THE BLUEBIRD 



gardener take a box from the grape-arbour and turn it entrance 

 down for its protection during winter. Early in the spring I 

 saw Bluebirds over the arbour; no one being at home I placed a 

 ladder, took the hammer and some nails and went to put the 

 box in its accustomed place. They had entered it, built, and 

 three eggs had been laid all of which were broken when I, with the 

 best intentions in the world, tried to fix the box for them. So 

 it continued, always the Bluebirds coming, seldom bringing 

 off a brood. 



The past season the Deacon took the matter in hand. He 

 built three boxes, from upright hollow limbs, placing them high 

 on slender poles at the back of the orchard adjoining the meadow. 

 Each box had a Bluebird nest, each brought off a brood. I think 

 he could fill a dozen the coming spring, for the young have re- 

 mained around the premises and no doubt will return. Their 

 notes are carried down on every breeze, while they trail blue 

 streaks beside the car each time we drive out the lane. There is 

 no such thing as having too many as they are splendid insect- 

 and worm-exterminators, taking some seed also; there is no love- 

 lier bird on wing, and no more loved note of spring music. 



They prefer to nest in a natural hollow limb, rather slender; 

 they both carry material, the female as always shaping and 

 building around her own breast the grass, weed-stalks and hair 

 lining both carry. The eggs seem large for the size of the bird, 

 being of a delicate whitish-blue, none that I ever saw showing a 

 trace of mottling. Owing to the concealed nests, the only way 

 to picture them is to fashion a house with a removable roof or 

 cut a section from the side of a hollow tree they have built in, 

 and when the picture is made, use screws in closing the opening. 

 Nailing might jar the eggs. 



The young have grayish-blue backs and full breasts strongly 

 mottled with white and grayish-russet. In feeding, the father is 



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