I 3 2 



American Birds 



pairs, each of which was taken in the same order as the 

 mother fed her young. 



The warblers foraged the firs for insects of all sizes 

 and colors. The mother often brought in green cutworms, 

 which she rolled through her bill as a housewife runs 

 washing through a wringer, either to kill the creature or 

 to be sure it was soft and billsome. This looked like a 

 waste of time to me. The digestive organs of those bob- 

 tailed bantlings seemed equal to almost any insect I had 

 ever seen. 



In the days I spent about the nest I never saw the 

 time when both the bairns were not in a starving mood, 

 regardless of the amount of dinner they had just swal- 

 lowed. The flutter of wings seemed to touch the button 

 that opened their mouths. At the slightest sound I've 

 often seen disputes arise while the mother was away. " I'll 

 take the next," said one. " I guess you'll not! " screamed 

 the other. The mother paid no more attention to their 

 quarrels and entreaties than to the ceaseless gurgle of 

 the water. How could she? I don't believe she ever 

 caught sight of her children when their mouths were not 

 open. The fact that the mother fed them impartially 

 appealed in no way to their sense of justice. The one 

 that got the meal quivered his wings in ecstasy, while the 

 other always protested at the top of his voice. 



The first pair of pictures in the series was taken while 

 the young were still in the nest. The mother fed the 

 nearest nestling. Changing the plate and adjusting the 

 camera again I had to wait only three minutes. The bairn 

 at the edge of the nest surely had the advantage of posi- 

 tion, but what was position? For all his begging the 



