Hints to Audubon Workers. 



273 



I heard a low complaining croon from one 

 of the vireos, and looking up saw to my 

 surprise a gray screech owl flying blindly 

 about among the branches. After a little 

 he stumbled on to a dead limb and sat down, 

 trying to feel at home. But the vireos were 

 crying ominously k7'ay^ kree-kree-kj^ee-h^ee, 

 and when he thought how they had darted 

 down and snapped their bills at him as he 

 came along, he edged uneasily over the 

 branch. Just then my dog came running 

 up noisily through the dead leaves under 

 the tree. What could be coming next ! The 

 scared, awkward owl turned his head over 

 to one side and strained his eyes to see. 

 His ears stood up, and his big pupils grew 

 bigger and bigger with fright. He looked 

 like a great booby entrapped by a practical 

 joke. But this was too serious. No owl 

 could bear it. What with a dozen vireos 

 and thrushes threatening him, some wild 

 animal or other rushing about at the foot 

 of the tree — and who knows but he added 

 the pair of big glass eyes almost as large as 

 his own, through which another mysterious 

 object was menacing him ? Away he flew, 

 as fast as his blundering wings could flap, 

 followed by the angry vireos, who saw him 

 well out of their neighborhood before they 

 let him alone. The next day I scared up 

 the foolish fellow again in the same place, 

 and found that the nearest vireo's nest was 

 gone! Not a trace was left, nothing but 

 one feather! Had he taken his revenge in 

 the night? The trees were silent, and I 

 had to be satisfied with giving him such a 

 scare as would keep him away in future. 

 For crow blackbirds the vireos show the 

 same hostility, and I fear with almost as 

 good reason. 



'But although the vireos are such inter- 

 esting friends and such hearty enemies, 

 there is another reason for admiring them. 

 They are picturesque little artists, and 

 work in charmingly with the landscape. 

 Only last September, when the mountain 

 ash leaves were turning to flame and the 



berries were lit up by the sun till they glowed 

 richer than coral, a vireo suddenly came out 

 and, leaning his white breast against a bunch 

 of berries, went to work to swallow a whole 

 coral bead. Another morning, in the spring, 

 one of the little creatures was perched on 

 a dead twig in the top of a tree, and flooded 

 in sunlight till his silvery breast glistened 

 and he seemed to breathe out the spirit of 

 the woods and the sun together in his sweet 

 musing note. 



KINGLETS. 



Do you know these dainty little birds 

 that visit us twice a year? Some bright 

 September morning you wake up and find 

 them flitting about the apple trees, and 

 know that fall has come. But they tell you 

 the fact in such a breezy, cheery way that 

 you think only how glad you are to see 

 them. In April they are back just long 

 enough to sing out " How do you do?" and 

 then are off for the north so that summer 

 shan't catch them. 



How do they look? Well, they are fluffy 

 little things with grayish olive coats and 

 whitish vests. That is the way I thought 

 of them when I had only a vague idea that 

 one of the family had a golden crest, and 

 the other wore a ruby crown. But one 

 fall, when they came back to the old thorn- 

 apple by the garden, I thought I would 

 learn to know the cousins apart. That 

 morning one little fellow had the tree all to 

 himself. And what a queer gnome he was! 

 A fat ball of feathers, stilted up on long, 

 wiry legs, with eyes that, though oddly set, 

 far back from his bill, were so near to- 

 gether that they seemed to prevent his see- 

 ing straight ahead. He would flash one 

 eye on me, and then with a jerk turn his 

 whole body round and flash the other, 

 scolding in the funniest way with his fine 

 chatter. I could not see that he had any 

 crown at all, and so was as much puzzled 

 as ever to decide which kinglet he was. 

 He and his friends were here by themselves 



