BATTLE ROYAL IN THE ORCHARD 47 



The cuckoo synonymed perfectly among his fellows of the avian 

 tribe that type of man who, no matter how many or how close his 

 relatives, seems always a stranger among them, sharing not an 

 attribute of his forbears, furnishing to some additional proof of the 

 theory of reincarnation. 



The Songless Bird. 



Interesting and fascinating because of its delicate tiny form 

 and swift motion was the songless bird, the ruby-gorget-throated 

 hummer, whose spitfire squeak oft betrayed his presence. He quaffed 

 deep draughts of the honey hidden in the floret's deepest nectary, fit for 

 a king, his favorite browsing field the Japanese Halliana honeysuckle 

 that covered our side porch with its profuse continuous blooms and 

 green-embowered the entrance to the dining room used by the stable 

 help. The red-eyed vireo and the siskin haunted the orchard. 



The red-headed sapsucker, who unwittingly shares his sap 

 banquet with bee and humming bird, and the hermit thrush, were 

 among our latest bird callers ere they took up their journey south- 

 ward. As in mankind big crowds often mean jolly companionship, 

 so enormous flocks of birds bubble over with the joy of living as they 

 seek the air lanes through which they migrate at high altitudes for 

 thousands of miles twice a year, instinct directing their course with 

 unerring precision. 



I soon learned that the singing birds of May and June, the 

 real chorister months in birddom, were absolutely silent during 

 the moulting season of July and August, though the robin and some 

 others were again in voice ere wintry blasts drove them either into 

 the deep woods or farther south. Birds, to whom is given the freedom 

 of the skies, have but faint kinship with the beasts, apparently belong- 

 ing to other realms, and man's efforts to fathom bird lore have igno- 

 miniously failed indeed, seemingly few try to understand the fasci- 

 nating chorister pages in nature's book. 



Battle Royal in the Orchard. 



Believing firmly in a generous fruit diet as a bulwark against 

 disease, our plantings, in addition to the back log of apples and pears, 

 were large and varied. The old saw: "Two apples a day keep the 

 doctor away" was in our unwritten decalog. 



Many were the discussions over the different fruits; whether 

 one could tell by taste the red Cuthbert from the golden queen or the 

 Brinkles orange raspberry; the best eating and keeping pears and 

 apples, or pick out a seckle and a Bartlett pear tree when the orchard 

 was leafless. Dwarf fruit trees, the playthings of the orchard, were 

 soon uprooted and given to owners of town yards while we used 

 sturdier, more prolific, and profitable plantings. 



