Nesting of the Ruby - crowned Kinglet 



BY ANNA HEAD 



ON the edge of a Sierra meadow, on the shore of Lake Tahoe, 

 there is a grove of tamarack trees, growing in very open order. 

 The roots remain submerged until July. As the water that has 

 flooded the meadow subsides, a growth of lush grass and mosses, starred 

 with dwarf mimulus, violet and strawberry blossoms, covers the ground, and 

 later the spikes of the white orchid and quaint elephant -heads appear. 

 Here the bird -lover will do well to spend many hours, in spite of, or per- 

 haps it would be truer to say, because of, the swarms of gnats, flies and 

 mosquitoes that find here a congenial breeding-place. Attracted by these 

 are several species of Flycatchers, Arctic Bluebirds, Wrens and all the host 

 of insect -feeders. The dead and dying trees furnish food and house-room 

 for several kinds of Woodpeckers, while Blackbirds and Robins forage in 

 the rich soil at their feet. 



One bright morning in the middle of July I was seated on a warm, soft 

 tuft of moss, at the foot of a tamarack tree, watching the assiduous at- 

 tentions of a pair of Sierra Sapsuckers, whose rich red breasts and heads 

 made them a conspicuous mark as they fearlessly came and went to the 

 hole near the top of a bare tamarack pole, where their young kept up their 

 weird, incessant chant, rising and falling like the wind in a knot-hole. 

 Soon my attention was attracted by a mite of a bird which kept hopping 

 about me in a circle, often coming as near as five feet, and uttering a cry 

 of distress which sounded like "Quilp! quilp!" or ''Help! help!" as I soon 

 interpreted it. 



"Evidently someone else has a nest close by," I said, and began search- 

 ing the tree under which I sat, but without success. So I sat down again 

 to watch. The little fellow was worth watching, — a neat, graceful little 

 figure, not over four inches long, with olive-green back, whitish wing- 

 bars, pale gray under-parts, and a white ring about the eye, which increased 

 its apparent size. As he clung to a twig head downward, I could plainly 

 see the flaming crown of the Ruby-crowned Kinglet. 



My motionless attitude partially reassured him, and soon he went to 

 another tree and sang out clearly his song, consisting of a prelude of rapid 

 high notes, followed by a group of three triplets, which seemed to say, "Too 

 many, too many, too many!" The tone is surprisingly full and penetrating 

 for so small a bird, and the quality is indescribably sweet. I have made an 

 attempt at a musical notation. 



Sf^o. 



(S2) 



