dropped in as he passed, but left in haste, as if averse to company,
with his customary shyness while training the young; for this brilliant
bird, during nesting so fearless everywhere, manages to disappear
completely after the young leave the nest. Now and then he may be seen
going about near the ground, silent, and absorbed in his arduous task of
teaching those clamorous urchins to get their own living; or in the
early morning, engaged in picking open the hideous nests of the
tent-caterpillars and quietly taking his breakfast therefrom. Later,
when bantlings are off his mind, he reappears in his favorite haunts,
and sings a little before bidding us adieu for the season; although
occasionally this supplementary song is a dismal failure, and the oriole
discovers, as have other singers before him, that one cannot neglect his
music, even for the best of reasons, and take it up again where he left
off.
[Illustration: FEEDING THE BABY--THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE]
[Sidenote: _EXCITEMENT AMONG THE ORIOLES._]
As I passed under an apple-tree, one morning, on my way to the ferny
path, I heard the domestic cry of the oriole, uttered, I think, only
when rearing the young, a tender "yeap." I paused instantly, and soon
heard a very low baby cry, a soft "chur-r-r" exactly like the first note
of the young oriole when he comes up to the edge of the nest, only
subdued almost to a whisper, showing that education had progressed, and
this little one had learned to control his infantile eagerness. All at
once there arose a great commotion over my head; an oriole fled
precipitately to another tree and stood there watching me, scolding his
harshest, flirting his wings and jerking his body in great excitement.
In a moment his mate joined him, and both began to call, though she held
a worm in her beak. This not seeming to effect their purpose, the singer
suddenly uttered a loud, clear whistle of two notes, startlingly like a
man's whistle to a dog, when instantly a young oriole flew out of the
apple-tree and joined his parents. Then the low note began again, and
the family departed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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