NATURES REALM. 
Vor. IF. 
FEBRUARY, 1891. 
No. 2. 

FARM TENANTS. 
By FREDERIC Howarp. 
That robin’s nest was placed in the very 
lowest crotch of the russet apple tree in the 
farther corner of the orchard. I had watched 
the old birds bring the mud, weeds, stalks, and 
lastly the finer grasses, that, from their use as 
a lining for the quite bulky structure, showed 
me that their domicile was completed. 1 
waited in expectation for several days, not dar- 
ing to approach the nest lest the birds would 
be scared into desertion. Walking down the 
outside row of trees one morning, I was de- 
‘lighted to see the head and tail of the mother 
bird visible over the edges of the nest. She 
eft at my near approach and her mate joined 
her in noisy demonstrations against my intru- 
sion. My joy was complete when I found that 
by standing on tiptoe I could just see over the 
rim of the nest down on the four bluish-green 
eggs. This to me, a country youngster just 
out of pinafores, was my first real insight into 
the home life of one of my many feathered com- 
panions. I cannot date my interest in observ- 
ing the birds that tenanted my father’s farm, 
but from the incident just related springs the 
‘first real tangible evidence of either my present 
ornithological collection or acquired knowledge 
as to the habits of the central figures of my 
chosen hobby. 
The bluebirds were sometimes seen in mild 
winters nearly every month, but when from 
the gable of the barn the phoebe affnounced 
his arrival and name in the same breath, we 
knew that spring had really come. Our phoebe 
was a very domestic bird, as nearly all the fly- 
catchers are, and on the joints that supported 
the floor above the cellar of the hillside barn 
were evidences of long occupation in old and 
broken nests of this pert little fly-catcher. 
They were a fearless pair of birds, going about 
their nest building and incubating regardless 
of the presence of the farm laborers, who often 
worked within a few feet of their nest. I 
watched them as they patiently taught their 
young to fly, first to the wheel of the lumber 
wagon that always stood under the barn, then 
to the fence that marked the confines of the 
barnyard, and lastly to the top of the sweep 
that was balanced at its usual angle over the 
well at the pasture bars, and creaked with 
every gust of wind that came around the cor- 
ner of the barn. When I saw the juvenile 
Sayornis perched in uncertain attitude on that 
pinnacle I knew their lesson was complete and 
I had bid them good-bye. 
Soon after the phoebe came the white-bellied 
swallow to dispute in animated twitterings the 
right of possession to the row of “ bird houses ” 
converted from old salt boxes by the mechani- 
cal genius of the boy of the farm, and nailed 
in a row under the eaves of the crib. Har- 
mony was always restored after a few days of 
contention, and the metallic blue-black of one 
and the sky blue of the other flashed back and 
forth all the long spring days of my boyhood. 
By the time the bluebirds were bringing 
forth their young our tenements were all occu- 
pied by their tenants of the past years. The 
cliff swallows were repairing their brittle, bot- 
tle-shaped structures of mud under the eaves 
of the barn, and the barn swallows were dash- 
ing in and out through the holes pecked by the 
flickers during the winter months, and through 
which the morning sun would send a stream 
of light into the now great empty mows and 
