90 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



little village fifty miles from New York. It was in 

 April, when the bluebirds had just arrived from 

 their southern winter trip. As usual Bluey was 

 allowed his freedom, and greatly did he enjoy flying 

 about the apple orchard, searching with his keen 

 eyes for insects which were to his taste. One day 

 while on an outing he met a little Miss Bluebird. 

 Need more be said ? When we called him he simply 

 laughed at us, laughed and scolded as he sat with his 

 bride on the roof of an old barn. There was nothing 

 for us to do but submit to the inevitable. Love had 

 conquered, as it always wUl, and so we lost our pet — 

 the dearest of httle companions whose song had so 

 often cheered us and whose dehghtful ways had 

 been a constant source of pleasure during the two 

 years he had been with us. 



P.S. — Nearly a year has gone by since the fore- 

 going was written. A strange thing has happened. 

 In a bird box fastened outside my studio a pair of 

 bluebirds have taken up their quarters. While 

 watching them as they sat on the branch of a dog- 

 wood tree that grew near by I called as I used to 

 call Bluey. To my surprise there came the 

 familiar reply and the fluttering of the wing. 

 Was it our old pet ? I believe so, for surely no 

 other bird would have answered as he did. For 

 two summers he stayed with us, and whenever I 

 called he would nearly always answer, but we were 

 less to him than his mate. He had tasted freedom, 

 and he liked it better than the restriction we had 

 imposed on his wilful spirit. He was Uving the 

 life for which he was made, and we could not find 

 it in our hearts to quarrel with his choice. 



