When the oriole
happened to drop it, Jakie,--who had got a new
idea what to do with grasshoppers,--snatched it
up and carried it under a chair and finished it.
I could tell many more stories about my bird,
but I have told them before in one of my ``grown-up''
books, so I will not repeat them here.
BABES IN THE WOODS
BY JOHN BURROUGHS
One day in early May, Ted and I made an expedition
to the Shattega, a still, dark, deep stream
that loiters silently through the woods not far
from my cabin. As we paddled along, we were on
the alert for any bit of wild life of bird or beast
that might turn up.
There were so many abandoned woodpecker
chambers in the small dead trees as we went along
that I determined to secure the section of a tree
containing a good one to take home and put up
for the bluebirds. ``Why don't the bluebirds occupy
them here?'' inquired Ted. ``Oh,'' I replied,
``blue birds do not come so far into the woods as
this. They prefer nesting-places in the open, and
near human habitations.'' After carefully scrutinizing
several of the trees, we at last saw one that
seemed to fill the bill. It was a small dead tree-
trunk seven or eight inches in diameter, that
leaned out over the water, and from which the top
had been broken. The hole, round and firm, was
ten or twelve feet above us.
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