36 



Birds & Nature Magazine 



really the same place that they left fn the 

 autumn, and that they will be as safe here 

 this 5^ear as last, they scud across my 

 neighbor's lot to explore the prospect of a 

 nesting place in the bushes that skirt his 

 garden. Their visits become regular now, 

 and the birds grow bolder with each meal. 

 Their favorite hopping place is the cap- 

 board of the fence at the back of the yard, 

 where they are safe from tabby, and can 

 see what enemies or rivals are about. 

 When the coast is clear, they dash across 

 the lawn to take a sip of water from the 

 pan under the hydrant's dripping nozzle, 

 or snatch a morsel of food from the dish 

 on the raised platform that I made, lest 

 my neighbor's cat steal upon them un- 

 awares. Often a strain of music rewards 

 me for my attention to their wants, and 

 their finest selections — for the catbird has 

 many — are usually given on cloudy or 

 rainy days, when, seemingly, they think 

 1 need them most. 



Whether the catbird or kingbird calls 

 on me first, I do not remember, but there 

 is not niuch difference. Do birds know 

 that we care for them? They seem to feel 

 so contented and protected when near us 

 if we do. Some morning in May, as I 

 study at the open window, I hear a familiar 

 "Bee-bee-bee," and, looking out, there sits 

 the kingbird on the identical spot on the 

 clothesline wire that was such a favorite 

 place with him last year; and he seems to 

 feel as safe as though all my time were 

 spent in guarding him from harm. His 

 notes are not a song, for he is not from 

 a singing family, but just to apprise me 

 of his presence, and let me know that he 

 has run the gauntlet of dangers success- 

 fully all the way to South America and 

 back. His plumage is brighter than when 

 he left in the autumn, as though his gray- 

 ish-black coat had been thoroughly 

 brushed. Last year his mate selected a 

 high box elder at the foot of the yard in 

 M^hich to build their nest, and it came near 

 being made of the family linen, for several 

 times I observed him make a dive at some 

 handkerchiefs which had been spread upon 

 the lawn to dry. They proved too heavy 

 for his wings, however, and some bits of 

 rags and cotton batten were substituted, 

 which he bore off in triumph. I am sure 

 they would build there again did they 

 know of the nesting material I have on 



hand for them. When nesting time ar- 

 rives I shall exhibit my treasures and see 

 if I can not persuade them to bring their 

 nest to the materials. 



For a little while each spring the worms 

 seem to be getting the better of my box 

 elder trees, sometimes almost stripping 

 them of leaves; but I am compensated in 

 part by the songs of the rose-breasted 

 grosbeak that feeds and sings by turns in 

 their high tops. What a smooth, flowing, 

 limpid strain it is! Yet, at times in 

 the ardency of his love it rises so nearly 

 to the ecstatic quality of the oriole's song 

 that I have not infrequently mistaken one 

 for the other. This somewhat lethargic 

 finch has never paid any attention to the 

 food and water which I place for the other 

 birds. He seems to have small powers of 

 observation and to be fully absorbed in 



Two Babies in the Family 



his own affairs. His mate never brings her 

 nest into my yard like those of the oriole, 

 robin, kingbird, bluejay, and wren. I 

 usually find it in a grove just out of the 

 city, or in some wooded ravine, not quite 

 near enough to be friendly, nor far enough 

 away to be exposed to the dangers of the 

 wild. 



One week in May the worms of my box 

 elder trees brought me a visitor that I 

 can hardly reckon in my bird family. The 

 bobolink, as all know, is a bird of the low 

 meadows; but for three or four days one 

 fed in my tree-tops and regaled me with 

 the bubbling, rippling, gurgling, irrepres- 

 sibly ecstatic strains that come from the 

 throat of no other startling, and which 

 carried me back to my barefooted days 

 when these birds were so plentiful upon 

 the yet unbroken meadows of Illinois. 



