Bird Neighbors 



By MRS. HARVEY C. PERRY. Westerly, R. I. 



I 



WHERE FLICKERS LIVED 



T is much easier to have 'bird neigh- 

 bors' than many of us suspect before 

 we have tried it, and one of the best 

 ways to succeed is to follow the advice 

 given in a little book, 'Methods of 

 Attracting Birds,' by Gilbert H. Trafton. 

 It is not necessary to follow his directions 

 to the letter or to spend much money, as 

 one spring's experience in this New 

 England town has proven. Here we have 

 had trees and nesting-boxes on all sides 

 inhabited, each with its appropriate 

 pair, and, though well within the borders 

 of the town, our back yard and bathing- 

 pool have had daily, and often hourly, 

 visits from such rustics as Meadowlarks 

 and Red-wings. 



The first residents were Bluebirds, who appropriated a starch-box covered 

 with bark and which was placed in an old apple tree. For a week there were 

 glorious day-long battles with the English Sparrows, giving occasional need for 

 human interference, when a gallant but tired little gentleman would sit on a 

 twig, confidently congratulating himself and his mate, while the Sparrows, in 

 noisy rout, fled before waving arms and clapping hands. 



As soon as building began there was peace and victory — peace, if no Spar- 

 row stopped on or under the tree — and always victory. We have repeatedly 

 seen the fire-eating lord of the family jump directly on a Sparrow's back and 

 drag him from the very door of the house. This lord did no work himself but 

 almost burst with pride and affection at each tiny straw that was brought to 

 the box. And surely such loving lovers there never were. We never found out 

 how many little ones they owned, but we discovered one egg that did not 

 hatch and was the prey of marauding Sparrows after the brood had flown. 

 For two weeks we thought that we were deserted, but one morning there 

 he was again, the same little fire-eater, darting at the Sparrows and keeping 

 them well away from his old home. He kept with him, for nearly a week, a 

 queer mottled child which he fed most diligently, till it, thankless, left him. 

 But his wife never came back, and for two weeks his call to her was never silent 

 from morning till night. In and out of his old home he went, and into all the 

 other boxes, only to be driven away by indignant owners, and never to find 

 that industrious and exemplary cause of all his happiness. Of course, we will 

 never know what has become of her or of him. Maybe they, or their children, 



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