WHEN THE BIRDS ARE NESTING. 
31 
it and was swinging- her usually slow gait close to the ground when 
a flock of intermediate sparrows caught sight of it. Now these 
visiting sparrows nest far north where grizzly bear nest-lining may 
be picked in any quantity from tree trunks where the moulting 
animals have rubbed. Either the memory of the sparrows was 
roused at the sight, or they forgot for the moment they were far 
from their nesting place. They made a dash for the familiar brown 
fur. They pecked mouthfuls of it, and dropped it, picked it up and 
tossed it. Then phcebe gave a wail, the usual plaintive cry which 
she imagines is a song, and there came a hand to hand light for the 
fur. The sparrows retreated to the fence where they talked the 
matter over. 
At this writing, March 8 , phoebe is brooding above three shirtless 
infants, on the fifth-door fiat under the stable eaves. Year by year 
she makes a new layer of adobe, loving the spot, though we handle 
the birdlings, while she nips at our shoulders and hair. She knows 
we will not harm them. One time the linnet stole the nest when 
phoebe wasn’t looking and laid her own eggs in it. Phoebe used all 
the terms of the law to oust her rival but linnet wouldn’t budge. 
Phoebe brought her husband, and together they pulled at linnet’s 
shoulder, to no avail. Old man phoebe left the scene in disgust, 
while mother phoebe had to wait her turn for the next possession. 
The phoebes’ nest is always of dark stuff, as also is the only nest 
of the black-headed grosbeak we have seen in our grounds. This 
beautiful singer lingered about till mid-summer and then concluded 
to stay the year out. By being out among the trees in advance of 
the first sunbeam we discovered the nest in an elbow of the fig-tree. 
It was made of dark little sticks, or last year’s stems of fig leaves* 
and so transparent that we could see the eggs distinctly while look¬ 
ing up from beneath. Not a bit of soft lining, just black sticks laid 
criss-cross. It was as if the builder knew that, being mid-summer 
and in the most delightful climate in the world, ventilation was the 
sanitary order. 
The oriole comes early, examining the tender new leaves of the 
frost-bitten banana, regretfully leaving them for the blue gum, after 
satisfying herself that they are too immature for her hammock. The 
banana leaves will ripen in time for the next brood. In the blue gum 
she built a lean-to by the side of last year’s nest, and attached to it, 
of the palm fiber, which is her delight, and which we often strip for 
her and lay in tempting spread on our commercial counter. The 
present addition to her previous nest is yellow and fresh while that of 
last year is weather beaten and mildewed. 
Except September, October and November, every month in the 
year is nesting time with us, When the late peaches turn their 
rosiest cheek to the autumn sun, and the almond husk opens its pale 
lips, then are the structures which were so lately the center of solici¬ 
tude tenantless and neglected. Old birds in passing take no notice of 
them and the hungry juveniles pay no visible heed. What care they 
for cradles, now that their sole cry is the universal “ Bread and 
butter, please ?” Baby zephyrs nap on the worn-out lining, and the 
rain runs its slim fingers through the parting meshes. Even the 
domestic feline, who was wont to inquire into the heart of ever}' 
bunch of grass and twigs, no longer wastes time in study of the nest¬ 
ing habits of birds. She will resume her investigations next year, 
provided she falls not a victim to the single barrel Remington behind 
the door. 
Pasadena, Cal. 
