The Bush-Tits 
The mother Tit lays six or eight pearly white eggs, and these the 
Coast and California Jays count quite the daintiest item on their bill of 
fare. Hence, of all the Bush-Tits’ nests one sees in a season, fully half 
of them have been slit open and rifled by these heartless freebooters. It 
is possible that this interference accounts for the “second nests” found 
in May and June; but I am inclined to believe that many Bush-Tits raise 
second broods even where the first have been successful. In one instance, 
at least, I knew of a second set of eggs being deposited (May 8), in a nest 
which had held young in March. Thereto, perhaps, agrees a phenomenon 
which several of us believe we have observed, viz., a late brood of young¬ 
sters being supplied with food by more than two adults. Either unoccupied 
aunts and old maid cousins turn to and help the embarrassed couple with 
their clamoring family, or else, as is more likely, the children of the first 
brood are doing their duty by their younger brothers and sisters. 
One who has approached a “loaded” Bush-Tit’s nest at flying time 
will never forget the infantile eruption which follows a rude touch upon 
the nest. Like fire balls from a Roman candle, but with notably less 
reluctance, the youngsters emerge in swift succession. One flies east and 
one flies west, while fourteen at least—or so it seems to excited fancy— 
are left to flutter wildly over the Cuckoo’s nest. 
For Younger Readers 
BUSH-TITS are bird children who never grew up. That would 
be very sad if they were really truly children, but you see most bird 
people grow up so very, very fast that half the time there ar’n’t any 
bird babies. And so bird-life would be very dull, in the tall and win¬ 
ter, say, if it were not for these happy-hearted children in feathers 
who are forever young. 
To see a flock of these merry mites trouping over the bushes you 
would think they were playing an endless game of tag. It does look 
that way, for they always keep hopping and dodging about, and if 
one bird flits to a nearby tree, why another one takes after him, and 
another and another. By and by some little birdie, who wasn’t 
paying attention just then, looks up to find himself all alone, and 
when he does, he is scared and he hops up on the tip top branches and 
shouts, creeee , meaning “Where are you?” And at that the last bird 
who flew across to the other tree shouts back, tsit — tsit — tsit, meaning 
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