THRUSH COUSINS 



ogist. In a grove by our camp he was engaged each 

 day for about a week in skinning birds. The guide 

 had provided him with an old upholstered chair, the 

 lining of which hung down beneath. While the learned 

 doctor sat doing up bird specimens in scientific form, 

 a House Wren (of the race called Bewick's), fearless of 

 being itself consecrated to science, actually went to 

 work building its nest in the lining of the chair while the 

 doctor was sitting on it, finished the structure, and before 

 we moved camp had laid a part of her litter of eggs. 



These wrens seem especially fond of an old tin can 

 with a small hole in one end, put up for their benefit, 

 and I have known them to set to work building within 

 half an hour of the time the can was nailed up. Ned 

 nailed one to an apple tree, about five feet up the 

 trunk, and the wrens took possession and raised a 

 brood. Every few minutes during the day they would 

 feed the six hungry young, which gave a fine oppor- 

 tunity for photographs. I stood the camera boldly up 

 on the tripod near the nest, without any attempt to 

 conceal it, and sat a little way off holding the thread 

 ready to pull, throwing light upon the can with a mirror. 

 When the parent was entering or leaving I would pull 

 the string and get a picture. After their young had 

 gone, the pair wanted to raise a second brood, in July, 

 and began looking around for a new site, as the old 

 nest swarmed with bird lice. Ned nailed up another 

 can under the eaves of a low shed, and at once the 

 wrens went to work building in it. There they raised 

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