Part 42

Many birds build in clefts of rocks, or under large overhanging stones by the water-side. Their chief thought seems to be, to have the nest safely hidden. Other birds build right on the ground. Have you never found a lark’s nest, low among daisies, grass and buttercups?

Last summer I found two nests of the meadow pipit, or peewee. They were built of dry grass in a hollow, shaded by some bramble-berry bushes and big dandelions. I had one of these nests drawn for the cover of this Reader. It was a very pretty bower, and the little birds grew up safely.

Most birds build each one alone, but in Africa the weaver-bird lives in colonies. The nests are built like very large wasps’ nests. Sometimes one or two hundred birds will build in one place. They make a roof for the nest.

I began by telling you of very little nests. I will end by telling you of a very big nest. I saw the nest of a fishing eagle, in a great pine-tree. The nest was built of large sticks. It was nearly as large as a half barrel. The tree was dead. A tree always dies when an eagle builds in it. This nest was more like a great rough platform than a nest. It had a wall of sticks about it to keep the little eaglets from falling out before their feathers grew.

FOOTNOTES:

The cuckoo in England lays in the nests of other birds. The American cuckoo does not.

The cow-bird is also called the cow-bunting.

LESSON XXXIII.

THE BIRD AT HOME.

You have now seen the bird building a nest, and you have seen the finished nest. Let us take a little look at the bird at home. Let us have a peep at the family life of birds.

The mother-bird lays two, four, six, or more eggs in her nest. Each kind of bird has its own kind of eggs. The wood-pigeon has a pure white egg; the blackbird’s egg is a bluish green, with russet spots; the cuckoo’s egg is of a yellowish tint with red and brown marks; the kingfisher’s egg is yellow with orange spots; the robin’s egg is a lovely greenish blue. Some eggs have purple spots, some are brown with red spots.

Each bird knows its own eggs. Sometimes a lazy cow-bird puts her eggs in the nest of a wren or bluebird, while that bird is away looking for food. When the bird comes home, she knows at once the strange egg in her nest. She scolds and cries. But, in the end, she takes care of it.

When eggs are put into a nest in this way, it is the strange egg which thrives. The cow-bird hatches before the eggs among which it lies. Then the mother-bird at once begins to feed her adopted child, and her own eggs are left and do not hatch.

The young cuckoo is so big and strong that it pushes its foster brothers and sisters out of the nest, and lives there alone. The good mother-bird, perhaps only a little sparrow, tires herself out bringing insects for the wide-open beak of her big, greedy child.

The mother-bird is very patient all the long days, or weeks, while she must sit brooding her eggs. If you go near her, she may fly off, or she may cower close over her eggs, and look at you in a very timid way. I am sure you will hurry past, and not terrify the dear little thing.

When the mother-bird must go away, to stretch her wings in flight, or to get food, the father-bird takes her place. While she is on the nest, he often brings her something good to eat. He sits on some branch near and sings to her. He watches to see if any snake or squirrel, or other enemy, is coming near. Then he often flies down, and scolds, or pecks at the foe to drive it off.

I am sorry to tell you that the handsome blue jay is very cruel to other birds. He often tears up their nests, breaks their eggs, or kills their little ones, for the mere sake of doing it. The eggs of smaller birds, he carries to his own nestlings for food. I knew a lady who saw a jay bring three small eggs to his nest. He carried them in his bill.

One summer, a pair of woodpeckers built in a tall flag-pole near my house. They had cut out a nice round hole in the pole, and dug a deep place for a nest. Several times each day the father-bird took his turn on the nest, while the mother-bird went off to a swamp to get food.

It was curious to watch the nest-cleaning each night. The birds took up refuse from the nest in their claws, and flew off some distance before they dropped it.

When the little birds came from the shell, the old ones were very busy, going and coming several times each hour, with food.

It was funny to see them at night-fall. The father-bird took his place, clinging high up on the pole, like a watchman on a tower, to take a final look, and see if all was right. The mother-bird, at the same time, put her handsome head out of the hole, and stretched her neck, as if to take a look from her window before she went to bed.

When the birds were fledged, there was a grand time teaching them to fly. They were taken to a roof near by, where they sprawled about. Then they would be coaxed to make a little flight. The parents flew low and slowly before them. Great was the joy, if one of the little things flew a few yards. The old birds seemed to think that they had never before seen quite such nice flying! Then the father-bird stood proudly before them, to give them a lesson in drumming, that is, in pecking at wood, to break it up, to find grubs or insects hidden in it. He seemed to say, “Look at me!” Then he braced his feet and tail, held his head on one side, and gave a number of swift, strong blows on my porch roof. He would drum, and then look at the little ones to imitate him.

Then they flew over the way, and the father seemed to say, “Now for another lesson in drumming!” At it he went. But that house had a tin roof. He could not make the splinters fly!

He tried again. It was of no use. Then he looked much surprised. He eyed the roof, and tried once more. The little birds looked on.

But the father-bird failed again. Instead of a long, deep roll of sound, there was only a sharp rattle; no chips, no grubs! He seemed much ashamed. His wings and his tail drooped. Away he flew to the pole, and sat there very sad. He seemed to be thinking how much better houses grew when he was young!

The hole of these birds, in the pole, was tinned over after they left. They returned next year, and cut a hole lower down. That was covered with tin in the fall. Next spring, they came back, and cut a hole higher up. They did this for five years.

Finally the pole had to be taken down as dangerous, it was so cut up.

Woodpeckers are not the only good bird parents. You can see how kind and careful mother-birds are, if you watch the hens in the farm-yard. Do you see them lead their little chicks out? They scratch the earth, and call the chicks to come and pick up food. When a hawk appears, the hen cries out, and spreads her wings wide, to shelter her chicks.