Notes from Field and Study 



163 



neighborhood, or perfecting himself in the 

 art of pulling worms while I occupied a 

 chair on the lawn, interrupting his labors 

 to fly up on my lap when he desired food 

 from my store. 



A month passed and Bob had developed 

 into a handsome, vigorous Robin. He 

 had renounced all kinship with the feath- 

 ered tribe and showed himself more than 

 satisfied with his promotion to membership 

 in the human family. I was beginning to 

 be concerned in that he showed no inclina- 

 tion to take up his normal life, unconscious 

 that eyes unseen were viewing his dis- 

 loyalty with disfavor, and that vengeance, 

 incredible for subtlety and intelligence, 

 was awaiting its opportunity. 



The first time I gave Bob his liberty on 

 the lawn, while I mounted guard against 

 cats and other things hostile, a pair of 

 Robins, one carrying a worm, alighted 

 near him. Supposing them to be the long- 

 lost parents, I watched proceedings with 

 much interest. One held the worm entic- 

 ingly before Bob and then, to my conster- 

 nation, the other, feathers bristling with 

 rage, rar\ toward him with evil intentions 

 so evident that I ran to his rescue and the 

 intruders flew off. 



After this, for a while, I never left Bob 

 alone on the lawn, but one day, in response 

 to a hurried summons, I went into the 

 house, forgetting him. As I returned, a 

 Robin with a worm in its beak was just 

 alighting beside him, but, seeing me, beat 

 a hasty retreat. 



A week later I again left Bob for a mo- 

 ment. As I came back a Robin was putting 

 a worm into his wide-open mouth. The 

 stranger flew off as I approached, and Bob, 

 instead of running to meet me as usual, sat 

 quietly on the grass. So quiet, so inanimate, 

 that I took him up to see why. I examined 

 him closely, but could find no injury. I 

 put him down on the grass and watched 

 him. He sat perfectly quiet for a few 

 minutes, then slowly turned his head back- 

 wards and tucked it under his wing as if 

 going to sleep. I tried to arouse him by 

 offering food. He responded with a feeble 

 peep but was unable to swallow. The next 

 morning Bob was lifeless on the floor of 



his cage. Who can solve the mystery of 

 his death? — Lilian Rea McCormick, 

 Danville, Pa. 



Mrs. Wren Puts Her Family to Bed in 

 a Robin's Nest 



In a pine tree, the branches of which 

 reach to my north porch, just below the 

 eaves, a pair of Robins build their nest 

 nearly every year. The old nest usually is 

 blown away during the winter's fierce gales. 

 The evening of Aug. 28, 1919, was quite 

 cold. While I sat on the porch, just before 

 dark, I heard a Wren calling so loudly and 

 long that I remained to see what the ado 

 was all about, for, as I looked the yard 

 over, I could see neither cat nor anything 

 else to disturb her. After she had flown 

 all around the yard, still calling, I noticed 

 her in the pine tree near the porch. To my 

 surprise, she hopped onto the edge of the 

 deserted Robin's nest, jumping into it and 

 out again, repeating this several times, still 

 calling. Then from out of the branches of 

 the tree came five young Wrens, and they 

 all nestled down into the nest. I could 

 hear them twittering for a few moments 

 (much as small chickens do when they go 

 to bed at night under the wings of the 

 old mother hen), then quietness reigned. 



The next night I watched for them again, 

 and the same process was repeated at 

 twilight, and this continued every evening 

 for a week, with more or less calling as the 

 occasion demanded. One evening the little 

 family gave her more trouble in finding 

 them than usual. Darkness set in, and she 

 was still calling. It was too dark to count 

 them that night, but I heard them twitter. 

 The House Wren usually arrives about 

 May 4, and this was the first time that I 

 have ever seen them here later than Au- 

 gust 15. — Mrs. J. Ellsworth Jackson, 

 Rochester, Wis. 



Bluebirds vs. Wrens 



In the summer of 1918, while we were in 

 camp in northeastern Pennsylvania, late 

 in August, I noticed numerous Bluebirds 

 about and wondered where they had nested. 



