Basket Makers, the Vireo and Oriole i8i 



wife, so intent with the bird in the glass, flew against the 

 window, but never accomplished anything except to slide 

 to the bottom. 



I fear she would have gone insane flying against the 

 window had the nest building and family cares not taken 

 her away. But I don't believe there was a day, unless 

 it was after the mother began setting, that the pair did 

 not appear at the window. The bird in the glass house 

 had a great fascination, and the window itself was 

 streaked and spotted by the feet and bills of the orioles. 



One day I saw a streak of orange and black flash 

 into the cherry tree beside the willow. It was a male ori- 

 ole, but not the guardian of the nest, for he was a more 

 deeply marked bird, an older oriole, for the plumage of 

 the males grows deeper in color and more striking as they 

 advance in years. But the new arrival had hardly lit 

 when there was a flash of color, and the father of the 

 nestlings darted at the intruder like a little fury. Through 

 the branches, under trees, over the barn, and across the 

 orchard the righteous pursuer and the invidious pursued 

 darted. A father bird has the right to the trees about 

 his home. This tradition is sacred in bird life, and no 

 matter how large and strong the meddler he cannot long 

 stand the attack of an enraged father. 



We set one camera on the top of the ladder pointing 

 at the nest, and draped it with willow branches. The 

 mother would peek in from the back door, and then edge 

 slowly down the long braids of the willow limbs to thrust 

 a morsel in the mouth of a clamoring baby. The father 

 fed occasionally. He often paused on a dead limb over 

 the chicken house. We placed another camera here on the 



