6 
BY THE WAYSIDE 
there with clipped evergreen trees in front of 
it, one tree clipped to look like a table, sev¬ 
eral rounded trees of different heights and one 
made with two stories, and about two feet 
of bare trunk between the upper and the low¬ 
er grounp of branches. In the top story of this 
evergree tree a blue jav has built his nest, 
which I could very easily watch from my 
window. Those were very pleasant quiet blue 
jays and quickly changed my former dislike of 
them to admiration. They were very faith- 
V * 
ful in sitting on the eggs, which must have 
been a trying task during one or two rainy 
days, for the little closely cut branches did 
not afford much protection for the poor drown¬ 
ed looking mother bird I did however find the 
chance to see the eggs, fine light blueisli grey 
eggs with faint spots. There were a number 
of cats in the house and one day my atten¬ 
tion was called to a great fluttering of wings 
that 1 saw was meant to distract a cat’s at¬ 
tention from the nest. Both the birds were 
flying around in the tree where the nest wasn’t 
perching low on the trunk and brances, and 
even on the hitching post, looking a very easy 
pray. 1 was glad to be able to call the cat 
into the house for fear the blue jays might 
stay too long off the nest in the cold, raw 
o 
wind. 
I am pleased to know that the blue jays 
are so agreeable in spite of the unkind things 
that one continually hears said of them, but 
this did not interfere at all with my pleasure 
on returning to Chicago to find that my best 
friend among the city birds arrived in my 
absence. The yellow warblers are the only 
birds (excepting sparrows) that nest in 
front of our house; there are robins at the 
end of the block near Lincoln park and some¬ 
times in a yard around the corner, but none 
of them are really neighborly enough to live 
right beside us. In the summer time on Lake 
Superior we have many warbler neighbors, for 
most members of the family seem to prefer to 
nest in the North. Perhaps it is because 
there are so many other nice birds or animals 
to watch in the woods that makes me love 
this cheerful pretty summer yellow bird of 
the city streets more than any country ac¬ 
quaintance. The yellow warblers are singing 
al! day long. I seldom go to the window or 
walk up the street without hearing the greet¬ 
ing of their busy little song that has come to 
seem a very pretty bit of music to me. The 
yellow warbler is to the color of the sunlight 
and shadows th'at he would never be notioed if 
he kept quiet and still, and as he is probably 
rather vain of his lovely yellow coat he has 
to keep singing and hopping around to show 
off. He pretends to be very busy looking for 
insects and worms along the twigs but I feel 
suspicious that he can’t eat quite all the day 
long and that it is partly vanity that keeps 
him always fluttering. 
I wonder if any of you know nice things 
about my favorite bird? Will you write and 
tell me? For I’ve told you about my favorite 
yellow warbler, you know. 
Cordially your friend, 
Ethel E. Hooper. 
Illinois Prize Letter. 
Chicago, Ill., April 11, 1905. 
1 )ea.* Wayside: 
They downy woodpecker is as large as a 
sparrow. The downy woodpecker’s back is 
black and white. There is red spots on the 
back of his head. The downy woodpecker’s 
breast is light gray. They make holes in the 
trees to make their nests. Sometimes they 
peck in for fun. First he digs straight and 
then curved. When the nest is finished then 
they have to lay some eggs. Then the mother 
sits on the eggs then the father flies away 
and gets some food and brings it back to her. 
The downy wodpecker’s tail is flat and point¬ 
ed. Yours truly. 
Clara Mehl, 
Aged 8. Julia Ward Howe School. 
Maywood, Ill., March 31, 1905. 
Dear Wayside: 
Long, long ago, when my mamma was a lit¬ 
tle girl she lived in Germany, and there were 
great forests. In Germany they learn that 
hunting is a trade the same as carpentering. 
One place in that forest was said to be haunt¬ 
ed and there were ghosts. One brave hunter 
said that he was not afraid so he went one 
very dark night and, of course, he took his 
gun. Just as he was coming into the forest 
some one was talking to him. Then he said, 
t,“Who is it,” and then it talked again; then 
he fired a shot and in the morning he and an¬ 
other man went to see what it was. What do 
you think it was? It was a hoot owl. 
Yours truly, 
Aged 9 Gussie Sweeney. 
