Part 3

Extending over the Great Plains from western and probably southern Texas northward through Indian Territory to Kansas is said to be the habitation of the Lesser Prairie Hen, though it is not fully known. It inhabits the fertile prairies, seldom frequenting the timbered lands, except during sleety storms, or when the ground is covered with snow. Its flesh is dark and it is not very highly esteemed as a table bird.

The habits of these birds are similar to those of the Prairie Hen. During the early breeding season they feed upon grasshoppers, crickets, and other forms of insect life, but afterwards upon cultivated grains, gleaned from the stubble in autumn and the corn fields in winter. They are also fond of tender buds, berries, and fruits. When flushed, these birds rise from the ground with a less whirring sound than the Ruffed Grouse or Bob White, and their flight is not as swift, but more protracted, and with less apparent effort, flapping and sailing along, often to the distance of a mile or more. In the fall the birds come together, and remain in flocks until the warmth of spring awakes the passions of love; then, in the language of Col. Goss, as with a view to fairness and the survival of the fittest, they select a smooth, open courtship ground, usually called a scratching ground, where the males assemble at the early dawn, to vie with each other in carnage and pompous display, uttering at the same time their love call, a loud, booming noise. As soon as this is heard by the hen birds desirous of mating, they quietly appear, squat upon the ground, apparently indifferent observers, until claimed by victorious rivals, whom they gladly accept, and whose caresses they receive. Audubon states that the vanquished and victors alike leave the grounds to search for the females, but he omits to state that many are present, and mate upon the "scratching grounds."

The nest of the Prairie Hen is placed on the ground in the thick prairie grass and at the foot of bushes when the earth is barren; a hollow is scratched in the soil, and sparingly lined with grasses and a few feathers. There are from eight to twelve eggs, tawny brown, sometimes with an olive hue and occasionally sprinkled with brown.

During the years 1869 and 1870, while the writer was living in southwestern Kansas, which was then the far west, Prairie Chickens as they were called there, were so numerous that they were rarely used for food by the inhabitants, and as there was then no readily accessible market the birds were slaughtered for wanton sport.

THE NEW TENANTS.

BY ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE.

The next day Mrs. Jenny retired into the tin pot, and later, when Mr. Wren peeped in, lo! an egg, all spotted with red and brown, lay upon the soft lining of the nest.

"It's quite the prettiest thing in the world," proudly said Mr. Wren. "Why, my dear, I don't believe your cousin, Mrs. John Wren, ever laid one like it. It seems to me those spots upon the shell are very remarkable. I shouldn't be surprised if the bird hatched from that shell will make a name for himself in bird-land some day, I really shouldn't."

"You foolish fellow," laughed Mrs. Wren, playfully pecking him with her bill, "if you were a Goose your Goslings, in your eyes, would all be Swans. That's what I heard our landlady say to her husband last night, out on the porch, when he wondered which one of his boys would be president of the United States."

Mr. Wren chuckled in a truly papa-like manner and pecked her bill in return, then fairly bubbling over with happiness flew to a neighboring limb, and burst into such a merry roundelay, one note tumbling over another in Wren fashion, that every member of the household came out to hear and see.

"There he is," cried Pierre, as Mrs. Wren left her nest and flew over beside him, "with tail down and head up, singing as though he were mad with joy."

"Such a rapturous song," said mamma. "It reminds me of two almost forgotten lines:

'Brown Wren, from out whose swelling throat Unstinted joys of music float.'

"How well we are repaid for the litter they made, are we not?"

"And sure, mum," said Bridget, whose big heart had also been touched by the sweet song, "it's glad I am, for sure, that I wasn't afther dispossessin' your tinents. It's innocent craythurs they be, God bless 'em, a harmin' ov no wan. Sthill--"

"Well," queried her mistress, as Bridget paused.

"Sthill, mum, I do be afther wonderin' if the tin pot had been a hangin' under the front porch instead of the back, would ye's been after takin' the litter so philosophyky like as ye have, mum, to be sure."

The mistress looked at Bridget and laughingly shook her head.

"That's a pretty hard nut to crack, Bridget," said she. "Under those conditions I am afraid I----" What ever admission she was going to make was cut short by a burst of laughter from the children.

"Look at him, mamma, just look at him," they cried, pointing to Mr. Wren, who, too happy to keep still had flown to the gable at the extremity of the ridge-pole of the house, and after a gush of song, to express his happiness was jerking himself along the ridge-pole in a truly funny fashion. From thence he flew into the lower branches of a neighboring tree, singing and chattering, and whisking himself in and out of the foliage: then back to the roof again, and from roof to tree.

"I know what makes him so happy," announced Henry, who, standing upon a chair, had peeped into the nest. "There's a dear little egg in here. Hurrah for Mrs. Wren!"

"Do not touch it," commanded mamma, "but each one of us will take a peep in turn."

Mrs. Wren's bead-like eyes had taken in the whole proceeding, and with fluttering wings she stood on a shrub level with the porch and gave voice to her motherly anxiety and anger.

"_Dee, dee, dee_," she shrilly cried, fluttering her little wings, which in bird language means, "oh dear, oh dear, what shall I do?"

Her cries of distress were heard by Mr. Wren, and with all haste he flew down beside her.

"What is it?" cried he, very nearly out of breath from his late exertions. "Has that rascally Mr. Jay----"

"No, no!" she interrupted, wringing her sharp little toes, "It's not Mr. Jay this time, Mr. Wren. It's the family over there, _our_ family, robbing our nest of its one little egg."

"Pooh! nonsense!" coolly said Mr. Wren, taking one long breath of relief. "Why, my dear, you nearly frighten me to death. You know, or _ought_ to know by this time, that our landlord's family have been taught not to do such things. Besides you yourself admit them to be exceptionally good children and good children never rob nests. Fie, I'm ashamed of you. Really my heart flew to my bill when I heard your call of distress."

Mrs. Wren, whose fears were quite allayed by this time, looked at her mate scornfully.

"Oh!" said she, with fine sarcasm, "your heart flew into your bill did it? Well, let me say, Mr. Wren, that if it had been my mother in distress, father at the first note of warning, would have flown to her assistance with his heart in his _claws_. He kept them well sharpened for just such occasions, and woe to any enemy _he_ found prowling about his premises."

"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Wren, "I presume he would have attacked Bridget over there, and the whole family. To hear you talk, Mrs. Wren, one would think your father was a whole host in himself."

"And so he was," said she, loftily, "I have seen him attack a _Bluebird_ and a _Martin_ at the same time and put them both to flight. An _Owl_ had no terrors for him, and as for squirrels, why----" Mrs. Wren raised her wings and shrugged her shoulders in a very Frenchy and wholly contemptuous manner.

"I'm a peace-loving sort of a fellow, that you know, Mrs. Wren, deploring the reputation our tribe has so justly earned for fighting, and scolding, and jeering at everything and everybody. Indeed they go so far as to say we trust no one, not even our kindred. But mark me, Mrs. Wren, mark me, I say! Should any rascally Jay, neighbor or not, ever dare approach that tin pot over yonder, or ever alight on the roof of the porch, I'll, I'll----" Mr. Wren fairly snorted in his anger, and standing on one foot, doubled up the toes of the other and struck it defiantly at the imaginary foe.

"Oh, I dare say!" tauntingly said Mrs. Wren, "you are the sort of fellow that I heard little Dorothy reading about the other day. You would fight and run away, Mr. Wren, that you might live to fight another day."

Mr. Wren lifted one foot and scratched himself meditatively behind the ear.

"Good, _very_ good, indeed, my dear! It must have been a pretty wise chap that wrote that." And Mr. Wren, who seemed to find the idea very amusing, laughed until the tears stood in his eyes.

Mrs. Wren smoothed her ruffled feathers and smiled too.

"Tut, tut, Jenny," said the good-natured fellow, "what is the use of us newly married folk quarreling in this fashion. Think how joyous we were less than one short hour ago. Come, my dear, the family have all left the porch, save Emmett. Let us fly over there and take a look at our treasure." And Mrs. Wren, entirely restored to good humor, flirted her tail over her back, hopped about a little in a coquettish manner, then spread her wings, and off they flew together.

Mrs. Wren the next day deposited another egg, and the next, and the next, till six little speckled beauties lay huddled together in the cosy nest.

"Exactly the number of our landlord's family," said she, fluffing her feathers and gathering the eggs under her in that truly delightful fashion common to all mother birds. "I am so glad. I was greatly puzzled to know what names we should have given the babies had there been more than six."

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Mr. Wren, who in his joy had been treating his mate to one of his fine wooing songs, and at length coaxed her from the nest, "but I dare say we would have named them after some of our relatives."

"Why, of course," assented Mrs. Wren, "I certainly would have named one after my dear, brave papa. Mrs. John Wren says that boys named after a great personage generally develop all the qualities of that person."

"Oh, indeed!" sniffed Mr. Wren, "that was the reason she named one of her numerous brood last year after our rascally neighbor, Mr. Jay, I presume. Certainly the youngster turned out as great a rascal as the one he was named after."

Mrs. Wren's head feathers stood on end at once.

"For the life of me," she said tartly, "I cannot see why you always fly into a passion, Mr. Wren, whenever I mention dear papa, or Mrs. John, or in fact _any_ of my relatives. Indeed--but sh-sh! There's one of our neighbors coming this way. I verily believe it is, oh yes, it is, it _is_----" and Mrs. Wren wrung her toes, and cried _cheet, cheet, cheet_, and _dee, dee, dee_! in a truly anxious and alarming manner.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

SUMMARY.

Page 46.

#LEAST BITTERN.#--_Botaurus exilis._

RANGE--Temperate North America, from the British Provinces to the West Indies and South America.

NEST--In the thick rushes, along the edge of the water, bending down the tops of water grass and plaiting it into a snug little nest, about two or three feet above the water.

EGGS--Three or five, pale bluish or greenish-white.

* * * * *

Page 50.

#BALDPATE.#--_Anas americana._

RANGE--North America from the Arctic ocean south to Guatemala and Cuba.

NEST--On the ground in marshes, of grass and weeds, neatly arranged and nicely hollowed; usually lined with the down and feathers from its own breast.

EGGS--Eight to twelve, of pale buff.

* * * * *

Page 54.

#PURPLE FINCH.#--_Carpodacus purpureus._ Other names: "Purple Grosbeak," "Crimson Finch," "Linnet."

RANGE--Eastern North America, breeding from Northern United States northward.

NEST--In evergreens or orchard trees, at a moderate distance from the ground. Composed of weed-stalks, bark-strips, rootlets, grasses, all kinds of vegetable fibres, and lined with hairs.

EGGS--Four or five, of a dull green, spotted with very dark brown, chiefly about the larger end.

* * * * *

Page 58.

#RED-BELLIED WOODPECKER.#--_Melanerpes carolinus._ Other name: "Zebra Bird."

RANGE--Eastern United States, west to the Rocky Mountains, south to Florida and Central Texas.

NEST--In holes in decayed trees, twenty or thirty feet from the ground.

EGGS--Four or six, glossy white.

* * * * *

Page 63.

#SAW-WHET OWL.#--_Nyctale acadica._ Other name: "Acadian Owl."

RANGE--Whole of North America; breeding from middle United States northward.

NEST--In holes, trees, or hollow trunks.

EGGS--Four to seven, white.

* * * * *

Page 67.

#BLACK SWAN.#--_Cygnus atratus._

RANGE--Australia.

NEST--On a tussock entirely surrounded by water.

EGGS--Two to five.

* * * * *

Page 71.

#SNOWY PLOVER.#--_Aegialitis nivosa._

RANGE--Western North America, south to Mexico in winter, both coasts of Central America, and in western South America to Chile.

NEST--On the ground.

EGGS--Three, ground color, pale buff or clay color, marked with blackish-brown spots, small splashes and fine dots.

* * * * *

Page 75.

#LESSER PRAIRIE HEN.#--_Tympanuchus pallidicinctus._

RANGE--Eastern edge of the Great Plains, from western and probably southern Texas northward through Indian Territory to Kansas.

NEST--On the ground in thick prairie grass, and at the foot of bushes on the barren ground; a hollow scratched out in the soil, and sparingly lined with grasses and a few feathers.

EGGS--Eight to twelve, tawny brown.