UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 



and feather, and unerring instinct carry them 

 along. They are always in the enemy's country; 

 they are always on the firing-line; eternal vigilance 

 and ceaseless activity are the price of life with them. 

 The natural length of life of our smaller birds is 

 probably eight or ten years, but I doubt if one in 

 a thousand reaches that age. Not half a dozen 

 times in my life have I found the body of a dead 

 bird that did not show some marks of violence. 



Next to the trim, prosperous, well-dressed ap- 

 pearance of a flock of wild birds, one is struck with 

 their caution and watchfulness, not to say nervous- 

 ness, at all times, especially when feeding in the 

 open. My band of sparrows were apprehensive of 

 danger every moment. Here are some notes made 

 on the spot: 



Now there are over two dozen sparrows, among them 

 a solitary female chewink, feeding on the ground in front 

 of my window. An ever-present fear possesses every one 

 of them. They pick up the seeds hurriedly, looking up 

 every few seconds. Suddenly they all stop, and, crouch- 

 ing, look toward the near-by weeds and bushes. Some 

 vague alarm has seized them. Then two of them dart 

 away ; then the whole flock rushes to cover. I see no cause 

 for the panic; there is none; the strain has become too 

 great to be longer borne. Though no danger is near, yet 

 their instinct, developed and sharpened by the experi- 

 ences of untold generations, tells them danger might be 

 near a hawk, a cat, or other enemy and that safety 

 demands a frequent rush to cover. After a few minutes 

 they return, one by one, flying from weed-stalk to weed- 

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