SOME NEIGHBORLY ACROBATS 33 



have the chance to meet two crowned heads. Energetic 

 as wrens, restless as warblers, and as perpetually look- 

 ing for insect food, the kinglets flit with a sudden, 

 jerking motion from twig to twig among the trees and 

 bushes, now on the lawn, now in the orchard, and 

 presently in the hedgerow down the lane. They have a 

 pretty trick of lifting and flitting their wings every 

 little while. The bluebird and pine grosbeak have it, 

 too, but their much larger, trembling wings seem far less 

 nervous. 



Happily the Idnglets are not at all shy; no bird is that is 

 hatched out so far north that it never sees a human being 

 until it travels southward to spend the winter. Alas! 

 It is the^birds that know us too well that are often the most 

 afraid. When the leaves are turning crimson and russet 

 and gold in the autumn, keep a sharp lookout for the 

 plump little grayish, olive-green birds that are even smaller 

 than wrens, and not very much larger than humming- 

 birds. Although members of quite a different family 

 (Sylviidae) — ^the kinglets are not exclusive — ^they con- 

 descend to join the nuthatches and chickadees in the 

 orchard, to help clean the farmer's fruit trees or pick up 

 a morsel at the free lunch counter in zero weather. At 

 this season there is nothing in the kinglet's thin, metallic 

 call-note, like a vibrating wire, to indicate that when 

 in love he is a fine songster. And love or war is necessary 

 to make the king show us his crown. But vanity or anger 

 is suflScient excuse for lifting the dark feathers that nearly 

 conceal the beauty spot on the top of his head when the 

 midget's mind is at ease. If you approach very near — 

 and he will allow you to almost touch him — ^you may see 

 the little patch of brilliant red feathers, it is true, but you 



