Phoebe 
167 
Pewit — phaebe, pewit — phcebe, he calls con- 
tinually. As he perches on the peak of a 
building or other point of vantage, notice how 
vigorously he wags his tail when he calls, and 
turns his head this way and that, to keep an 
eye in all directions lest a bite should fly by 
him unawares. 
Presently a mate comes from somewhere 
south of the Carolinas where she has passed 
the winter; for phoebes are more hardy than 
the rest of the family and do not travel all the 
way to the tropics. With unfailing accuracy 
she finds the region where she built her nest 
the previous season or where she herself was 
hatched. This instinct of returned direction 
is marvellous, is it not? Sometimes it is 
hard enough for us humans to find the way 
home when not ten miles away. Did you ever 
get lost? Birds almost never do. 
Phoebes like a covering over their heads to 
protect their nests from spring rains, so you 
will see a domesticated couple going about the 
place like a pair of wrens, investigating niches 
under the piazza roof, beams in an empty barn 
loft and projections under bridges and trestles. 
By the middle of April a neat nest of moss and 
lichen, plastered together with mud and lined 
with long hair or wool, if sheep are near, is 
made in the vicinity of their home of the year 
before. The nursery is exquisitely fashioned — 
