are not 

 good for anybody, not even a 

 Crow, do you ? 



We like nuts, too, and little 

 crayfish which we find on the 

 edges of ponds. No little boy 

 among you can beat us in going 

 a-nutting. 



We Grackles are a very 

 sociable family, and like to visit 

 about among our neighbors. 

 Then we hold meetings and all 

 of us try to talk at once. People 

 say we are very noisy at such 

 times, and complain a good deal. 

 They ought to think of their 

 own meetings. They do a great 

 deal of talking at such times, too, 

 and sometimes break up in a fight. 



How do I know? Well, a Lit- 

 tle bird told me so. 



Yes, we build our nest as other 

 birds do ; ours is not a dainty 

 .affair ; any sort of trash mixed 

 with mud will do for the out- 

 side. The inside we line with 

 fine dry grass. 'My mate does 

 most of the work, while I do the 

 talking. That is to let the 

 Robin and other birds know I 

 am at home, and they better not 

 come around. 



Yours, 

 MR. BRONZED GRACKLE. 



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