Part 12

The BALTIMORE ORIOLE, who has several other names, such as fire-bird, golden robin, and hang-nest, is a very showy bird, in bright orange and black. He has a fine though short song. His mate is yellow, and brown instead of black, and has a sweet song of her own. Both of them can scold as well as any birds I know.

The nest of this oriole is one of the prettiest we have. It is hung high up in a tall tree, an elm or willow usually, and near the end of a branch, where it swings in the wind. It is a deep bag made of plant fibres, bits of string, and other things. The whole has a gray tint and a silky look, which make it very attractive.

While the mother bird is sitting, her mate stays near and sings a good deal; but when feeding time comes, he works as hard as she in stuffing the hungry little mouths.

As soon as the nestlings are off, they go away in a little party. Then one who looks sharp may often see an oriole papa going quietly about on the ground, with two or three little ones after him, still calling to be fed. He doesn't sing any in these busy days. But sometimes, after the young have learned to feed themselves, he will sing again a little before they all start for their warm winter home in Central America.

It is an anxious time in the bird world when the young are leaving the nest. Orioles are so nervous and make such an outcry over their troubles that we often hear them. The most common accident is the falling of a nestling to the ground. The old birds make so much fuss over it that one would think the baby had fallen into the claws of the cat, at the very least.

They fly around as if they were crazy, shrieking and calling, for they are very fond of their little folk. The youngsters are plucky little fellows. One will hop along till he comes to a tree, and then try to climb the trunk. If he happens to hit on a tree with rough bark, he can do pretty well. He flutters a little way up, and then holds on by the claws till rested. Then he flies a little farther, and so he goes till he reaches a branch.

If it is a smooth trunk he tries, his troubles are great. Sometimes one will scramble up till he comes to a leaf that grows out from the trunk, and hang on to that till he is able to go on. But often one is unable to keep his hold, and falls back into the grass. I have several times picked up a hot and frightened birdling and put him on a branch.

A lady told me an interesting little story, showing how helpful birds are to one another. A Baltimore oriole was picked up from the ground with his wing broken so that he could not fly. The kind-hearted people fixed him comfortably in an attic. They intended to feed him and care for him till he got well and could fly.

They left him there with a window open, so that his wild friends could bring food if they wished. A little while afterward one of them went up to see about the invalid. Behold, he was gone!

They looked for him everywhere, for they knew he could not fly. Suddenly they noticed a great deal of oriole chatter out in the yard. Then they looked carefully over a tree near the window, and there they saw the broken-winged bird in the midst of quite a flock of others.

Of course the outside birds were called by the captive, and they must have carried him out in some way. Birds have been seen to carry off one who was wounded, in two ways. One way was by two birds each taking in his beak a wing of the helpless bird and so flying away with him. This has been seen, and more than once, by men who tell the truth.

The second way birds have been seen to help another was by one getting under the helpless one and so holding him up on the back. This also has been seen by men whose word can be trusted. You remember I told you such a story about the shrike.

So many untrue stories are told about the birds that I am very careful not to tell you anything that is not strictly true.

If you live in the South, you more often see the ORCHARD ORIOLE. He is not quite so gay in his dress as the Baltimore. He has chestnut color with his black. His mate is different. She is olive on the back, and yellow below, and she has bright blue legs and feet, which look as if they were covered with kid.

The nest is a hanging one, of course, but it does not usually swing like other oriole nests. It is a little supported at the bottom. It is very beautiful, for it is made of one kind of fine grass. When it is first made, its green color makes it hard to see among the leaves. And as it dries, it turns a rich yellow, like bright clean straw. It is not so high as the Baltimore's, and not hung to the end of a branch. It is often in an apple-tree, for this bird likes to be near people.

The song of the orchard oriole is different from the Baltimore's. It is longer, and has more variety. His mate sings also. Her voice is sweeter than his and not so loud.

If you live in California, the oriole you know will be the ARIZONA HOODED ORIOLE. Sometimes he is called the palm-leaf oriole for a reason you will soon see. He is a beautiful, slender bird, having bright orange color with his black. He wears more black than some of the family. His face and throat and tail and wings are of that color, though the wings have two white bars. His mate is yellowish below and olive brown above.

This bird makes the regular oriole family cradle. Sometimes it swings free like the Baltimore's, but not always. It is made of slender, wiry grass, which is green, so that it is hard to see. Sometimes a sort of thread from the edge of palm leaves is used.

This bird sometimes selects a droll place for her nest. She swings it from the under side of a palm or banana leaf. You know a banana leaf is long and wide, and makes a comfortable shade in a hot day; and it does just as well for an umbrella when it rains. It is hard to see how a bird can fasten a nest to a smooth leaf. But Mrs. Grinnell has seen it done in her own yard, and she tells us how the little builder goes to work.

First she takes a thread in her beak and pushes it through the leaf, making a hole, of course. Then she flies around to the other side of the broad leaf, and standing there a minute she pulls the thread through, and pushes it back, making another hole. Thus she goes on, flying from one side to the other till she has sewed her bag to the strong leaf.

Except in the place they choose for their nest, these orioles are about the same as their Eastern cousins, and oriole little folk are the same the world over, I think.

XXII

THE CROW-BLACKBIRD BRANCH

(_Icteridæ_)--Continued

THE fourth branch of this family is of crow-blackbirds and grackles. They have a right to the name of blackbird, for they are quite black. At least they look so a little way off, but if one gets near and sees the sunshine on them, he will see that they reflect blue or green or purple, from their feathers.

Then, too, like others of their family, they go in flocks, and they have a dignified walk on the ground. Some birds who are so social that they like to live in a crowd prefer to go a little apart to nest. But these birds make their rude, clumsy nests all close together.

Blackbirds are fond of corn; who can blame them for that? Thousands of them have been shot because they eat it. But farmers who shoot them forget, or perhaps they do not know, that corn is not the only thing they eat.

Insects as well as birds are fond of corn, and it isn't so easy to keep them away. The birds eat great numbers of them, such as grasshoppers, caterpillars, beetles, and cut-worms, besides mice. All these creatures eat the farmers' crops. So when birds destroy them, they earn some of the corn. They do more than clear the fields of troublesome insects, they eat great quantities of the seeds of weeds that the farmer is always fighting.

Blackbirds are most often seen on the ground, walking around with great dignity. They are looking for food in the grass, or in the field in ploughing time. When they are closely watched, it is often found that they are not in mischief.

Mr. Warren, State Ornithologist of Pennsylvania, tells a story which shows how easy it is to be mistaken. He was with a friend who had thirty acres of corn growing, and was much vexed to see blackbirds walking about among the young plants. They seemed very busy about something, and he was sure they were pulling up his crop. So he got out his guns, and Mr. Warren went with him to punish the birds.

They shot thirty-one of them. Then they began to see what they had been eating. In all the thirty-one, only seven had the least bit of corn, and even they were mostly filled with insects. The rest were stuffed full of insects which do much harm to young corn, mostly cut-worms.

The farmer had killed thirty-one birds who were working for him as hard as they could. No money could hire help that would do so much good as they were doing.

In the Eastern States we have the CROW BLACKBIRD, or PURPLE GRACKLE, and the BRONZED GRACKLE, whose habits are the same.

The purple grackle is a handsome bird, larger than a robin, with very light eyes. His plumage looks black in the shade, but when the sun is on it, shows rich green and blue, and it shines like satin. The bronzed grackle shows purple, and blue, and green, with metallic bronze on the back.

The purple grackle is said to eat corn, and also the eggs and young of other birds. But what he eats has been found out by the Agricultural Department, in the way I told you of. It is given out by them that he does not do so much harm to nests as has been said, and among the crops he does good enough to pay for all the corn he eats.

It is very hard to see just what a bird is eating. It is not even safe to believe all we think we see.

The only time the purple grackle can do more harm than good is when he comes with a big crowd of his friends, and settles down to spend the winter. Then he should be driven away from crops.

I want you to understand me about this. I do not say that these birds never eat the eggs and young of others. What I do say is, that there is plenty of evidence to show that they do it not half so much as people say. I have watched birds for twenty years, as closely, I believe, as any one ever watched them, and I never saw any of the bad deeds that are laid to the blue jay, or the shrike, or the kingbird, or the purple grackle. They may be guilty occasionally, but they are not the villains they are often said to be.

Besides, however bad we may call a few birds, we are ourselves worse. Birds kill only to eat. Many of them are made to feed upon each other, and cannot live in any other way. They kill quickly, and do not generally--if they ever do--torture their prey.

How is it with us? We kill for sport, or for useless show, and we kill in a way that often wounds and leaves our victim to suffer tortures before he dies. Do you think it is fair for us to say hard things about the birds?

In the Rocky Mountains and west of them the common blackbird is BREWER'S BLACKBIRD, sometimes called blue-headed grackle. He is not so shy as his brother of the East. He is amiable and friendly with people, and as familiar as the robin in New England. He is often seen in the streets of towns. He will come into yards, and even take food from a doorstep.

Brewer's blackbird is a restless, uneasy fellow, like most of his family. He is always bustling about, and flying hither and thither with rustling wings.

In summer, these birds feed mostly upon insects, which they find on the ground. They have an amusing way of being fair in their feeding. As they walk about in little social parties looking for food, those who come last in the string find the insects nearly all picked up before they get a chance. So they take this clever way of getting their turn at the good things. Every few minutes those in the rear rise and fly over the heads of their friends and alight just before them. So they have the first pick for a while. Then, in a few minutes, those left behind fly over their heads, and take the lead for a time. So, without any quarreling, each one has a fair chance with all the rest. Other birds have found out this way of playing fair. I have seen great blue herons three feet tall do the same thing.

In winter, when insects are scarce, the blackbird turns to grain and the seeds of weeds. But it has been found that he does more good by the weeds he keeps down than harm by the grain he eats.

Brewer's blackbird usually nests in trees, not very high. One time a naturalist going about in Arizona, where are few or no trees, found a curious thing,--a good many blackbird nests, a little settlement one might call it, on the ground, and all strung along close to the edge of a steep bank. At first he could not see why the birds had chosen to be on the edge of a precipice. Then he remembered that horses and cattle roamed over the country, and these animals are careful never to graze close to an edge which might crumble and give them a fall. He concluded that the birds had wit enough to know that. If their nests were out on the plains, they would be likely to be stepped on, but near the edge, they were safe from hoofs.

The common call of Brewer's blackbird is a harsh "chack;" but in the spring he turns musical, and serenades his mate with what we must call songs, because songs are what he intends. They are droll enough to listen to, and not very sweet.

This bird is about the size of a robin, with violet-colored head in the sunlight. His mate is slate-colored.

Birds who live in a crowd learn to be fair in their treatment of one another. An interesting story is told of the way a flock of blackbirds go to bed at night. They come to the roosting-place in little parties from all the country around. One would suppose the first one to get there would choose his place to sleep, and let the last one take what was left.

But no! as they arrive, they alight in some big old tree outside the roosting-place. When all are in, they fly up together, circle around for a while, then all settle at the same time in the place where they are to sleep.

XXIII

THE CROW FAMILY

(_Corvidæ_)[17]

THIS is a large family. Some of our most intelligent birds belong to it. There are first the crows, much larger than a robin and dressed in black. They have long, pointed wings, and tails square at the end. They live in a crowd, and walk on the ground.

Then there are the jays, about the size of a robin, all bright-colored birds. They have short, rounded wings, and long tails which come down almost to a point in the middle.

And then the magpies, between the other two in size. They have tails longer and more pointed than the jays, and are dressed in black with showy white markings.

The common AMERICAN CROW is a bird that everybody knows. He lives all over our country, and seems to like one part as well as another. There is enough to be said about this bird to fill this whole book. So I shall not try to tell all about him.

The crow is thought by many people to be the most knowing bird in America, and he is the one who has been most abused. He does some mischief, it is true, but he does a great deal more good. So say the officers of the Department who have looked into his food. They have found that he does pull up some corn; but he stuffs himself and his family with thousands, and even millions, of grubs, and insects, and mice, and other small creatures, that would have done far more damage to the crops than he.

Farmers have often killed or driven away the crows, because they thought they were hurting their crops. But sometimes they have found out their mistake, and have been glad to get them back again.

A story comes from the West which shows what I mean. One year the farmers were alarmed to see a great many crows around their fields. They had never seen so many there. Of course they thought they had come to eat the corn, so they began to kill them. I won't tell you the ugly story of the war against the birds. After it had gone on awhile, the farmers began to notice that crows were not the only ones who had come. A new grub that they had never seen before was on hand. There were millions of them, and they were always hungry. Young corn plants seemed to suit them, and when corn was gone, they began eating the grass.

It never came into the farmers' heads that the birds had anything to do with the grubs. So they kept up their war on the crows till few were left.

It's easier to drive away birds than insects, so the grubs went on eating. There were no crows left to trouble, and yet the crops got smaller every year. At last some one had sense enough to see that the crows had come on purpose to eat the grubs, and that they had driven away their best friends, the most useful helpers they could possibly have.

When they saw how stupid they had been, they began to coax the birds back. They sent out and had crows caught and brought to their fields to work for them. The birds took hold of the business, and made short work of the corn-eating grub, and the farmers learned a good lesson.

You may think it strange that the crows should know where the grubs were, but birds are very sharp to find their food. It is well known that when there gets to be an unusual number of insects in one place, more birds will come to feed on them. Some time when you are in the country when grass is cut, notice how many birds will come to eat the grasshoppers and other creatures that are uncovered when the hay is taken away.

The crows take the same fair way of going to roost that the Brewer's blackbirds do.

I could tell you stories--true ones, too--all day about this bird, and his services to the farmer. We all know how wise he is, and how hard it is to trap him.

I will give you one little story, to show his kindness to his fellows. Then, when you have a chance to watch one, I hope you will take pains to see for yourself what he does and what he eats. Do not believe all you hear or read about him, for I'm sorry to say there are some persons who like so well to tell a sensational story that they do not take any trouble to find out if it is true.

The story is this. Two crows were caught and kept in a large cage out of doors. It happened to be a time when food for birds was rather scarce. Some one noticed that the birds seemed to eat a good deal, and he set himself to watch them. He found that the prisoners in the cage were giving some of their food through the bars to their hungry friends outside. Could men be more unselfish?

There is no end to the funny pranks that are told of crows who have been tamed and lived with people. One that I heard of liked to get out in the yard when clothes from the wash were hung out. He would walk along on the clothesline and pull out every clothespin, carrying each one to the roof and laying it safely away. Of course this let the wet garments fall in the dirt, and he was scolded well for his mischief. Then he would fly up to the roof and throw every pin down to the ground, as if he said, "Well, take your old clothespins!"

Another tame crow was very fond of pulling over a work-basket, and scattering the spools and thimbles and other things in it. One day he got hold of a paper of needles. This he opened, and then went on to hide them, which crows always like to do with everything. He took each needle and pushed it into the bed, as if it were a cushion, and hammered each one in out of sight.

I hope you know the BLUE JAY. He is a beautiful bird in different shades of blue, set off with white and black, and with a fine crest. His mate is the same. This is the jay we know in the East and South.

He is a noisy bird, full of fun and antics. He makes himself heard wherever he goes. This has given him the name of being quarrelsome. It is often said that he is always fighting. But that is a mistake, made because people do not look closely enough. He is boisterous and jolly, but he rarely quarrels.

There is one time in his life when he is as still as a mouse. Then he comes to his tree so quietly that you cannot hear him. That is when there is a nest to look after.

The nest of a blue jay is usually not very high, in a tree. While his mate is sitting, he takes the best care of her. He brings food to her, and often sings to her. This song is very low; one can hardly hear it; but it is one of the sweetest of bird songs.

No bird is more loving to his little folk than the blue jay, and not one is more frantic when anything happens to them. James Russell Lowell, the poet, loved the birds, and has written delightful things about them. He once found a family of young blue jays who seemed to be in trouble. He had a ladder brought, and went up to the nest to see if he could help them. He found that they had got caught in the nest lining, and could not get away. They were full grown, and the old birds had worked hard from morning till night to keep them fed.

As soon as Mr. Lowell saw what was the matter, he took out his knife to cut the strings that held them. At first when he came near, the old birds were very much frightened. They flew around his head and cried, and were going to fight him. But jays are wise birds, and in a moment they saw that he did not mean to hurt them. So they perched close by him, so near he could put his hand on them. Then they watched him while he cut the little ones loose. All of them could fly, and they did, at once.

One of the nestlings had been so tightly held that one leg was withered and dead, but the next day Mr. Lowell saw him hopping about the garden path, on one leg, while his parents brought him food, and took great care of him.

The blue jay, like most birds, is kind to others. One man found a little flock taking care of an old, blind jay. They fed him, and led him to water to bathe. They warned him of danger, and in every way looked out for his comfort as if he were a nestling.

Besides being a singer, this bird is a mimic. He can imitate the songs of other birds, as well as many other sounds. A lady once had a blue jay who had fallen from the nest. She brought him up, and he was very tame. She told me that he learned to sing like a mockingbird, and did it almost as well. This bird was very fond of her. When she tried to give him his freedom, he wouldn't have it. If she slipped away from him, he would sit up in a tree and scream like a lost child. Then, when she came into his sight, he would fly down to her shoulder and rub his head against her cheek like a kitten, he was so happy to be back with her.

The blue jay is a useful bird. Dr. Brewer says that one pair of jays will feed their young in one season five hundred thousand caterpillars; also that one pair of jays will destroy one million insect eggs in a winter.

Many hard things have been said about this bird,--for one thing, that he eats eggs and young birds. You will notice, however, that many who repeat these stories about him say, "I have not seen the bird do so, but some one else has." Testimony like this is worth nothing. Such things are copied from one book to another because it is much easier to take what is set down in the books than to go out and see for one's self. Often a story which has no truth in it is said over and over till people believe it because they have heard it so often.

Believe me, the blue jay is not half so bad as he is painted, and he has many lovable traits to make up for what he does do.

Mr. Keyser brought up a young blue jay from the nest. He put him for a while into a cage with two young orioles. Like all young birds, all three of the youngsters were hungry, and expected everybody to feed them. So the young jay opened wide his mouth, and waited for something good to drop into it. He was met by the two orioles with their mouths wide open. There they stood, face to face, all asking to be fed. It was a funny sight.