ii2 Bird- Lore 



Never mind; there is more meat where that came from, and a bird 

 that, in addition to all his other work, has just stolen the dinner for two 

 men cannot be hungry. But he doesn't appear to have lost his interest 

 in your affairs. Instead, he tip-toes around on a limb, with wings and 

 tail half spread, whistling and talking, and no sooner is a fresh supply 

 of meat in the pan than he sweeps down in the smoke and heat and 

 balances a moment on the long handle of the frying-pan, calculating 

 the risks of stealing from the pan. Reluctantly he gives up the project 

 and disappears around the corner of the tent. Presently other things 

 begin to disappear. There is a little hollow in the ground, so that the 

 sides of the tent are not pegged down closely. Entering here, he goes 

 to work within three feet of your elbow, being hidden by a box, and, 

 with the tireless industry which is his only virtue, he applies himself to 

 whatever is nearest. You have some cherished candles, your only light 

 for reading; he drags them off by the wicks. There was a dipper of 

 grease for making pitch; that vanishes. You had pinned a rare bug to 

 a chip; he eats it. You had saved some Duck's wings for the children 

 at home; they are overhauled. The guide left his piece of pork unrolled, 

 and it probably goes off in company with your tobacco, which never turns 

 up after this visitation of Whiskey Jack. When you start to wash up 

 for dinner, there is the rascal eating your soap for dessert! Those who 

 have summered and wintered him say that the only article he has never 

 been seen to steal is kerosene. " Him eat moccasins, fur cap, matches, 

 anythink," says an Indian to one observer. As for the amount that they 

 will devour and carry off, there is no likelihood of any one ever having 

 a patience to equal their — their " cov'tousness," as Jed puts it. There 

 is in this typical account of their actions nothing exaggerated except the 

 probability of its happening in one day. 



The Canada Jay is not found everywhere even in Maine. One might 

 camp for years in our woods and never see a Jay, for they are the most 

 local bird that we have in the woods. Roughly speaking, the line of his 

 frontier very nearly coincides with the route of the Canadian Pacific rail- 

 way where it crosses this state. For example, he is found on the 

 Grand Lakes of St. Croix, but not on Dobsy and Nicatowis, four ranges 

 of townships to the south. In that region, which seems perfectly 

 adapted to him, I have camped eight weeks; and my father, in the 

 course of twenty-five years, has spent as many months; yet, with one 

 exception, we ha^e neither seen nor heard a Canada Jay in all that 

 wilderness. On collating the experiences of four good observers, I find 

 that they can mention but two instances of a Canadian Jay being 

 seen within fifteen miles of Bangor, and one of these was fully 

 thirty years ago and the other not less than sixty years since; yet hardly 

 more than fifty miles away they are a common resident. Why do they 



