Part 38

The cowbird has a queer little song. It is something like "cluck-see!" and he seems to squeeze it out as if it were hard work to say it.

FOOTNOTE:

See Appendix, 15.

THE MEADOW STARLINGS

(Icteridæ)--Continued

THE meadow starlings are short-tailed birds who live on the ground. They have long bills and mixed sort of plumage, of browns and yellows.

Our common one, called the MEADOWLARK or OLD-FIELD LARK, though he is not really a lark, is a beautiful bird. He is larger than a robin, and his mottled feathers are set off by a bright yellow breast, with a black crescent under the throat.

This bird lives in the meadows or pastures, and walks about on the ground, where he gets his food. When he wants to sing, he flies up on to a fence, or stands up very straight on a bit of turf, or a stone, and sings away a long time. It is a sweet song, or rather several sweet songs, for he does not always sing the same one.

The mother lark looks like her mate. She makes her nest on the ground, and a snug and cozy home it is. It is none of the open, cup-like nests that anybody can see into. It has a roof, if you please, and sometimes a covered way--like a hall--leading to it. The roof of the nest is made by drawing the grass stems over it and weaving them together. So it is very hard to find. And it is hidden in the long meadow grass besides.

You might think the little family would get hurt when the haymakers came to cut the grass. So they would, if they happened to be there. But lark babies are out of the egg before that time, and they run about as soon as they can stand. Sometimes when a nest has been disturbed, and the birds have had to make a second one, the little ones are not out when the mowers come on. Then there are apt to be sad times in the family. But I have known mowers who carefully cut around a nest, and did not hurt the nestlings. That is a good thing to do, for the birds are so useful and such fine singers that we want as many as we can have.

The meadowlark is a shy bird, and so is more often heard than seen. His song is charming, and he has besides a strange call, a sort of harsh sputter, or chatter, sometimes as he flies over. No doubt he has many more ways of expressing himself, but these are the ones we most often hear.

The WESTERN MEADOWLARK looks like the Eastern, except that he is a little paler and grayer in color. He has the same general habits, but he is a much finer singer. The song is wilder and has more variety, and sometimes it is very brilliant. It is different in every way from the quiet, rather sad notes that make the Eastern bird so winning.

The Western bird is not so timid as his Eastern brother. He often comes into the towns and sings from the tops of houses. The finest singer I ever heard sang every day from the peak of a low roof. His song to his mate is most charming. It is so low and tender one can hardly hear it.

I once saw a pair of the Western birds nest-making. The little builder was busy filling her beak with dried grasses and such things. For these she had to fly across the road where I sat. Her mate went with her every time. He perched on the fence while she gathered her beakful, watching that no harm came to her. When she went back, he flew across with her and perched on a tree on that side.

All the time he was singing the sweetest low warble, and all the time he was keeping a sharp watch on me. In the West this bird eats beetles, grasshoppers, and the disgusting big black crickets that do so much damage.

XXI

THE ORIOLE BRANCH

(Icteridæ)--Continued

IT seems odd to put the gay orioles into the Blackbird Family, especially as they don't live on the ground either; but that's where they belong in the books. Orioles live in the trees, and are fine singers. They have sharp-pointed bills, suitable for picking tiny insects out of fruit blossoms. They have some of the family color, black, but more orange color, or chestnut red, or yellow. They all make beautiful nests.

The Baltimore oriole is all over the East, the orchard oriole in the South, and the Arizona hooded oriole in the West.

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.