TOURIST ROBINS 
AND WAXW1NGS 
225 
velvety ribbon through the eye and cheek, 
the saucy crest surmounting the coat 
of fawn tints fading to yellow under¬ 
neath. And there are the same glisten¬ 
ing tips on wings and tail, as if nature 
had been lavish of her sealing wax when 
she sent these fluttering missives into all 
North America. By the time most of 
the woodsy insects have bundled them¬ 
selves up in warm nooks for the winter, 
the robins and waxwings, old and young, 
strike camp for the south. Of course, 
like any tourists, on the way they do 
sample tardy fruits, as who could blame 
them save the farmer who thinks he 
wants it all. He forgets the good they 
have done in the past and throws stones 
at the wayfarers. Incidentally also he 
tosses epithets at them, and some shot. 
At this end of the line we are waiting 
for the tourists! For what other reason 
do we plant pepper trees ? These beauti¬ 
ful trees, with their winter festoons of 
red berries fit for no epicures save the 
birds, are the pride of the south. We 
import all sorts of funny beetles to eat 
up the scale that infests them, and pass 
ordinances protecting the drooping 
boughs that fringe our city streets. Some 
bright morning the trees are alive with 
flocks of the birds, chattering, singing, 
swinging, clinging, shaking hailstorms 
of red berries to the sidewalks and on 
the heads of pedestrians. 
Now let a stranger essay to eat pepper 
berries and he will make as wry a face 
as when he samples the olives. He 
should not set teeth in either. Let a 
single berry rest on the tongue and he 
will discover just under the dry skin of 
it a very sweet and toothsome hint of 
what the pepper fruit may one day evolve 
into should a Burbank find time to 
work his mysterious art upon the in¬ 
dividual. This thin sweet meat was 
placed by nature outside the kernel for 
the purposes of dissemination. The birds 
swallow as many whole seeds as they 
can uncomfortably entertain lor the sake 
of the sweet, when they fly to some 
distant point to meditate, and inciden¬ 
tally to eject the hard pit of the seeds 
for which they have no possible use. 
Often they disgorge them in flight and 
the traveler thinks himself the subject 
of some wanton boys in concealment. 
Standing under a tree in which these 
birds have made a settlement it is an 
amusing sight and sensation to observe 
the storm of ejected seeds. Everywhere 
are the pepper seeds thus scattered and 
the jack-rabbits, who havenT found their 
way into the canner’s kettle, and the 
ground-squirrels and chipmunks each 
and all take to covering them up with 
earth by much scampering and digging; 
so that we find baby pepper trees in 
canyons and mesas which for want of 
moisture seldom live beyond the period 
of teething. But they tried to live which 
is better than not to make any effort 
at all, and now and then a full-grown 
pepper tree is found where plow of man 
ne’er turned the soil. 
From sheer love of walking on the 
ground, after the manner of robins, these 
often alight in large flocks and pick up 
the berries shaken down by the wax- 
wings. I toss them cake and things, and 
they accept them. Once they discovered 
the molasses I had set out for the spar¬ 
rows and sampled the same. They grew 
fond of it, and a wicked thought occurred 
to me. I mixed good, wholesome 
whisky with the molasses, thinking to 
behold an instructive sight when tipsy 
robins should lean against the telephone 
poles, and meander about the yard hic¬ 
coughing. But never a drop of the mix¬ 
ture would they take, and the precious 
stuff was wasted—I mean the molasses. 
I don a brown cloak and take my 
seat in the fork of a big pepper tree 
never to wink nor move a muscle of my 
face while I behold my friends at nearer 
view and by innocent deception. They 
think me a branch of the tree and walk 
all over me. No gunner could have 
such fun! The waxwings suspect some¬ 
thing wrong with that particular branch, 
and fly to the apex of a tall walnut 
devoid of foliage. They sit in long rows 
on the arms of it, heads all pointing 
one way, the way of the wind it is sup¬ 
posed, though for the life of me I can¬ 
not feel so much as a zephyr. But they 
have keener nerves, and there they sit 
lifting their crests, like so many silk hats, 
to beautiful California, I hasten down 
and, looking up from beneath the tree, 
am pelted with the seeds they are done 
with. Then away they fly to the rasp¬ 
berry row where a few belated berries 
are waiting for them, and which I do 
