70 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



tion had just begun, when, one morning about sun- 

 rise, I heard loud cries of distress and alarm pro- 

 ceed from the old apple-tree. Looking out of the 

 window, I saw a crow, which I knew to be a fish 

 crow, perched upon the edge of the nest, hastily 

 bolting the eggs. The parent birds, usually so 

 ready for the attack, seemed overcome with grief 

 and alarm. They fluttered about in the most help- 

 less and bewildered manner, and it was not till the 

 robber fled on my approach that they recovered 

 themselves and charged upon him. The crow scur- 

 ried away with upturned, threatening head, the 

 furious kingbirds fairly upon his back. The pair 

 lingered around their desecrated nest for several 

 days, almost silent, and saddened by their loss, and 

 then disappeared. They probably made another 

 trial elsewhere. 



The fish crow only fishes when it has destroyed 

 all the eggs and young birds it can find. It is the 

 most despicable thief and robber among our feath- 

 ered creatures. From May to August it is gorged 

 with the fledgelings of the nest. It is fortunate 

 that its range is so limited. In size it is smaller 

 than the common crow, and is a much less noble 

 and dignified bird. Its caw is weak and feminine, 

 — a sort of split and abortive caw, that stamps it 

 the sneak-thief it is. This crow is common farther 

 south, but is not found in this State, so far as I 

 have observed, except in the valley of the Hudson. 



One season a pair of them built a nest in a Nor- 

 way spruce that stood amid a dense growth of other 



