

THE BLUEBIRD'S HAPPY HOME. 



When I was a little girl and sat play- 

 ing on the fresh green grass at my 

 auntie's country home, I heard a sweet 

 voiced songster near me. Looking 

 around, there on an old cherry stump sat 

 a Bluebird. The sunlight made his blue 

 feathers dazzling while he filled the air 

 with his happiness. 



The cherry stump had been sawed off 

 just where the branches began, so that 

 it might be used as a hitching post for 

 the horse and its top was high above 

 my head. 



Over the grass and up the stump 

 rushed Miss Pussy and Mr. Bluebird 

 flew to an adjoining pear tree. Miss 

 Pussy went up almost to the top of the 

 stump and there did the queerest thing I 

 ever saw a cat do. Just where she 

 stopped she pushed her paw into a hole 

 and I could see by the lashing of her tail 

 and the savage way she kept thrusting 

 her paw into the hole that she was greatly 

 excited. At last, tired and discouraged, 

 she came down and hid herself under the 

 low branches of a nearby evergreen. 



Mr. Bluebird soon returned and Miss 

 Puss dashed out, bounded over the box 

 border, tore up the stump and repeated 

 her frantic performance. After watch- 

 ing her go up the stump three times, I 

 called my auntie and said, "Something 

 must be the matter with Kitty. She 

 rushes up that old cherry stump, claws 

 into a hole there and dances around it on 

 three legs !" 



My auntie laughed heartily and ex- 

 plained, "why, my dear, when we tried to 

 use that old stump for a hitching post, 

 we found it had rotted so it wasn't strong 

 enough. After we abandoned it, a wood- 

 pecker enjoyed it a long time and two 

 years ago a Bluebird and his mate en- 

 tered one of the holes the woodpecker had 



made, and found a home in the heart of 

 the old tree. Down in that cosy, dark 

 place, they built their nest and set up 

 housekeeping. When the little master of 

 the home, perched on his roof and told 

 the world how happy he was in his new 

 home Puss heard his singing. She tried 

 to join him only to' find that his little 

 wife lived inside the tree trunk. Al- 

 though not invited, Puss tried hard to 

 enter the little door. When her head 

 would not go in she tried her paw, which 

 she continues to do whenever she hears 

 the master's song. No one is so neigh- 

 borly as Puss." 



"Oh," I cried, "how frightened Mrs. 

 Bluebird must be each time." 



"I used to think of that, but after the 

 little birds had been hatched and flown 

 away the first year, I examined the place 

 and found the nest rested in the heart of 

 the tree just too low for Puss' paws to 

 reach it. The wise little Bluebirds knew 

 they had a safe home. Sometimes when 

 Puss is too friendly, the little mother 

 picks her paw, and Puss draws it back 

 and after shaking it, retreats and gives 

 the Bluebirds a rest." 



"I'm so glad that cat can't reach Mrs. 

 Bluebird and her babies," I exclaimed. 

 "Yes," auntie responded, but just think 

 how it must try Kitty's patience to know 

 a whole nest of baby birds are born and 

 reared just beyond her reach. Sometimes 

 she becomes quite frantic and races up 

 and down the tree, thrusting in her paws 

 and crying unhappily. A dash of bril- 

 liant blue passed in front of us and there 

 was Mr. Bluebird with a big worm. We 

 heard a love note and saw Mrs. Blue- 

 bird's pretty head fill the hole while she 

 received the tempting meal. Then her 

 mate joined her in their happy home in 

 the heart of the cherry tree stump. 



Florence Bennett Scott. 



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