The Story of Peter, a Purple Martin 277 



it — I would strike down the fly-killer beside him, he would hop upon it and we 

 would go indoors. I do not remember how he told the difference between this 

 close of the performance and our previous fly-killing, but I have the impression 

 that he learned some cUfference in my actions. 



In his diet Peter was inclined to be eclectic. He had an inquisitive spirit 

 and tried a variety of substances, some of which, were better suited to him 

 than others. I do not recollect experimenting upon him myself except to try 

 him once with blueberries. Had he been very hungry I think he would have 

 eaten a small quantity willingly. But if anything looked good to him, Peter 

 was wifling to taste of it. One day, on coming into the house after an absence, 

 I found that Peter had made an error of judgment. He had tried to eat a 

 Avhole hearth rug. It had long fringes and Peter had begun to swallow one of 

 the fringes with the result that I found him anchored with his head very close 

 to the floor. The only safe way to release him was to draw the yarn out of his 

 crop. I pulled out about three inches, a process which he did not much enjoy 

 but was none the worse for afterward. 



Peter was the tamest bird I ever saw, yet he was perfectly untamable. 

 He was wholly dependable, but very high-spirited. He had no nerves and 

 seemed not to know what fear was. Yet he was high-strung and excitable. 

 Through my acquaintance with Peter I came to understand that the Swallow 

 tribe must be birds of fine Ijreeding; Peter had the marks of "pedigree." It 

 seems to be this which explains the fighting propensities of a bird which, 

 wholly unarmed as to either beak or claws, is a born fighter. The Purple 

 Martins are as belligerent as any bird we have. They will have pitched battles 

 with the English Sparrows, and I have known such a battle to go on for three 

 days, some of each side being killed in the encounters. The Martin, the Hum- 

 mingbird and the Kingbird I have always accounted our most warlike l)irds 

 until this year when I have made the acquaintance of a Migrant Shrike which 

 has reduced a Kingbird nesting in the same orchard almost to tears, as one 

 might say. The Kingbird has not dared call his soul his own. But though war- 

 like abroad, in his domestic character the Martin is singularly gentle. I always 

 found Peter's disposition serene and affectionate. He enjoyed being stroked 

 and fondled, provided I made no attempt to clasp him about the body. Perched 

 upon my head or on my shoulder, he would ride all about the house. How- 

 ever, if anybody said "fight," Peter asked no second invitation. 



Peter and my little cocker spaniel Judy might be characterized as friendly 

 foes. They bickered rather than fought. If Peter was brave, Judy was just 

 the reverse; the only thing she ever dared attack was cabbage butterflies, 

 which she had learned were probably not "laying for her." Even flies sometimes 

 turned into bees; for Judy was no naturalist. Peter she regarded as an intruder, 

 and, though small, so bold a bird might be dangerous. She would bark at him 

 furiously but she dared not attack. Sometimes when I came into the house 

 after dark it was Judy's barking, as she entered before me, which warned me 



