A Thrasher Friend 



By EMELINE MADDOCK 



IT was during my daily pilgrimages to the wood at the edge of the pasture 

 at Spring Lake, New Jersey, where I went to study the birds, that I dis- 

 covered a Thrasher, among the many that frequented the spot, which seemed 

 peculiarly tame. He never hesitated an instant in coming over to the "lunch- 

 table" which I spread daily for the birds' refreshment, to partake of its goodies. 

 There was something almost uncanny about this little Thrasher; in the gentle 

 fearlessness of his intent gaze, and the sweet intelligence shining in his amber 

 eyes. At first I mistook him for one of the Thrashers who had built a nest in 

 a sapling over my shoulder, but soon found out my mistake, — for, though all 

 Thrashers looked alike to me at the beginning of the season, I could defy any 

 Thrasher at the end of the summer to puzzle me into inability to identify him 

 from any other of his species. 



The pair of nesting Thrashers, of course, resented the presence of the birds 

 attracted to the spot by the food I brought for them, and especially disliked any 



A THRASHER FRIEND 



of their own species about, and they chased away my little tame Thrasher so often 

 that I wondered at the persistency of the latter in returning daily to the place. 

 At last, his gentle manner lead me to wonder if he could be induced to eat from 

 my hand; so one day, I began the taming process by placing a piece of cornbread 

 on the tip of my boot as I sat Turk fashion on the ground, and after a little 

 hesitancy and some pretty, sidling motions, he jumped up on my foot, and ate 

 the piece eagerly. This was the beginning of our friendship, and it needed little 

 persuasion after this to induce him to eat from my hand. Several times he came 

 up on my knee to eat the cornbread I held, even when there were some on the 



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