alte AU eDaU i btOrN: BU; i Eel TN 19 
area near the northwest boundary where the house used to be. Part of the 
orchard is still there and several of the apple trees still bear fruit. In one 
of them I saw a kingbird with a piece of grapevine bark. It soon moved 
over to the nest it was building in a crotch in a top branch. The nest was 
just about finished, with both birds gathering material and the female doing 
the actual building. While watching the kingbirds I heard a very peculiar 
song. It sounded like the song of a Baltimore oriole with a sore throat, and 
was coming from the edge of the woods. I had heard that same song last 
year in Waukegan Dunes. What was it? Suddenly it came to me; it was 
the song of the orchard oriole. I had heard it only three times before. I 
tried to catch a glimpse of the bird in the trees but the foliage was too 
heavy. Then I saw it coming across the open from the woods, a dark bird 
that flashed reddish-brown in the sun. It came straight toward the tree 
where the kingbird was making its nest. I thought, “Here is where it gets 
into trouble. That kingbird will drive it away.” But the kingbird did not 
bother it. In fact, it talked to the oriole as it alighted on a tall branch in 
the top of the tree. As I watched I saw a caterpillar in its mouth. It 
watched me for several minutes, the caterpillar dangling from the sides of 
its bill. Evidently it did not intend to eat the worm. Perhaps it had a nest 
and babies close by. But it was pretty early for an oriole to have young. 
As I watched, it worked down the branch, hopped over to another branch 
and was almost lost in the foliage. When it again appeared the worm was 
gone. But I had heard no youngsters calling for food, and baby orioles are 
the biggest crybabies in the bird world. I heard the male singing spas- 
modically from the woods. Soon it again came to the apple tree with food 
and went to the same place. I heard a soft musical twittering, but no babies 
crying for food. I decided to find out. I moved all the way around the base 
of the tree, but could make out nothing definite. Only one thing to do— 
climb the tree and find out. As I climbed up near the spot a yellowish bird 
flew out, flew to a nearby tree and scolded in no uncertain tones. She was 
joined by her mate and both kingbirds in the scolding. The kingbirds took 
up the fight as vigorously and viciously as if I were bothering their own 
nest, which was over in another part of the tree. It was not until I was 
four feet from the nest that I saw it among the green leaves. It was in a 
leafy crotch, suspended from the small branches, like a deep pouch, beauti- 
fully and carefully woven of long, green grasses which were beginning to 
turn yellow at the tips. It was lined with fine grasses, plant down and 
fern down. In the nest were four eggs, bluish-white with black and brown 
spots and scrawls, chiefly about the large end. That nest was beautifully 
camouflaged. The added protection of the kingbirds made it almost im- 
pregnable. Sixteen days later the youngsters hatched. It seemed as though 
they squalled for food all day long. In another 19 days they left the nest, 
but they still followed their parents around, calling for food, when they were 
as big as their parents. I wonder if the parents were still feeding them on 
their southern migration in early August. 
(The “Report” continues with a detailed list of 93 species found nesting 
in Elk Grove Preserve, a study of the reptiles and amphibians, the trees, 
shrubs and wildflowers, and the vines and ferns. Attached to the original 
