SHARP EYES. 41 



The bluebird is a home bird, and I am never tired 

 of recurring to him. His coming or reappearance in 

 the spring marks a new chapter in the progress of 

 the season ; things are never quite the same after 

 one has heard that note. The past spring the males 

 came about a week in advance of the females. A 

 fine male lingered about my grounds and orchard all 

 that time, apparently waiting the arrival of his mate. 

 He called and warbled every day, as if he felt sure 

 she was within ear-shot, and could be hurried up. 

 Now he warbled half -angrily or upbraidingly, then 

 coaxingly, then cheerily and confidently, the next 

 moment in a plaintive, far-away manner. He would 

 half open his wings, and twinkle them caressingly, 

 as if beckoning his mate to his heart. One morn- 

 ing she had come, but was shy and reserved. The 

 fond male flew to a knot-hole in an old apple-tree, 

 and coaxed her to his side. I heard a fine confi- 

 dential warble, the old, old story. But the female 

 flew to a near tree, and uttered her plaintive, home- 

 sick note. The male went and got some dry grass 

 or bark in his beak, and flew again to the hole in 

 the old tree, and promised unremitting devotion, 

 but the other said " Nay," and flew away in the dis- 

 tance. When he saw her going, or rather heard 

 her distant note, he dropped his stuff, and cried out 

 in a tone that said plainly enough, " Wait a min- 

 ute-. One word, please," and flew swiftly in pursuit. 

 He won her before long, however, and early in April 

 the pair were established in one of the four or five 



