A Morning in May. 93 



vious year, this is remembered and the same 

 spots promptly visited. I have aided many an 

 oriole and great crested flycatcher when build- 

 ing commenced, and the aid extended and ac- 

 cepted then seemed the following spring to be 

 expected, which I submit as proof positive that 

 I was dealing with the same birds. A little 

 chippy, the hair-bird, has accepted my offering 

 of waxed coarse sewing-silk as a nest lining and 

 does not trouble itself to hunt for hairs. I 

 hope, if my pets of the box-bush live long 

 enough, that they will take the silk directly from 

 my hands. The wrens of my porch have more 

 than once raided my wife's work-basket, and it 

 was indeed a funny sight when one of them 

 stepped upon a cushion and was pricked by a 

 needle. Half, I think, of the delight of watch- 

 ing the birds that return to us in May is to 

 realize that they are in great measure our friends 

 of other years. This fact makes it practicable 

 to go directly to the chosen homes of any 

 species. We lose no time, and happiness would 

 be complete were fear banished from the bird's 

 breast and the word "wild" marked obsolete in 

 the dictionary. It is steadily decreasing among 



