A-Birding on a Bronco

le Lover's door-yard before realizing

rees, she discovers a second-feathered-person's head extended cautiously from behind a trunk, its eyes fixed on hers; or if, as she passes along a-sycamore-street, a person comes to a window and cranes his neck to look at her, and instantly leaves the premises; then surely, as the world wags, she is quite justified in having a mind of her own in the

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Woodpecke

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One of them kept me waiting an hour one morning. When I first saw it, it was on its tree trunk, but when it first saw me, it promptly left for parts unknown. I stopped at a respectful distance from its tree-several rods away-and threw myself down on the warm sand in the bed of the dry stream, between high hedges of exquisite lemon-colored mustard. Patient waiting is no loss, observers must remember if they woul

he puts her head out of the window, and when I speak to her does not fly away, but cocks her head and looks down at me."[3] That same morning the bird actually entered the nest in my presence. She came back to her sycamore while I was watchin

gs of birds filled the air, and the straw-colored field dotted with haycocks lay sunning under the quiet sky. In the East we are accustomed to speak of "the peace of evening," but in southern California in spring there is a peculiar interval of warmth and rest, a langorous pause in the growth of the morning, between the disappearance of the night fog and the coming of the cool trade wind, when the southern sun shines full into the little valleys and the peace of the morning is so deep and serene that the labor of the day seems done. Nature appears to be

rights of property and enforced my sermon with the point of the parasol, he was soon back again, with the amused look of a naughty boy who cannot believ

away with the familiar rattling kit-er'r'r'r'. They flew nearly half a mile to their regular feeding ground, and did not come to the nest as often as the wrens when bringi

the prune orchard. That afternoon its mate was brought in from the same place. Probably both birds had eaten poisoned raisins left out for the gophers. The dead birds were thrown out under the orange-trees near the house, and not many hours afterward, when I looked out of the window, two turkey vultures

s? Sad and anxious, I rode down to the sycamore. I rapped on its trunk, calling chuck'-ah as much like the old birds as possible. There was an instant answer from a strong rattling voice and a weak piping one. The weak vo

I watched to see how it made the straight track we so often saw in the dust of the roads. It bent its neck into a scallop for a purchase, while its tapering tail made an S, to furnish slack; and then it pulled the main length of its body along straight. It crawled noiselessly right to the foot of the woodpecker tree, bu

istake. They thought we were their parents. At the first blow of the axe their voices hush

get up it, though he had always been a good climber. He clambered up a drooping branch on the back of the tree,-the nest was in front,-but could not swing himself around when he got up.

o through the nest hole, but not his knuckles, and the knothole where he steadied himself was too slippery to stand on while he enlarged the hole. It was getting late, and as he had his chores to do before da

in it, practically on one foot, and held on to a small branch with his right hand-the first limb he trusted to broke off as he caught it-whi

watching below. I stood from under as he finished his story, and inquired with interest if he were sure his axe head was tight! Before the lad had made much impression on the hard sycamore, he got so tired and looked so white around the mouth that I insisted on his getting down to rest

reach them now. They've gone to the bottom, they're so afraid." Nearly a foot down he had to squeeze, but at last got hold of one bird and brought it out. "Drop him down," I cried, "I'll catch him," and held up my hands. The little bird cam

ck'-ah to them in the most woodpecker-like tones I could muster. Then the boy shouldered the ladder, and I

. On examining them I understood what the difference in their voices had meant. One of them poked his head out of the opening in my jacket where he was riding, while the other kept hidden away in the dark; and

hat was going on. Their voices were as sharp as their ears, and they screamed at me so imperatively that I hurried out to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards till I

one of them flew down to the floor and hid away in a dark closet, sitt

weak one I dubbed Jacob, which is the name the people of the valley had given the woodpeckers from the sound of their cries;

ose when he sat for his picture. Bairdi often perched in my hand, with his bill pointing to the ceiling, probably from his old habit of looking up at the door of his nest. Sometimes when Bairdi sat in my hand, Jacob would swing

convenient thing for wild birds who cling to tree trunks and yet need to know what is going on behind their backs. Once, on hear

taking short hops up the side of the tree, bending his stiff tail at a sharp angle under him to brace himself against the bark. Bairdi, his strong brother, was less nervous, and found courage to catch ants on the bark. Jacob did a pretty thing one day. When put on the oak, he crept into a crack of the bark and lay there fluffed up against its sides with the sun slanting across, lighting up his pretty red cap. He looked so contented and happy it was a

ss to my black tie and, fastening his claws in the silk, clung with his head in the dark folds as if he liked the shade. I covered the pretty pet with my hand and he seemed to enjoy it. When I first

spoon; probably it seemed more like a bill. After a little, they learned to peck at their food, a sign I hailed eagerly as indicative of future self-support; for with appetites of day laborers and no one to supply their

DI VISITING TH

a soft cry when they snuggled down in our hands or cuddled up to us as they had done under their mother's wing. Their call for food was a sibil

in each other. If Bairdi called, Jacob would keep still and listen attentively, raising his topknot till

mes. It was comical to see them try to find their oil glands. Had the old birds taught them how to oil their feathers while they were still in the nest? They were thickly fe

he boy's sleeve, being attracted by dark holes. While we were waiting for the photographer, the boy put Jacob in a hollow of the tree, where he began pecking as if he liked it. He worked away till he squeezed himself into a small pocket, and then, with his feathers ruffled up, sat

w him, he turned his head, raised his red cap, and

t still enough to get good likenesses, but we had taken the precaution to give them a hearty breakfast just before starting, and they

little girl could take them in at night. Their cup of bread and milk stood on the ladder, and when I called them they came over to be fed. They were both so strong and well that they would soon be able to care for themselves, as their fathers had done before them. And when they were ready to fly, they might have help;