294 



Bird- Lore 



hard they had to work! Every time we 

 dug in the garden they flew almost at 

 our feet, snatched a grub and flew to the 

 nest. 



The male bird brought his contribution, 

 put it into one little open mouth, then 

 would fly away; while the mother bird 

 always waited and carried away the 

 white droppings, and thus kept their 

 home clean. 



The day the little ones left the nest was 

 almost as exciting to the watchers as to the 

 birds themselves. Instead of the usual meal, 

 brought between four and five o'clock, the 

 parent birds kept away, and from time 

 .to time would give a call from a near-by 

 post or branch. At each call the little 

 birds would stick their heads out, first 

 one, then two, and once, all three. 



Finally, after nearly half an hour of 

 this calling, with a great flutter of wings, 

 out they came. One flew aimlessly away 

 over the fields, and one big bird followed. 

 The other two did not go far and were 

 joined by the mother bird, who led them 

 by easy stages from tree to tree. 



The others hopped all around the yard, 

 perched on fence and hedge, but they 

 did not return to the home although we 

 watched till dark. 



The gourd had been vacant about two 

 weeks when one day two Wrens came and 

 took possession. The watchers felt sure 

 it was the same pair, and we again took 

 up our position of watching. 



They did not use the Bluebirds' nest, 

 except as a support, but built a very small 

 one on the side. Almost before it was 

 finished, back came Mr. Bluebird, and 

 drove them away. 



He would sit on a fence-post or a branch 

 and, just as in the early spring, seemed to 

 watch until the little Wrens came, then 

 up he would come and drive them away. 



The watchers tried to help the little 

 birds by clapping their hands or "shooing" 

 him away. The Wren would utter his 

 shrill cry of alarm and when either of us 

 would go to see what was the trouble, 

 the Bluebird was sure to be there, some- 

 times standing in the door. 



At our approach the Bluebird flew 



away, but the Wrens never did; they 

 seemed to know we wanted to help them. 



But it was of no use; one day Mr. 

 Bluebird flew into the nest and whether 

 he broke the eggs or tore up the nest, 

 we never knew, but the Wrens never 

 came back. 



This was a revelation to us, for we had 

 never known the Bluebird was so pug- 

 nacious. But after all he was human-like, 

 and wanted what he wanted and guarded 

 what he thought was his home. — Mrs. 

 M. M. Waring, Knoxville, Tenn. 



A Tragedy Narrowly Averted 



We have a small orchard on our resi- 

 dence lot in a county-seat town in south- 

 eastern Iowa. The orchard occupies the 

 rear half of the lot. At the farther end 

 of the orchard stands a fine box-elder tree 

 which has been kept carefully trimmed ■ 

 to certain outward dimensions for years. 

 The fact that this tree is not permitted to 

 gratify its ambitions to grow tall and 

 likewise spread out over all the surround- 

 ing orchard, causes it to form an exceed- 

 ingly dense top with thousands of small 

 intermingling branches and twigs. The 

 foliage of this tree is so dense that the 

 rays of the sun scarcely ever find their 

 way through it to the earth beneath. 



Now, although all the members of a 

 family of five pass under this tree nu- 

 merous times daily, yet the Catbirds have 

 made it their home for many summers. 

 They have cheered us with their song 

 morning, noon and night. One of the 

 favorite stations for the bird to occupy 

 while singing or scanning the surrounding 

 trees for food has often been upon the 

 pump-handle, the pump being situated 

 about twenty feet from the kitchen win- 

 dow. Besides the music which they have 

 furnished us free and unsolicited, they 

 have destroyed thousands of green worms, 

 caterpillars, slugs, and insects of every 

 variety. Of all the native song birds which 

 visit this part of the country, I believe 

 there is only one, the Brown Thrush, 

 that has a more varied and pleasing song 

 than has the Catbird. 



