THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



CHAPTER I 



CHILDHOOD 



ONCE upon a time a little boy saw a cat which 

 had just killed a bird in the garden. By the time 

 the boy caught the cat and rescued the remnants 

 of the bird, there was little left but a wing, and 

 this became a child's plaything for a few passing 

 hours. The boy lost the wing, but something 

 remained, a picture so graphic, that many years 

 afterward, when near manhood, he suddenly real- 

 ized that the wing he had rescued from the cat 

 long ago was that of the winter wren. 



Looking back, this is the first definite impres- 

 sion of a bird that I can recall. 



The winter wren is one of the smallest, shyest, 

 and most seclusive of the migrants that visit the 

 region about New York and New Jersey in the 

 spring and fall. Stealthy and mouselike in its 

 habit, it is fond of old stone walls, where it crawls 

 in and out through the crevices, never making 

 long or protracted flights. It is a short, thick- 



