LITI Ee STRANGERS IN GRAY. 
the fence, I could not tell him from 
mamma herself. 
I soon discovered that this was no 
junketing party ; ‘‘all were on business 
bent.” They might look at me, and 
they did, although I was not near enough 
to disturb them ; but each and every one 
kept at least one eye on the ground, where 
were growing beans or some plant about 
three inches high, and I’m sure no small 
creature could stir in that part of the 
world that one of those sharp eyes did 
not fall upon it. They were ten or fif- 
teen feet apart, so that each had his own 
share of territory to overlook, and every 
few moments one flew to the ground, 
seized something, and returned at once 
to his place, ready for another. It wasa 
wire fence, and they always selected the 
wires instead of the posts to perch upon. 
Sitting and never standing, their attitude 
expressed the most charming serenity. 
While I stood watching, two of the 
youngsters happened to pounce upon the 
same object—a worm it looked like—and 
there was fora moment a spirited tug of 
war. Each held on to his end, and re- 
sisted with cries the attempts of his 
brother to deprive him of it. Doubtless 
the prey, whatever it was, suffered in 
this affair, for in a moment they sepa- 
rated amicably, and each returned to his 
station on the fence. ‘These three were 
babies ; their actions betrayed them ; for 
a little later, when one of the elders flew 
from the field to alow peach-tree, instant- 
ly there arose the baby-cry ‘* ya-a-a-a !” 
and those three sedate looking person- 
ages on the wire arose as one bird and 
flew to the tree, alighting almost on the 
mother, so eager were they to be fed. 
Ina moment she flew to the fence, where 
all three followed her. When she es- 
caped from their importunities she came 
much nearer to me, doubtless to see if I 
needed watching, and I had a closer look 
than I had succeeded in getting before, 
and satisfied myself on a point or two of 
marking. 
Up to this time my searching into the 
name and identity of my little | strangers 
in gray had been vain. But a direful 
suspicion was growing withinme. That 
heavy black line from the eye! The 
strongly marked wings! I turned with 
dread to a family I had not thought of 
trying—the shrikes. There were the 
441 
markings, too true! But that, delicate 
blue-gray was not ‘‘ slate-color.” Still. 
people see colors differently, and in every 
other way the description was perfect. 
They must be—my beautiful, graceful, 
attractive strangers must be—butcher 
birds ! 
Dreadful discovery 
know all about them ; 
deserve the name and 
I flew to my books. 
«« The c harac ter of the butcher bird,’ 
says Wilson, ** is entitled to no common 
degree of respect. His courage and in- 
trepidity are beyond every other bird of 
his size, and in affection for his young 
he is surpassed by no other. He attacks 
the largest hawk or eagle in their defence 
with a resolution truly astonishing, so 
that all of them respect him ;” and, fur- 
ther, ‘‘ He is valued in Carolina and 
Georgia for the destruction of mice. He 
sits on the fence and watches the stacks 
of rice, and darts upon them, also de- 
stroying aera and crickets.” 
So says Wilson, but subsequent writers 
have said terrible things about him : 
that he catches small birds and impales 
them on thorns; that he delights in 
I must at once 
whether they 
the reputation. 
killing more than he can eat. Could 
these things be true ? Where, then, 
was the larder of this family ? Such a 
curious and wonderful place I must see. 
I resolved to devote myself to discover- 
ing the secrets of this innocent-looking 
family j In gray. 
The nest where they had first seen 
the light was in a low spruce-tree be- 
side a constantly-used gate, not more 
than eight feet from the ground, and 
across the road was a tree. they much 
frequented. Next to that, and over- 
shadowed by it, was, as I now discoy- 
ered, a thorny tree, ‘‘ honey locust” 
it is called. Ominous proximity! I 
resolved to investigate. Perhaps I 
should find the birds’ place of storage. 
I crossed the track and went to the tree. 
What astructure it was ! A mere frame- 
work of thorns, and a finer array of 
them it would be hard to find, from the 
tiny affair an inch in length, suitable to 
hold a small grasshopper, to foot-long 
spikes, big enough to impale a crow. 
Not only was every branch and every 
twig bristling with them, but so 
charged was the whole tree with the 
