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The Brown Creeper's Force of Habit 



My office is on the fifth floor of a building 

 in a thickly built up portion of Philadel- 

 phia, and not the sort of place where one 

 would expect to see much in the way of 

 birds. But late in the fall, while our winter 

 birds were still coming from the north, a 

 Brown Creeper, exhausted or temporarily 

 disabled, was discovered one cold day hud- 

 dled up in a bunch, lying on the window- 

 «ill against the sash of one of my windows. 



The man who discovered it supposed it 

 to be a kind of mouse, but when I slowly 

 opened the window and gently placed my 

 hand over its tiny form, its head popped up 

 and it at once made itself known. It was 

 apparently too weak to make much of a 

 flight, but the warm room infused new life 

 into the little creature, and after remain- 

 ing on the window-sill a few minutes, he 

 hopped to the end of the sill and climbed 

 up the varnished sash to the meeting rail, 

 where I saw he was attracted by a fly walk- 

 ing on the glass. He had forgotten his 

 ailments, having been lured away by the 

 appetizing dipter. As the fly kept out of 

 reach, I volunteered assistance, and the 

 Creeper took the dainty morsel from my 

 fingers as contentedly as though he under- 

 stood the situation as well as I did. Food 

 was scarce at that time of the year, and but 

 three or four flies could be found, all of 

 which went quickly down the red lane. 



Two or three hours later, the boys put 

 on their coats and bid good-night, leaving 

 me until the last. I had actually forgotten 

 all about the bird, and would have gone 

 home without it, had it not for the first time 

 flown across the room and alighted on the 

 lower end of my overcoat just as I was 

 about to close the door behind me. He 

 had evidently seen his friends vanishing, 

 and had decided at the last moment to re- 

 mind me that he would please like to have 

 some more flies. Under the circumstances, 

 I was his only source of supply, and this 



remarkable intelligence so touched me that 

 by the time he had climbed up to my 

 shoulder I placed my hand over him again 

 and decided to make him, if possible, a 

 household pet. 



All the way home I guarded my pocket 

 with great care, and upon arriving there 

 and liberating him from his close quarters, 

 he seemed just as tame and natural as ever. 

 I had not hurt him in any way, and he took 

 small pieces of earthworms and flies from 

 my hand without the least fear. 



His natural habit of always flying down- 

 ward and climbing upward in searching 

 for food was most surprisingly illustrated, 

 for just as in nature, he would fly across 

 the room and invariably alight close to the 

 bottom of the curtain, for instance, and then 

 would make his way gradually to the top, 

 looking for something to eat among the 

 folds. Several times he alighted on my 

 trousers, just above my ankles, and climbed 

 all the way to the top of my head, only to 

 drop off again to the table cover or one of 

 the chairs. 



The next morning I brought a stump 

 from the woods, and with healthy vigor he 

 pulled away at the decayed portions and 

 extracted the larvae, etc., that were hiding 

 there. 



One night I took him to see a friend, and 

 when I let him climb up on to my neck in 

 the car, a man behind exclaimed, "Say, 

 there's a bug on your back!" He was just 

 as much at home in my friend's house as 

 elsewhere, and exhibited his characteristic 

 flight, climbing up all the curtains, hunting 

 for food as usual. 



I kept him but three days; and partly 

 because I had not the time to hunt insect 

 food, and partly because I thought he would 

 be happier free again, I opened the vyindow 

 and let him go. He flew immediately to 

 a large pine on the lawn, where I soon 

 lost sight of him. — Wm. L. Baily, Ard- 

 more, Pa. 



(73) 



