The Project Gutenberg eBook of Citizen Bird, by Mabel Osgood Wright and Elliott Coues

"Please, Doctor," said Rap, who thought he could answer that question, "the miller's wife has a pair in a cage, but they aren't very pretty, 'cause they've scraped most of the feathers off their heads and rumpled their tails, trying to get out. The miller caught three of them down there last winter, only one died and the other two aren't a bit happy; the male doesn't sing and the female has a cough. The miller's wife doesn't care much for them; they're a bother to feed, she says—have to have meal-worms, and rice with the hulls on, and all that." "Why doesn't she let them out?" asked Olive.

"'Cause she thinks that maybe some of the people that come fishing will buy them."

"She said if they ever moulted out and got any decent feathers she could ask three dollars for them, but the way they were looking a dollar was all she could expect."

"Children, shall we have a Liberty Festival this morning? How would you like for me to buy these birds and bring them here, so that you can see them, then—then what?"

"Open the cage and let them out and see what they will do!" screamed Dodo, jumping up and down.

"Here is the dollar—now go, all together," said the Doctor, putting his hands over his ears; "but if you make so much noise the birds in the river woods will mistake your kind intentions and think you are a family of wildcats."

In less than half an hour the party returned, Nat carrying the cage, which was only a box with a bit of wire netting over the front.

"No wonder poor Mrs. Cardinal has a cough, living in this dirty box," said Olive. "See, father, only one perch—and I don't believe the poor things have ever had a bath given them."

"That is the saddest part of caging wild birds," said the Doctor. "Not one person in fifty is willing to give them the care they need. Put the cage under those bushes, Nat.

"I began by asking, Where do we find this bird? Living in Florida in sunshine, among the shady redwoods of Kentucky, and in all the bitterness of our northern winters. He varies his habits to suit his surroundings, and roves about after the nesting season; in mild climates he sings for six months of the year—from March until August. But one of the strangest things about him is that he wanders most when the trees are bare and he can be so easily seen that hundreds of his kind are shot for their gay feathers, or trapped to sell alive for cage birds. When snow is on the ground he is very conspicuous."

"He does when he can and often sings when so hidden; but he is not a very quick-witted bird and seems to move awkwardly, as if his topknot were as heavy as a drum major's bearskin.

"But no one can find fault with his song; it first rings out loud like a shout, then ends as clearly as the bubbling of the stream near which he likes best to live—'Cheo-cheo-chehoo-cheo-qr-qr-qrr-r-r.'"

"Isn't it time to let them out?" whispered Dodo. "Mrs. Cardinal is coughing again dreadfully!"

"In a moment. Turn the cage sideways, Nat, so that we can watch them through the bushes—so, and please keep quite still. Now, Dodo, open the little door—carefully."

For two or three minutes there was perfect silence. Four young people squeezed behind a tree, and a Wise Man down on his hands and knees behind a stump—all watching two forlorn birds, who did not understand that liberty was theirs for the taking.

Mrs. Cardinal put out her head, then took a step and hopped along the ground into a cornel bush; where, after looking around a moment, she began to smooth her poor feather's. Another minute and Mr. Cardinal followed, giving a sharp chip like a loud Sparrow call. They both hopped off as if they were not half sure their freedom was real.

"Too soon," said the Doctor; "but I'm sure that we have not seen or heard the last of our Cardinals."

"Hist!" said Nat, "they are taking a bath in the brook this side of the stepping-stones." And so they were.

Male: splendid cardinal-red, with a black throat and band about the coral-red bill, and a fine long crest, like a Cedar Waxwing's.

Female: yellowish-brown with a little red in her crest, wings, and tail, and her face not so black as her mate's.

A Citizen of the eastern United States to the plains and from Florida to the Great Lakes, nesting wherever found.

A Tree Trapper, Ground Gleaner, Seed Sower, and Weed Warrior, besides being a fine singer.

"This must be the bird I saw the other day in the brush lot by the old barn," said Rap; "and there were two more this morning in our own potato patch. Why do they go there, Doctor?" "Because this bird, besides wearing a beautiful rosy shield on his breast, and singing at morning and evening more beautifully even than the very best Robin, is a very industrious and useful bird. He earns his living by helping farmers clear their fields of potato-bugs. If you go quietly over to the large potato lot on the north side of the Farm, you will find these birds at work any morning. I saw them myself to-day, and am going to trust my crop entirely to their keeping this season. They are nesting in the young growth near these very river woods, and I will show you one of their homes presently. You see that protecting birds, and leaving suitable bits of woodland and brush for them to build in, is practical as well as sentimental.

"This Grosbeak dares not trust its brilliant colors in large trees or open places, and so nests where it may hide in a maze of bushes. When it finds the right spot, it is not very particular about nest-building. A jumble of weeds, twigs, roots, and sometimes rags or bits of paper, serves to hold its light-blue eggs with brown markings.

"If it be ever right to cage a wild bird, you may make a prisoner of this Grosbeak; but remember, you must take a young male before it has known the joys of freedom, and give at least a half-hour every day to taking care of him. Then he will grow to love you and be a charming pet, living happily and singing gladly; but under any other circumstances it is less cruel to shoot one than to make it a prisoner."

Male: black on the head, back, wings, and tail; the belly, rump, several spots on the wings, and three outer tail-feathers, white; rose-colored breast and wing-linings; bill white and very heavy.

Female: streaked brownish above and below, without any rosy color, but orange-yellow under the wings; she looks like an overgrown Sparrow with a swelled face.

A Summer Citizen of the eastern United States from Kansas and the Carolina mountains to Canada, travelling south of the United States in winter.

A Tree Trapper, Ground Gleaner, Weed Warrior, and Seed Sower. Rather naughty once in a while about picking tree-buds, but on the whole a good neighbor.

"Blue birds and blue flowers are both rare; you can count our really blue birds on the fingers of one hand, and a Blue Canary is even stranger than a green rose or a black tulip.

"The Indigo Bird has many of the Canary's gentle ways, and though his music is not so fine or varied as that of the Goldfinch or Song Sparrow, he sings a sweet little tune to his brown mate on her nest in the bushy pasture.

"She is fortunate in having a dull dress; for, if she were as splendidly blue as her husband, nesting would be a very anxious occupation for her. Indeed, her poor mate has anything but an easy time; his color is so bright that everybody can see him at a glance, and when he picks up grass-seed in the streaming sunlight, his feathers glisten like sapphires."

"We saw an Indigo Bird yesterday!" cried Nat and Dodo together. "It was in the geraniums by the dining-room window, eating the seed I tipped out of my Canary's cage when I cleaned it," continued Dodo. "Mammy Bun said it was a Blue Canary, but Nat said it couldn't be, and I forgot to ask about it."

"Are you going to tell us about many more birds in the Finch family, Uncle Roy?"

"Not now. You have heard about those that will be most likely to attract your attention, and when you can name them, they will introduce you to all the rest of their relations."

"It is a great family," said Rap, who was sitting thinking. "Big birds and little, plain gray and brown, or red, blue, and yellow—some like warm weather and some want it cold." "Speaking of cold, I wonder what became of the ice that Dodo saw Mammy Bun cracking this morning?" asked the Doctor, looking at Olive. "The very word has a pleasant sound, for it seems to me to be growing warmer and warmer."

"Toot! toot! t-o-o-t!" squeaked a tin horn across the field from the direction of the farmhouse.

"What's that?" said Nat, jumping up; "it's the dinner horn, and it can't be dinner-time."

"Not more than eleven o'clock," said Rap, looking at the sun after the fashion of those who spend much time out of doors.

"I know what the horn means," said Olive. "It means that the cake, that Nat said Mammy Bun was going to bake with the ice, is done!"

"Perhaps not, but ice can freeze something, if you mix salt with it, even on this warm day, and the horn means that mammy has a tin pail full of ice cream, waiting for some one to eat it! Ice cream, made with fresh strawberries! Don't break your neck, Nat!" For Nat had dashed off so quickly that it was no use for Dodo and Rap to try to keep up with him.

"Why do you mostly have something nice for us to eat on bird-days?" asked Dodo, cuddling into the bend of her uncle's arm.

"For two reasons, girlie. When I was a boy, being out of doors made me so hungry that it always seemed a long time between breakfast and dinner. I know that little brains remember best when the stomachs that nourish them are not empty. Neither Bird Children nor House Children should go too long hungry; it is as bad as nibbling all day."

"I've noticed since I came here I haven't needed even to peep in the cooky box between times. Aren't you one of the seven Wise Men of—of—I-forget-where?" asked Dodo, hugging him.

"Greece," answered the Doctor; "no, fortunately, I am not, for they are all dead."

"What's that?" whispered Rap, pointing toward the river, whence a strong, rapid, musical song came, ending before you could catch the syllables, and then being repeated two or three times.

"It is the Cardinal," said, the Doctor, in some surprise—for the bird was singing almost at noon. "I can see his red liberty cap near the top of the tallest hemlock!"

"Che-o—hoo—hoo," called the Cardinal, and then the ice-cream pail arrived, escorted by Nat.

Female: plain brown above and whitey brown below, with a few streaks, including a sharp black one under her beak.

A pleasant neighbor and good Citizen, belonging to the southern branch of the Finch family.

A Summer Citizen of the eastern United States, west to Kansas and north to Canada. From Kansas to the Pacific Ocean he is replaced by his brother, the Lazuli Bunting.

CHAPTER XVII

It was that wonderful week after the middle of June. The week that holds the best of everything; the longest days of the whole fly-away year; the biggest strawberries and the sweetest roses. Everything at its height; birds in full song; bees in the flowers; children in hammocks under the trees, and a Wise Man humming happily to himself as he breathed it all in.

"I don't think that anything nicer than this can happen," said Nat, swinging so hard in his hammock that he rolled out into the long grass.

"It doesn't seem as if it could" answered Dodo; "only here at Orchard Farm there is so much niceness you never can tell what is the very nicest."

The Wise Man laughed to himself, and then whistled an imitation of the White-throated Sparrow's call—at which sound Dodo promptly rolled out of her hammock and bumped into Nat, who was still lying in the grass; then both the children sat up and listened.

"You ought to be further north building your nest," said Nat. "Don't you know that, Mr. Peabody?"

"It's Uncle Roy!" cried Dodo, spying him back of the apple-tree perch. "How would you like to go down to the seashore to-morrow, little folks?"

"I suppose by that you mean 'yes,'" laughed the Doctor. "Olive and I have planned to take the six-seated surrey, with a hamper of good things to eat, and drive down to the sandy shore where the river broadens into salt water. There is a house on the bay where we can have our dinner, and the meadows and marshes are full of birds—don't quite smother me, Dodo! Then in the cool of the afternoon we can return and have a picnic supper at some pretty place on the way, for to-morrow night the moon is full!"

"Some of them are; there is a great colony of Blackbirds I want you to see, for our next family is a very interesting one. It contains a harlequin, a tramp, a soldier, a tent-maker, a hammock-maker, and a basket-maker; and we shall probably see them all, sooner or later, but certainly one or two of them to-morrow.

"No, I won't tell you a word about them now. But go down and invite Rap, and tell him we will call for him by half-past six o'clock in the morning, because we must have time to drive slowly, stop where we please, and use our eyes." Early next morning the party set out. Five happy children—the youngest eight and the oldest fifty-eight—started from Orchard Farm behind a pair of comfortable white horses that never wore blinkers or check-reins. These big members of the party were human enough to look around as the children scrambled into the surrey, and then prick up their ears as if they knew the difference between a picnic and a plough, and were happy accordingly.

They trotted down the turnpike a mile, and then turned into a cross-road bordered by hay-fields almost ready for cutting. Olive was driving, for she loved the old white horses. Rap, Nat, and Dodo sat in the middle seat, and the Doctor behind.

"Please, Doctor, what is the name of the Bird family we are going to visit?" asked Rap.

"The family of the Blackbirds and Orioles; but it has a Latin name, Icteridae, when it walks in the procession."

"Listen! listen!" cried Dodo. "Oh, Olive, do stop; there's some kind of a bird on top of those bars that is singing as if he had started and couldn't stop, and I'm sure his voice will fly away from him in a minute!"

"It's only a Bobolink!" said Rap, as the bird spread his wings and soared into the air still singing, leaving a little stream of music behind him, as a dancing canoe leaves a train of ripples in the water.

"It is a Bobolink, surely," said the Doctor, "and not 'only a Bobolink,' but the very bird we should be most glad to see—the first of the Blackbird and Oriole family—the harlequin in his summer livery."

"Why do you call the Bobolink a 'harlequin,' Uncle Roy? What is a harlequin?" asked Dodo.

"Don't you remember that Harlequin was the name of the man in the pantomime we saw last winter, who wore clothes of all sorts of colors, changed from one thing to another, and was always dancing about as if he could not possibly keep still?" "Y-e-s, I remember," said Dodo, "but I don't think he was a bit like this Bobolink; for that harlequin didn't say a word, only made signs, and the Bobolink sings faster than any bird I ever heard before."

"Yes, he sings now; but it is only for a short time. Next month he will be dumb, and before you know it his beautiful shining black coat, with the white and buff trimmings, will have dropped off. Then he will be changed to dull brown like his wife, and keep as quiet as poor Cinderella sitting in the ashes.

"I don't see any in the grass," said Rap; "but there are some Bobolinks all about in the trees along the edges, and more of them up in the air. Where are their nests, Doctor? I've never found a Bobolink's nest!"

"Their nests are hidden in that long grass, and their mates also. Whoever would find them must have the patience of an Indian, the eyes of a bird, and the cunning of a fox.

"Mrs. Bobolink finds a little hollow in the ground where the roots grow, and rounds up a nest from the grass stalks with finer grass tops inside. Then she so arranges the weeds and stems above her home that there is no trace of a break in the meadow; and when she leaves the nest she never goes boldly out by the front door or bangs it behind her, but steals off through a by-path in the grass. When she flies out of shelter at last, she has already run a good way off, so that, instead of telling the watcher where her home is, she tells him exactly where it is not.

"Bob earns his living these days by singing and going to market for the family, but he does both in a tearing hurry; for his housekeeping, like his honeymoon, is short. He must lead his children out of the grass before the mowers overtake him, or the summer days grow short; for then he will have to spend some time at his tailor's before he can follow the warm weather down South again.

"Twice a year Bob has to make the most complete change of plumage that falls to the lot of any bird. His summer toilet is so tiresome and discouraging that he retires into the thickest reeds to make it. Out he comes in August, leaving his lovely voice behind with his cast-off clothes, dressed like his wife, with hardly a word to say for himself, as he joins the flock into which various families have united. He even loses his name, and is called Reedbird, after his hiding-place. He grows reckless and says to his brothers, 'What do we care? If we can't sing any more, we can eat—let us eat and be merry still!' So they eat all they can, and wax exceedingly fat; the gunners know this, and come after them.

"Meanwhile, in southern lowlands the rice-fields, that have been hoed and flooded with water all the season to make the grain grow, are covered with tall stalks of rice, whose grains are not quite ripe, but soft and milky like green corn.

"Some morning there is a great commotion on the plantation. 'The Ricebirds have come!' is the cry—this being only another name for the Bobolink.

"Out fly the field-hands, men, women, and children, waving sticks, blowing horns, and firing off guns, to frighten the invaders away. Fires are lighted by night to scare them, for the birds travel both night and day. The Bobolinks do not stop for all this noise, though of course a great many are shot, ending their lives inside a pot-pie, or being roasted in rows of six on a skewer. But the rest fly on when they are ready, leaving the United States behind them, and go through Florida to Brazil and the West Indies.

"In spring, on the northward journey, the rice-fields suffer again. The males are jolly minstrels once more, all black, white, and buff, hurrying home to their nesting grounds. They think that rice newly sown and sprouting is good for the voice, and stop to gobble it up in spite of all objections.

"Their song is not easy to express in words. 'Bobolink,' from which they take their name, is the sound most frequently heard in it; but every bird-lover has tried to give it words, and some have written it down in rhyming nonsense verses, like poetry. I think Mr. Lowell's are the best.

"'Ha! ha! ha! I must have my fun, Miss Silverthimble, thimble, thimble, if I break every heart in the meadow. See! see! see!' is one translation."

"That does sound exactly like a Bobolink," laughed Dodo; "and here is one now, right over in that tree, so crazy to sing that he doesn't mind us a bit."

"Kick your slipper! Kick your slipper! Temperance! Temperance!" said Bob, as the white horses turned into the road again. "Temperance! take a drink! go to grass, all of you!"

Male in spring and summer: jet black with ashy-white rump and shoulders; some light edgings on the back, wings, and tail-feathers, and a buff patch on the back of the neck, like a cream-puff baked just right.

Female: brownish and streaky like a big Sparrow, with sharp-pointed tail-feathers; two dark-brown stripes on the crown. Brown above, with some black and yellowish streaks. Plain yellowish below.

A Summer Citizen of the northern United States and southern Canada. Visits all the Southern States in its journeys, but winters south of them.

A member of the guilds of Ground Gleaners and Tree Trappers, and a good Citizen in its nesting haunts. But on its travels through the South a mischievous bird, who eats sprouting rice in spring and ripening rice grains in fall.

The sun was now well above the trees. The children laughed and talked happily, now seeing a bird they knew, then some of the flowers that their dear flower lady, Olive, had shown them about the Farm.

"When we know some flowers and birds, shan't we learn about the bugs and things the birds eat, and the bees and butterflies that carry the flower messages, Uncle Roy?"

"Yes, to be sure; and by that time there will be something else for you to wonder about."

"Why!" cried Dodo gleefully, "if we stay here till we know all we want it will be so long that Rap will have a beard like you, uncle, and I shall have my hair stuck up with hairpins, and wear the long skirts that tangle people up"—and at this they all laughed.

"What was that?" asked Nat, as a bird darted by, flashing with orange and black.

"Yes, an Oriole; but do you know what kind?" said the Doctor. "I didn't know there was but one kind," answered Rap. "Anyway, this one makes a long nest hanging from the end of a branch; he is a good fighter if any one touches it, and can keep away squirrels and chipmunks like a little man."

"There are seven different species of North American Orioles," said the Doctor; "but you are only likely to see two of them—the hammock-maker and the basket-maker. This one, the hammock-maker, who has just flown by, is called the Baltimore Oriole, because George Calvert, Lord Baltimore, on landing in this country in 1628, is said to have admired the colors of the bird and adopted them for his coat of arms. Some called him Fire-bird, because he is so flaming orange on some parts, and others Hang-nest, from the way he slings his hammock.

"The plainer black and chestnut bird, who now has a nest in our own Orchard, is the Basket-maker. As these two belong to the Blackbird and Oriole family, we may as well have them now, though in the regular family procession the 'tramp' walks next to the Bobolink, who is such a vagrant himself.

"This Oriole takes his name because he was once supposed to hang his nest chiefly in the branches of orchard trees; but he is as likely to be found in the maples by the garden fence as anywhere else.

"He has a cheerful rolling song, as varied in its different tunes as that of the Song Sparrow. It is not like a Robin's, or a Thrush's, or even like Brother Baltimore's; it is perfectly original, and before these birds leave the Orchard you must listen, to hear it for yourselves.

"Mrs. O. Oriole is a famous weaver; her grass nest, hung from a crotch, is one of the tidiest bits of basket-making in Birdland, and would do credit to human hands. Yet she has only a beak for a shuttle or darning-needle—whichever you please to call it. I think it is most like the needle of a sewing-machine, with the eye at the point, so that it pokes the thread through as it goes into the cloth, instead of pulling it through with the other end."

Male: black; the rump, breast, belly, and lesser wing-coverts chestnut. Round black tail with whitish tips, and some whitish on the wings.

Female: grayish-green on the upper parts, greener on the tail, with paler bars on the wings; dull yellow on all the under parts.

The young male is like the female the first year, but a little browner on the back; next year he has a black throat; then he patches up his clothes till he looks like his father, all black and chestnut.

A Summer Citizen of the United States, west to the plains, north to some parts of the Northern States and Canada, travelling entirely south of the United States to spend the winter.

A pleasant though shy neighbor, and very good Citizen, belonging to the Ground Gleaners, Tree Trappers, and Seed Sowers. Eats a little cultivated fruit for dessert, and should be welcome to it.

"The Baltimore Oriole is not so shy as his brother, and rather relies on keeping his nest out of sight than himself out of mind. His home is a sort of hempen hammock, only deeper and more pocket-shaped, to keep the babies from falling out, as Nat and Dodo both did out of our hammock yesterday."

"This nest Mrs. B. Oriole twines herself, from plant fibres, adding strings of cotton or worsted when she has a chance to find any. She secures it to the end of a strong supple twig, usually at a good height from the ground, and she likes an elm tree best of all, because it is not easy for cats or House People to climb far out on the slender swaying branches. Up there the eggs and young are safely rocked by the wind and sheltered by leaves. A cat may look at a king, and also at an Oriole's nest, but the looking will not do her much good in either case.

"Mamma Oriole sits on the nest, which is almost closed over her head, and keeps all safe. Though she does not sing to House People, how do we know but what she whispers a little lullaby like this, on stormy nights, to her nestlings?

"Rains beat! Winds blow!
Safe the nest in the elm tree.
      Days come! Nights go!
      Birds at rest in the elm tree.
To-and-fro, to-a-n-d-fro,
Safe are we from every foe—
      Orioles in the elm tree.
Cats come! Cats go!
Lullaby in the elm tree!

"Meanwhile B. Oriole does a great deal of work, for he is a tireless member of the guilds of Tree Trappers and Ground Gleaners, eating hosts of caterpillars, wireworms, and beetles. When he is very thirsty he does, now and then, take a sip of the fruit he has helped to save, and once in a while he may eat a few green peas. But would any one refuse a mess of peas to a neighbor in the next house? Then why should you begrudge a few to neighbor B. Oriole? He doubtless paid you for them before he took them, or will do so before long.

"B. Oriole comes, north before his mate to be, and spends a few days in fretting until she arrives. Then he sings a gladsome song, to tell her of his pleasure, and she answers, I am sorry to say, in rather a complaining tone; but the match is soon made. Though they are not the sweetest-tempered birds possible, they are as quick to aid as to quarrel with their neighbors.

"Their bright colors seem rather out of place in the family which contains also our sombre Blackbirds, but before the leaves have fallen both kinds of Orioles and their families start for Mexico and Central America, where such tropical hues seem more in keeping, and where many members of the family are quite as brilliant as those we see here." "There goes another Oriole!" cried Nat. "What a beauty, too! I suppose he has a nest high up in one of these elms over the road."

"Very likely, for in autumn, when the trees are bare, I have sometimes counted a dozen Orioles' nests in this very row of elms."

"Look, Uncle Roy! Look over in that pasture! What are all those black and brown birds walking round after the cows, just as chickens do?" said Dodo.

"Those are members of the Blackbird family called Cowbirds, because they follow the cows as they feed, in order to pick up worms and bugs that are shaken out of the grass. But I am sorry to say that these birds are the vagabonds of Birdland—the tramps I told you of."

Male: orange flame-color, the head, neck, and upper half of back black; wings black, edged with white; tail black and orange, about half and half.

Female: not clear orange and black, but the former color much duller, and the latter mixed up with gray, olive, and brown.

A Summer Citizen of the United States east of the Rocky Mountains, north to Canada, travelling to Central America for the winter.

A worthy Citizen, fine musician, and a good neighbor. Belongs to the guilds of Ground Gleaners, Tree Trappers, and Seed Sowers.

"Cluck-see! cluck-see!" called a Cowbird, flying over the wall to join the others in the pasture.

"Yes, but not more disagreeable than the bird's habits. I will tell you what happens every season to some poor Warbler, Sparrow, or Vireo, on account of this strange bird.

"A Song Sparrow builds her nest in the grass; an egg is laid, the bird looks proudly at it, and may perhaps fly off for a few minutes. Meanwhile, peeping and spying, along comes a Cowbird. She wants to lay an egg, too, but has no home, because she is too lazy and shiftless to build one. She sees the Sparrow's nest and thinks, 'Ah, hah! that bird is smaller than I am, and cannot push my egg out; I will leave it there!' This she does very quickly, and slips away again.

"When the Sparrow comes home she may wonder at the strange egg, and perhaps be able to push it out of the nest; but more likely she takes no notice of it, as it is so much like her own, and lets it stay. If she does this, that egg is only the beginning of trouble. It is larger than her own, so it gets more warmth and hatches more quickly. Then the young Cowbird grows so fast that it squeezes the little Sparrows dreadfully, sometimes quite out of the nest, and eats so much that they are half or wholly starved. The poor Sparrow and her mate must sometimes think what a big child it is; but they feed it kindly until it can fly—sometimes even after it leaves the nest. Then it goes back to join the flock its tramp parents belong to, without so much as saying 'thank you' to its foster parents.

"A Cowbird lays only one egg in each nest, but sometimes several visit the same nest in succession; and then the poor Sparrow has a hard time, indeed.

"The Yellow Warbler is one of the clever birds who will not always be imposed upon—you remember the two-storied nest we found; and some of the larger birds push out the strange egg. But Cowbirds are very crafty, and usually select their victims from among the small, feeble, and helpless."

"Sometimes in spring he tries to; he squeaks a few notes, and makes faces, struggling, choking, wheezing, as if he had swallowed a beetle with hooks on its legs and was in great pain. It is a most startling noise, but it certainly is not musical, though perhaps it pleases the Cowbird ladies; for if they have such bad taste in other ways, they doubtless like such harsh and inharmonious sounds."

"I don't see what makes them act so," said Rap. "I thought birds had to build nests, or have a hole or a bit of ground or rock of their own—that it was a law."

"So it is, my boy; but the Cowbird is one of the exceptions I told you about; and I am glad to say there are very few."

Male: very glossy black, excepting the head and neck, which are shiny dark brown like burnt coffee.

A Ground Gleaner and a Weed Warrior, to some extent, but a bad neighbor, a worse parent, a homeless vagabond, and an outlaw in Birdland.

The road crept down hill, passed through a village, and then into the woods once more. The children saw a great many bird friends—Swallows, Goldfinches, a beautiful Blue Jay, which was new to them, and some Yellow Warblers. They stopped for half an hour in the wooded lane, where a Chat whistled to them, a Scarlet Tanager flew hastily overhead, and the Doctor showed them a Towhee rambling among the leaves, while a little brownish bird kept flitting into the air and back to his perch, calling "pewee—pe-a-r!" in a sad voice.

"What's that?" asked Rap; "it's a bird I often see near the mill, catching flies on the wing."

"It is called the Wood Pewee," said the Doctor; "when we come back this afternoon we will stop, and I will try to find its nest to show you. We must go on now." As soon as they drove out of the wood, the smell of the salt marsh came to them, and they saw that the road led between low meadows, with wooded knolls here and there. By and by the trees grew thinner and the grass coarser.

"Oh, I see the water!" cried Dodo, "and the little house where we are going! Oh, look at the black birds flying over those bushes! Are those Cowbirds too? And there are more black birds, very big ones too, going over to the water, and more yet coming out of those stumpy little pines, and there are some yellow pigeons down in the grass! Do stop quick, Olive! I think there is going to be a bird clambake or a picnic down here!" And Dodo nearly fell out of the surrey in her excitement.

"Not exactly a picnic," said the Doctor, "but what I have brought you purposely to see. The birds flying over the alders are Red-winged Blackbirds; those coming from the pines are Purple Grackles; the big black ones flying overhead are Crows; and the yellow-breasted fellows walking in the grass are Meadowlarks. We must first make the horses comfortable, and then we can spend the day with the birds among these marshes and meadows."

When they reached the beach the wagon track led through a hedge of barberry bushes to a shed covered with pine boughs at the back of the fisherman's house.

The fisherman himself came out to help them with the horses. He was a Finlander, Olaf Neilsen, who kept boats in summer, fished, and tended two buoy lights at the river entrance for a living. His hut stood on a point, with the sandy beach of the bay in front of it, and the steeper bank where the river ran on the left. All the time the water was rushing out, out, out of the river and creeping down on the sand to make low tide.

The children did not know it then, but they were to spend many happy days on this beach, in company with their uncle and Olaf, during the next two years.

The Doctor whispered something mysterious to Olaf about clams, hoes, and "dead low water"; then he told the children to rest awhile under the pine shelter, and hear about the Blackbirds before they went out to see them in the meadows.

"This handsome Blackbird comes early and stays late in places where he does not linger all the year. He loves wet places, and his note is moist and juicy, to match his nesting haunts. 'Oncher-la-ree!' he calls, either in flying or as he walks along the ground after the fashion of his brethren—for Blackbirds never hop, like most birds, with both feet together, but move one after the other, just as we do.

"The Redwings are sociable birds, nesting in small colonies, and when once settled they never seem to stray far from home. The nest is a thick pocket hung either between reeds over the water, or fixed to the upright stems of a bush, quite near the ground, if the place is very marshy.

"The Redwings place their nests where it would seem very easy to reach them; but really the bushes are either surrounded by a little creek, hidden deep in the reeds, or the ground is so marshy that neither man nor beast can come near. That is the one reason why the males fly about so boldly, showing their glossy uniforms with the red and gold epaulets. When we try to visit that group of alders, where the colony lives, you will see for yourselves how nicely it is protected.

"We welcome this Blackbird in the spring, because his is one of the earliest bird-notes. In autumn, when he leaves the marsh and brings his flock to the grain-fields, we do not like him quite so well; but the Wise Men say that even then he is a good fairy in disguise, eating cutworms, army-worms, and other injurious kinds; even when stealing a bit of green corn, they think he clears away the worms that bore under the husks."

Male: glossy black, except the scarlet shoulders, edged with buff. Female: mixed rusty black and buff, with dull reddish-orange shoulders—not conspicuous.

"That's nothing to the way they do early in the spring, or in autumn, after they are through nesting," said Rap. "You should hear them. They come to a big chestnut across the road from our house, more than a hundred of them at once, and they creak and crackle and squeak till all of a sudden down they go on the ground, and walk about awhile to feed."

"Yes," said the Doctor, "I call them Rusty Hinges, for their voices sound like the creaking of a door that needs oiling on the hinges. But in spite of this they try to sing to their mates in spring, and very funny is the sight and sound of their devotion. To judge only by their notes, they should belong to the Croaking Birds, and not to the Singers at all; but they have a regular music-box in the throat, only it is out of order, and won't play tunes. Like the Redwings, they also nest in colonies, either in old orchards, cedar thickets, or among pines; the rest of the year, too, they keep in flocks. Except in the most northerly States Crow Blackbirds stay all winter, like Crows themselves. They are not particularly likable birds, though you will find they have very interesting habits, if you take time to watch them."

"I wonder if you fed them with cod-liver oil and licorice lozenges if their voices would be better?" asked Dodo, who had suffered from a hoarse cold the winter before.

"I don't know what that treatment might do for them," laughed the Doctor; "but if you will agree to feed them I will give you the oil and licorice!" And then Dodo laughed at herself.

Male: glossy black, with soap-bubble tints on the head, back, tail, and wings, and yellow iris. A long tail that does not lie flat and smooth like that of most birds.

A Ground Gleaner and Tree Trapper, clearing grubs and beetles from ploughed land.

"In early March the Meadowlark comes to the places that he was obliged to leave in the winter, and cries, 'Spring o' the year! Spring o' the y-e-a-r!' to the brown fields and icy brooks. They hear the call and immediately begin to stir themselves.

"Then the Meadowlark begins to earn his living, and pay his taxes at the same time, by searching the fields and pastures first for weed seeds and then, as the ground softens, for the various grubs and beetles that meant to do mischief as soon as they could get a chance. By the middle of May, when the grass has grown high enough to protect him, this gentle bird thinks he has earned a right to a home in one of the meadows he has freed from their insect enemies, and sets about to make it. A little colony may settle in this same field, or a single pair have a corner all to themselves.

"A loose grass nest is arranged in a suitable spot, usually where the grass is long enough to be drawn together over the nest like a sort of tent. Here the mother tends the eggs and nestlings, the father always keeping near to help her, and continually singing at his daily toil of providing for his family as charmingly as if he were still a gay bachelor; for Meadowlarks are very affectionate both toward each other and their young. It is really distressing to hear the sadness of the song of one who has lost his mate. He seems to be crying, 'Where are you, dear?' and beseeching her to come.

"Though we frequently hear their song in the marsh meadows in autumn, they are shyer then, and keep in flocks. At that season they grow fat, and gunners continually worry them; but I do not think that sportsmen often shoot these song birds. They are chiefly the victims of thoughtless boys or greedy pot-hunters. The true sportsman is one of the first to preserve all song birds, and give even game birds a fair chance for life; he is thus very different from the cruel man who, simply because he owns a gun, shoots everything, from a Robin to a Quail, and even in the nesting season."

"A pot-hunter is one who kills birds and other game at any time, regardless of the law, merely for the sake of money-making."

"Certainly. All really civilized States have their game-laws, and I hope the time is near when all our States will unite in this matter. Where there is a good law no wild bird or beast, even those which are suitable and intended for food, may be killed in its nesting or breeding season, or for some time afterward. Also, these creatures must only be killed by fair hunting, not with snares or traps or by any foul means; and even fishes are thus protected against wanton or excessive destruction."

"But if there is a law is some places and not in others, why don't the birds that travel get shot when they go about?" asked Rap.

"They do, my boy, and that is the pity of it. Some people seem to think there are so many birds in this great country that they cannot be killed out; and others are brutal, or do not think at all, but kill for the sake of killing. The worst of it is that little or no protection is given the poor birds in the warm countries where they spend the winter. Thrushes are shot for pot-pie, all the gayly colored birds are killed for their feathers, and flocks of doves are slain to see how many a man can hit in a day!

"Olaf says the Meadowlarks are raising their second brood now and he can find you some empty nests, if you go with him, so you can see how they are made; he will show you the Redwings' nests, too. You boys may take off your shoes and stockings; and Miss Dodo, being a girl, shall ride on Olaf's shoulder." "Please, can't I have my shoes off too?" begged Dodo. "I love to wade like the boys!"

"By and by, on the beach; but what if a frog or an eel should touch your foot, or a sharp straw stick in it—are you enough of a boy not to scream?"

Upper parts marked with brown, bay, gray, and black; head striped, with a yellow spot in front of the eye; wing-feathers nearest the body, and most of the tail-feathers, scalloped with black and gray, but the outside tail-feathers white.

Under parts nearly all yellow, with a black crescent on the breast, but further back flaxen-brown, with dark stripes.

A good and useful neighbor. A famous member of the guild of Ground Gleaners, its chief work being to kill bad insects which eat the grass-roots in pastures and hay-fields.

CHAPTER XVIII

"The Redwings scolded us like everything!" said Dodo, "and Rap stepped right into an empty Meadow-lark's nest, without seeing it. A little way back there are lots of Bobolinks, too, singing and singing, but we couldn't find a single nest."

"It was pretty warm out there," said Nat, fanning himself with a wide haymaker's hat, such as both he and Dodo had worn since they came to the Farm.

"Have we used up all the Blackbird family?" asked Dodo, as they sat on the sand and began to dig holes with their hands.

"Strange as it is," replied the Doctor, "though the Crow is the blackest of all our birds he does not belong to the Blackbird family, but to a separate one of his own—the family of Crows, Jays, and Magpies."

"How is that, Uncle Roy? You said that beautiful blue and gray bird we saw in the woods was a Jay," said Nat.

"Yes, but that is no stranger, as far as looks go, than to find a flaming Oriole in the Blackbird family, is it? You remember that I told you the relationship of birds depends upon their likeness in the bones and the rest of their inwards, not upon the color of their feathers."

"See! there are a great many Crows on that sandbar! They are picking up mussels! Some are bigger than others!" said Rap, who had been taking a look through the field-glass. "Are the small ones the females, or are there two kinds of Crows?"

"There are several kinds of Crows in the United States, besides Ravens and Magpies, who are cousins to the Crow. About here we usually only see two of them—the two that are now down on the bar—the American Crow and the Fish Crow. The Fish Crow is the smaller of the two, lives along the coast, and does not often go further north than Connecticut. It takes its name from its habit of catching fish in shallow pools and bays.

"The larger Crow is the bird that every one knows and most people dislike, because it has always been called a corn thief, though the Wise Men say it is rather a useful bird after all.

"The Crow is certainly a black, gloomy-looking bird, with a disagreeable voice. If several pairs make up their minds to build in the cedars or tall pines in one's grounds, anywhere near the house, the noise they make early in the morning is very tiresome. 'Ka—Ka—Ka-a-a-ah!' they call and quaver, at the first peep of day. Then they begin to look about for breakfast. If there is a Robin's or Dove's nest at hand, they think it is foolish to look further, and help themselves to fresh eggs or squabs. This makes us very angry, and we have the great Crow's nest—a peck or two of sticks, lined with the bark of cedars and grape vines—pulled from the tree-top where the crafty bird had hidden it.

"It is perfectly right to do so, from our point of view. I, for one, do not wish Crows in my garden or about the Farm, where I see only the bad side of their characters. So we chase them away, and put scarecrows in the corn-fields. Do the Crows care? Not a bit! They laugh and talk about us behind our backs, and before our faces too. They pretend to be afraid, and fly away if a man appears a quarter of a mile off; but merely to settle down in another part of the field until their watcher tells them to move away again.

"There is a watcher for every flock, who gives the order to fly, and warns the troop at every approach of danger.

"Of course we must remember that for many months of the year the Crow eats grasshoppers, grubs, and even mice; but it is easy to forget this when one discovers that half a dozen Crows have eaten all the young Robins in the orchard, in a single morning."

"Yes—not once, but many times; and that is the reason why I do not allow Crows to nest anywhere on the Farm. In great open farming districts, where other birds are few, they may do much more good than evil; but not in well-settled places or about gardens and pleasure grounds."

A dismal and noisy neighbor for three mouths in the year, making itself hateful by destroying grain, and the eggs and young of song birds; but for the other nine a good citizen, working in the guilds of Ground Gleaners and Wise Watchers.

"This Jay is accused of the same bad tricks as the Crow—pulling up sprouting corn, eating ripe corn, and going birds'-nesting, to suck the eggs and eat the helpless young. But we must not judge the whole tribe by what we have seen a pair or two do in the Orchard or home woods in the mating season.

"The Blue Jay is the third of our really familiar blue birds and is certainly very handsome. Do you remember who the other two are?"

"You mean the Indigo Bird," laughed Rap. "The Blue Jay is a queer bird, who can twist himself into all sorts of shapes. He sits one way when he sings, another when he is watching out for danger, and when he calls he is too funny for anything—he humps himself up and drops his tail as if he was falling apart, and then squawks!"

"I see that you know this bird very well," said the Doctor. "Have you seen his nest?"

"Once. It was in the miller's woods, half-way up in a chestnut tree, and built just like a Crow's, only much smaller. That season one of the Jays whistled and carried on till I thought there were ever so many birds together, and then laughed at me! They come round the mill for sweepings in winter, but they are almost as shy as Crows."

When Olaf came with a basket and some short-handled hoes, the Doctor told Dodo she might take off her shoes and stockings and go down on the sandbar with Nat and Olaf, to dig clams for the chowder for dinner.

"More niceness!" screamed Dodo. "Olaf! Olaf! do clams grow in hills like potatoes? I thought they swam like fish! Aren't you coming, uncle, and Rap too, to tell us about clams?"

Upper parts blue, brighter on the wings and tail, which have many black bars and some white tips.

Belonging to the guild of Ground Gleaners, his special work being to kill grasshoppers and caterpillars; but often eats young birds and sucks eggs, like a cannibal bird.