io6 Bird -Lore 



Heron. This aigrette is cruelly' torn from the body of the mother bird while she is caring 

 for her young, and when the mother is killed, of course, the little ones die. 



Beth. — The Audubon Society has been steadily fighting this evil. New York state 

 and many other states have passed laws to protect the birds, and I assure you we don't 

 wear feathers of any kind on our hats; flowers and ribbons are good enough for us. Of 

 course we could wear Ostrich feathers, because those are plucked harmlessly. 



Will. — O, yes, they are all right. 



Beth. — The girls will soon be here to give their reports on birds for the past two 

 weeks. Please stay. I think you will be interested, and we want your help. 



[Five or six girls come running in, put hats down and seat themselves.] 



Grace. — Well, I've been to the woods to get some information from the birds 

 themselves. I saw the dearest Song Sparrow, a little brown bird you know, much like 

 the English Sparrow, only he has spots on his breast. I watched him sitting on top of a 

 bush and singing "Sweet, sweet, sweet, very merry cheer" [turning leaves of her book], 

 and then, away in the deep woods, I heard a voice calling, "Teacher, teacher, teacher." 



Rebecca. — O, yes, the Oven-bird! That's a little brown bird too! 



Grace [continues] — and when I drew near the entrance again, I saw a whole colony 

 of Wrens. There was a tiny bird-house on a porch and the mother Wren was going in to 

 feed her babies. The Wrens also are brown and very small; but oh! their notes are so 

 sweet and rapid that they just tumble over one another, and I couldn't attempt to 

 imitate them. 



Florence. — And I have been up to Bronx Park; one has a splendid opportunity to 

 study birds there, because they have a large inclosure filled with the various song-birds, 

 and they are all named. 



Others. — Isn't that fine! 



Florence [continues] — But I wandered out into the adjoining woods, and saw the 

 first bird of spring, the one that carries the sky on his back. 



Miriam. — The Bluebird! 



Florence [continues] — and as I was standing very quietly under a tree, a Wood 

 Thrush came down on a near-by branch and said, "Who are you, who are you?" and I 

 was so thrilled with delight that I didn't answer his question. 



Miriam. — What a charming experience, but what wouldn't I give to hear a Hermit 

 Thrush ! His song is like a beautiful hymn, and I suppose it would be almost irreverent 

 to try to imitate that. 



Helen. — How was the Wood Thrush dressed? 



Florence. — He wore a coat of cinnamon-brown and a vest of gray splashed with 

 brown spots. 



Marion. — Well, my report is from a place nearer home, our own Prospect Park. I 

 suppose you know over seventy varieties of birds can be seen there. The Purple 

 Grackles are very common; the grass is simply black with these big birds. If I had an 

 old wheelbarrow here, I could show you what the Grackle says, because it is a squeak. 

 Farther out, as I was going through the deep grass, I heard distinctly these words, 

 "You can't see me, you can't see me," and sure enough I couldn't, for the deep grass 

 hid him completely. 



Helen K. — That's the Meadowlark. Down at Nantucket I used to hear him all 

 day. He is a beautiful, large bird with a coat of dark brown and throat and breast of 

 bright yellow. 



Helen D. — I wish I could have seen him, but I did see a Woodpecker, dear little 

 downy fellow, drilling away on the trunk of a tree as if his work in the world was the 

 work that must be done. 



Gertrude. — Yes, he saves the trees by eating the insects. 



Rebecca. — Who says, "Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up?" 



