# The Way of the Wild (Hawkes)/A Cradle in the Tree Top

About the only real rock-a-bye baby I know of is the young oriole as it swings to and fro in its wonderful horsehair nest at the end of an elm bough. The gray squirrel, in the autumn or winter, is also something of a rock-a-bye baby as he swings in his leaf nest in the fork of a high tree. But I think the Mother Goose rhymes must have referred to the oriole.
For several years Sunbeam and Sweetheart, a pair of Baltimore orioles, have swung their wonderful nest from an elm-tree in my dooryard, so I am very well acquainted with them and we are on the best of terms. I usually help them a bit in nest-building time and that is perhaps why we are such good friends.
Over two hundred years ago Lord Baltimore, an Englishman, wished to establish a colony for himself and his friends in the new world. He first selected Newfoundland, but ​for his colony that cold and bleak country was a great failure. So he finally went to Maryland, Virginia, to look about for a new place for his colony. He was sick and discouraged. But when he beheld the birds in the forests of Maryland he decided at once that he would move his colony there. Especially was he attracted by our little hangbird. The bright color of this little fellow and his blithe song so cheered him that he changed the colors of his house to Orange and Black, the color of the oriole. So he adopted the bird's color, and the bird now bears his name—a fair exchange.
Sunbeam, the male oriole, is the most punctual little chap that I know of in birdland. I have kept a calendar of his spring arrival for many years. On the morning of the seventh of May, be it sunshiny or rainy, I always look for him, and he rarely disappoints me. I am convinced from the fact that he arrives so punctually that he must keep a bird calendar of his own. He is ever the same little Sunbeam, and my heart always warms when I see him. A flash of fire across the lawn, and a blithe, chat​tering flood of song pouring out behind. He is so full of song that he has to sing even when flying, just as the bobolink does.
Sunbeam guards the old elm tree very jealously until Sweetheart comes. He is something of an aristocrat and he does not want too many vulgar birds building in his own particular tree. Sweetheart is coming north more leisurely, traveling with a large flock of female orioles. Sunbeam does not do anything about their house until she arrives. I suppose he thinks that she might upset all his plans if he did. So he just amuses himself with scrapping with cock robin and the bluebird, and singing and winging hither and thither.
I am always glad when Sweetheart arrives and they can get to nest building. Of all the birds in North America they are the most skillful nest-builders. Sunbeam sometimes helps with the nest, but Sweetheart is the master builder. It is she who selects the graceful bough on the elm where they will hang the nest. It is usually a small branch perhaps half an inch in diameter, one that will swing freely ​when the wind blows. Their favorite weaving material is horsehair. This is very strong and the best possible thing that they can use. But sometimes it is hard to find and they have to use milkweed fiber and also fiber from elmbark. I used to place strong thread and silk where they could find it. Once I placed a lot of gaily colored worsted for them and they had the gayest sort of a nest. This beautiful little home is about seven inches deep and held to the branch by countless threads. At the bottom it is large, to make room for the nest. At the top it is nearly closed, to hide Sweetheart as she sits upon the eggs.
The weaving in this nest is wonderful. It is so close that rain cannot penetrate it, and yet it gives a free circulation for the air. No malicious bird like the starling or cuckoo can prey upon this home. I have never known but one Baltimore oriole nest to come to grief, and that was blown down by a terrible wind. Even then the branch on which it was hung broke and fell to the ground.
As soon as the nest is ready, Sweetheart lays ​from four to six light-colored eggs splashed with dark markings. Then for two weeks she spends most of her time in the nest while Sunbeam has to feed her with caterpillars and grubs. The orioles are a great help to man, as they eat countless destructive worms and grubs which hurt the trees and shrubs.
A French naturalist has estimated that if the birds were all to disappear man could live on the earth only nine years, for without the birds, the plants, trees and vegetables would disappear. They would be eaten up by the worms and bugs. Then the cattle and sheep would not have any feed and they would all die. So man himself would have to live upon fish, which would be very bad for him.
When the young orioles were finally hatched, Sunbeam and Sweetheart would spend nearly the whole day carrying them worms and bugs. But even then Sunbeam would still find time to sing.
The young orioles never leave the nest until they can fly, so they are rarely caught by cats. Such good care do these songsters take of ​themselves that I have never seen a dead oriole. After the young orioles had become nearly grown it was a gay company that flitted about the old elm. Sunbeam still sang some, but he was very busy looking out for his family and keeping the young birds out of danger. The oriole is one of the last of the song-birds to come north, and he is one of the first to go back south, so we have to make the most of him while we have him. Faithful little Bluebird is one of the first to come and the last to go, which shows how much he loves us. With Oriole it is quite different. He is a gay little fellow. He loves the sunshine and the flowers, so in September when the flowers have faded and the birds have ceased to sing, he gathers his family together and they all fly away to Maryland. We never see them go, so perhaps they leave in the night, or very early in the morning. All we know is that some morning we miss them from the dooryard and we are sad because of their going. But we always wish them good luck and look forward to their return the seventh of next May. The empty nest still ​swings on the slim bough and we have the memory of their beauty and joy to cheer us in the cold winter.
So here's luck to you, Sunbeam and Sweetheart, as you fly away southward. May you escape the pot-hunters in the large cities on the way, the ignorant men and boys who hunt song-birds for a bird pie. May you escape every danger by the way and come back to us again next spring as gay coated and sweet of song as ever.