huddle
beneath the mother hen for protection and warmth. Where tender
nurslings of this sort are scattered wide in other portions of the
pastures to find them grouped here by the score means that some
selective thought has brought it all about. I cannot, of course,
say that the seedlings consciously choose. Nevertheless, somehow,
that spirit of protecting love of which I am, myself, definitely
conscious when I come near an apple tree has somehow drawn beneath
it these plants of other fibre that need its shelter.

To more sentient beings we may accord a more conscious purpose,
and that the wild apple tree is more beloved of bird and beast
than any other proves that they, too, feel the brooding charm
which radiates from it. Verily, a tree is known by its nests. It
seems as if the apple tree took loving thought and prepared
especially for certain varieties while welcoming all. The robin
loves a solid foundation for the mud bottom and sides of his
substantial home. On the level-growing apple tree limb he finds
this, and the kindly tree throws out little curved, finger-like
fruiting twigs from the sides of its big limbs that help anchor
the structure against all winds. Farther up on the limb and near
the slenderer tip these curved fruiting twigs multiply and suggest
the very shape of his nest to the chipping sparrow who loves to
twine tiny roots and grasses, and especially horsehair, among them
till his own light, wee structure is as securely placed as the
cement bungalow of the bigger bird. So, too, the tyrant flycatcher
loves to build his larger nest, often interwoven with waste string
till it looks as if he had tied it on. He seeks the very tip of
the level limb and the blunt, sturdy, spreading twigs invite his
confidence as they do that of the chipping sparrow. This bold
exposure of eggs and nestlings invites thieving jays and murderous
crows, hawks and owls, but the king-bird's dinner flies by while
he waits, and he does police duty while he watches for it. He is
rightly named and no marauder dares approach while he sits
dominant on the topmost bough. He is guardian thus of his less
belligerent neighbors.

The oriole, trained in tropic woodlands to avoid climbers,
instinctively finds the pendulous tips of slender elm boughs the
best place for his nest, yet often in apple-blossom time he
becomes so enamored of them that the white snow of their falling
petals leaves him building on the twigs from which they scatter.