A Yellow-throat Family 195 



to explain the submissiveness of the Crow, especially, as Crows, constantly 

 harassed by man, have certainly a fear, and probably an intense hatred of 

 him. Also it cannot be explained by the fact that animals and birds in extremis 

 show remarkable submission when captured, for most of our birds were in 

 fairly good condition during the first few days. 



It seems too bad that all the injured birds except the little Screech Owl 

 died, and he ran away, so only the first half of each bird's experiment with 

 man can be told. 



A Yellow-throat Family 



By ALFRED C. REDFIELD. Wayne. Pa. 



IT WAS a fascinating old fence-row stretching down the hillside from the 

 woods to the railroad track. The fence itself had long since crumbled to 

 pieces, but a straggling row of young cherry trees, sumachs, and sassjafras 

 saplings, and an impenetrable tangle of blackberry briars formed a thick 

 hedge separating the broad pastures on each side. Surely such a place was 

 worth a whole afternoon of nest-hunting. 



I conducted my search thoroughly, Chats' and Indigo Buntings' nests 

 being my object. One side had been covered, and I was halfway up the other 

 with only a couple of Field Sparrows' nests for reward, when from a bunch of 

 grass at the thicket's edge darted a small dusky bird. I had almost stepped 

 on her four delicate, fresh eggs. The little mother would not come back to 

 reveal her identity, so marking the place I continued my search of the fence- 

 row. 



On the following day, May 27 it was, I returned and approached more 

 cautiously. There, on the nest, was a little olive-backed bird, a female Maryland 

 Yellow- throat, looking up at me with fearless, shining black eyes. I leaned 

 over, and when my hand was almost touching her, she slipped from the nest 

 and crept silently through the grass to the shelter of the briars, from whence 

 I saw her watching me with anxious eyes. 



The nest was lodged in a thick bunch of grass. The outer part was a col- 

 lection of weed-stems, coarse grasses, dead leaves and strips of grape-bark 

 rather loosely put together. The lining was of very fine strips of grass and horse- 

 hairs compactly woven into a deep bowl. On the side away from the briars, 

 the thick grass rose, completely screening it from view. Indeed, it was a most 

 proper setting for the beautiful little eggs. 



On every visit the mother bird had shown the same fearlessness. On June 

 I, when I tried to photograph her on the eggs, I had little trouble in setting up 

 my camera and making some pictures from within two feet of the nest. Even 

 when, in removing some obstructing grasses, I frightened her off, I had only to 

 wait half an hour for her return. Nothing can give the bird photographer so 



