the bush-tits are cousins of the eastern chickadees, which is reason enough for liking them, although the california fruit growers have a more substantial reason in the way the birds eat the scale that injures the olive-trees. the bush-tits might be the little sisters of the chickadee family, they are so small. they look like gray balls with long tails attached, for they are plump fluffy tots, no bigger than your thumb, without their tails. one of them, when preoccupied, once came within three feet of where i stood. when he discovered me a comical look of surprise came into his yellow eyes and he went tilting off, for his long tail gave him a pitching flight as if he were about to go on his bill, a flight that reminds one of the tail that wagged the dog.

nest of the bush-tit. nest of the bush-tit.

there were so many of the gray pocket nests in the oaks that it was hard to choose which to watch, but one of the most interesting hung from a branch of the big double oak of the gnatcatchers, above the ranch-house, where i could see it when sitting in the crotch of the tree. while watching it i looked beyond over the chaparral[104] wall away to a dark purple peak standing against a sky flecked with sun-whitened clouds. the nest was like an oriole's, but nearly twice as long, though the builders were less than half the size of the orioles. instead of being open at the[105] top, it was roofed over, and the only entrance was a small round hole, the girth of the bird, about two inches under the roof.

one might imagine that such big houses would be dark with only one small dormer window, and the valley children assured me that the birds hung living firefly lamps on their walls! i suggested that a society for the prevention of cruelty to fireflies would be needed if that were the case; but when it comes to that, what bird would choose to brood by gaslight?

when i first saw the bush-tit in its round doorway, it suggested jack horner's famous plum, comical little ball of feathers! when first watching the nest the small pair put me on their list of enemies, along with small boys, blue jays, and owls. to go down into the pocket under my stare seemed a terrible thing. when one of them came with a bit of moss for lining, it started for the front door, saw me, stopped, and turned to go to the back of the nest. then it tried to get up courage to approach the house from the side, got in a panic and dashed against the wall as if expecting a door would open for it. when at last it did make bold to dart into the nest it was struck with terror, and, whisking around, jabbed the moss into the outside wall and fled!

seeing that nothing awful happened, the birds finally took me off the black list and allowed me to oversee their work, as long as i gave no[106] directions. sometimes both little tots went down into the bag to work together; surely there was plenty of room for many such as they. but it is not always a matter of cubic inches, and one morning when the second bird was about to pop in, apparently it was advised to wait a minute. there was no ill feeling, though, for when the small builder came out it flew to the twig in front of the door, where its mate was waiting, and sat down beside it, a little darby by his joan.

they worked busily. sometimes they popped in only to pop out again; at other times they stayed inside as long as if they had been human housekeepers, hanging pictures, straightening chairs, and setting their bric-a-brac in order for the fortieth time; each change requiring mature deliberation.

one morning—after the birds had been putting in lining long enough to have wadded half a dozen nests—if my judgment is of any value in such matters—i discovered that the roof was falling in; it was almost on top of the front door! the next day, to my dismay, the door had vanished. what was the trouble? were the pretty pair young builders; was this their first nest, and had they paid more attention to decorating their house inside than to laying strong foundations; or had their pocket been too heavy for its frame?

however it came about, the wise birds concluded[107] that they would not waste time crying over spilt milk. they calmly went to work to tear the first nest to pieces and build a second one out of it. one of them tweaked out its board with such a jerk it sent the pocket swinging like a pendulum. but the next time it wisely planted its claw firmly to steady itself, while it cautiously pulled the material out with its bill.

if the birds were inexperienced, they were bright enough to profit by experience. this time they hung their nest between the forks of a strong twig which had a cross twig to support the roof, so that the accident that had befallen them could not possibly occur again. they began work at the top, holding onto the twig with their claws and swinging themselves down inside to put in their material; and they moulded and shaped the pocket as they went along.

after watching the progress of the new nest, i went to see what had become of the old one. it was on the ground. on taking it home and pulling it to pieces, i found that the wall was from half an inch to an inch thick, made of fine gray moss and oak blossoms. there was a thick wadding of feathers inside. i counted three hundred, and there were a great many more! the amount of hard labor this stood for amazed me. no wonder the nest pulled down, with a whole feather-bed inside! why had they put it in? i asked some children, and one said, "to keep the eggs[108] warm, i guess;" while the other suggested, "so the eggs wouldn't break." most of the feathers were small, but there must have been several dozen chicken's feathers from two to three inches long. among them was a plume of an owl.

pocket nest in an oak pocket nest in an oak

much to my surprise, in the bush-tit's nest there was a broken eggshell. had the egg broken in falling, or had a snake been there? one of the boys of the valley told me about seeing a racer snake go into a bush-tit's pocket. the cries of the birds rallied several other pairs, and they all flew about in distress, though not one of them dared touch the dreadful tail that hung out of the nest hole. as the snake was about three feet long, the pocket bulged as it moved around inside. there were four nestlings about a quarter grown, and the relentless creature devoured them all. the boy waited below with a stick, and when it came out, killed it and shook it by the tail till the small birds popped out of its mouth. if my broken eggshell pointed to any such tragedy, it cleared the birds of the accusation of being poor builders.

the nest, which the first day was a filmy spot in the leaves, by the next day had become a gray pocket over eight inches long, although i could still see daylight through it. in working, the birds flew to the top of the open bag and hopped down inside. i could see the pocket shake and bulge as they worked within. when[109] they flew away to any distance, on their return they almost always came with their little call of schrit, schrit.

this nest was so low that i used to throw myself on the sand beneath the tree to watch it, taking many a sunbath there, with hat drawn down till i could just see the nest in the pendent branches, and watch the changing mosaics made by the sky through the moving leaves. when resting on the sand the thought of rattlesnakes came to me, for the brush on either side was a shelter for them, and they might easily have crept up beside me without my hearing them.

the second bush-tit's nest was shorter than the first one. perhaps the builders thought the length had something to do with the fall of the first; or perhaps they didn't feel like collecting three hundred more feathers, with oak blossoms and moss to match. they first put the frame of the front door below the supporting cross twig, and then, as if they thought it needed more support, changed it and put the door above the twig, so that the roof could not possibly close the hole, even if it did fall in. the doorway was also made much larger than that of the first nest.

after making away with the old nest, my conscience smote me. perhaps the little pocket makers were not through with it, even if it was on the ground; so i brought a piece of it back and tied it with a grass stem to a twig below the[110] nest they were at work on, to save them as much trouble as might be. when my bird came, her bright eyes were quick to espy the old nest. she looked around, bewildered, as if wondering whether she was really awake, and making sure that this strange looking affair were not her second nest, come to grief in her absence. being reassured by her examination, she came back and hopped from twig to twig inspecting the old piece of nest. at last she caught sight of a feather. that, apparently, was just what she wanted. she quickly flew over, pulled out the white plume, and went straight to the new house with it!

i was not able to watch any of my bush-tits through the season, that year, but five years later, when again in southern california, to my delight i found the tits building in almost the same tree where they had been before.

one day an interesting brood was out in the brush, and i took notes on their proceedings: "a family of young were abroad this morning filling the leaves with their little moving forms, and the air with their fledgling cry of schrit. as nearly as i could judge, there were ten in the family—eight young tagging after two old birds. while i watched, a droll thing happened, proving that a family of eight may affect a parent's breakfast as well as his nerves. one of the family, which i took to be the father bird, had some goody[111] in his bill, and one of the young, presumably, followed him for it, flying up on his twig. the old bird turned his back upon the little one and went on shaking the grub. presently a second one flew down on the other side of him,—he was between two fires; they touched him on both sides. i watched with interest to see what he would do about it, and was much amused when he opened his wings and flew up over their heads out of reach! would he come back to feed them after his food was properly prepared? no,—he sat up on the branch and ate the morsel himself! i was rather shocked by such a deliberate proceeding, but then it occurred to me that parent birds have to take a bite themselves once in a while; though of course their business is to feed the children!"