WHiT I HAVE DONE WITH BIRDS 



newly hatched Warblers and other birds of their size, because one 

 day, right in the face of my lens, he darted to the nest of a Sum- 

 mer Yellow Bird and snatched and swallowed a baby just 

 emerged as if it were a juicy grub. 



That day I vowed I would ask Bob to shoot him. The next 

 morning, while making studies of a pair of his own nestlings, he 

 paid me the tribute of singing to me, as I worked, his mixed 

 chorus of orchard, meadow and forest, almost broke my heart by 

 the most beautiful improvisation I yet had heard from him, and 

 ended my captivation quite by continuing his song while two of 

 his young perched on my hand, instead of coming down and 

 frightening them into a panic with his cat-calls. 



So now I am a traitor to other dainty little folk I should 

 protect, for while beyond all doubt he is responsible for much 

 damage, every time the chance comes to tell on him and urge his 

 partial extermination, at least, I find myself hiding his sins, and 

 excusing his shortcomings, all because of his exquisite song. 



There is small enough cause to love him. He follows me 

 through the woods for a mile and arouses suspicion and fear in 

 the hearts of more trusting birds by his questionings. Many 

 weary waits with a set camera have been just at the point of 

 fruition when a Cat -bird came mewling about, made my subject 

 nervous by his intrusion and spoiled my picture. That should 

 be enough to condemn him in my eyes, and it is almost. 



He is more pervasive and inquisitive than the Blue Jay, ad- 

 mittedly the guardian and danger-signaler of the woods. He is 

 different from the Jay. Convince a Jay that you are a part of 

 woodland life, that you are not shooting or making a noise or dis- 

 turbance, and he will go away and let you alone, and soon you can 

 enter his preserves with no comment from him. But a Cat -bird is 



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