mysterious bird treated me to a very singular performance. He
hovered like a humming-bird close before a nest, looking into it and
uttering a loud strange cry, like the last note of "phoebe" repeated
rapidly, as "be-be-be." Was it derision, complaint, or a mere neighborly
call? This was not for the benefit of his own family, for he did it
before the robin's nest. I thought at first he meant mischief to the
young robins, but although he approached very near he did not actually
touch them.

The loudest note this bird uttered was, of course, his well-known
"phoebe," which he delivered from the peak of the barn (never from the
dead tree) with an emphasis that proclaimed to all whom it might
concern that he had something on his mind. It was plain that he was a
person of cares; indeed, his whole bearing was that of one with no
nonsense about him, with serious duties to perform. I wonder if these
birds are ever playful! Even the babies are dignified and
self-contained. Phoebes in a frolic would be a rare sight. Of the two
nests whose owners I had to study, one was on a low beam in the
cow-barn, where a person might look in; the other under the eaves of a
farm-building close by.

The special policeman of the group and its environs was a robin, who
lived in a two-story nest under the eaves of the hay-barn. This bird,
after the manner of his family, constituted himself regulator and
dictator. He lived in peace with the ordinary residents, but took it
upon himself to see that no stranger showed his head near the spot. He
chased the crow blackbird who happened to fly over on business of his
own, and by calls for help brought the whole robin population about the
ears of the intruder. He also headed the mob of redbreasts that
descended one morning upon a meek-looking half-grown kitten, who chanced
to cast its innocent eyes upon a robin baby under the trees on another
side of the house. The youngster could fly with ease, but he preferred
to stay on the ground, for he quickly returned there when I put him on
a low branch; and when a robin makes up his mind, arguments are useless.
The same robin bullied the red-headed woodpecker, and flew at the
kingbird when he brought his young family up to taste the raspberries.

One visitor there was, however, to the fence and the locusts whom Master
Robin did not molest. When a prolonged, incisive "pu-eep" in the martial
and inspiring tone of the great-crested fly-catcher broke the silence, I
ob