Their chirping and chattering, which was so
noticeable one day, suddenly ceased the next. The nests were probably
plundered at night, and doubtless by the little red screech-owl, which
I know is a denizen of these old orchards, living in the deeper
cavities of the trees. The owl could alight on the top of the nest,
and easily thrust his murderous claw down into its long pocket and
seize the young and draw them forth. The tragedy of one of the nests
was heightened, or at least made more palpable, by one of the
half-fledged birds, either in its attempt to escape or while in the
clutches of the enemy, being caught and entangled in one of the
horse-hairs by which the nest was stayed and held to the limb above.
There it hung bruised and dead, gibbeted to its own cradle. This nest
was the theatre of another little tragedy later in the season.
Some time in August a bluebird, indulging its propensity to peep and
pry into holes and crevices, alighted upon it and probably inspected
the interior; but by some unlucky move it got its wings entangled in
this same fatal horse-hair.
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