Several years ago the bird saddled into the fork of a bayberry bush a bunch of cotton nearly as large as a baseball, and on this foundation erected a nest.
I have records of four nests, including the last—the one in the currant bush. This 1897 nest was three and one half inches in diameter by two inches in depth inside, and three and one half inches outside. The foundation was laid May 27th, and the nest was completed June 3d. It was then deserted for three days. The first egg was deposited June 6th, and thereafter one each day until the 9th, when four eggs made up the set. The fourth egg was pure white; the other three were white with a ring of reddish-brown blotches around the larger end.
After the fourth egg was laid the bird remained on the nest nights, but during the daytime for three days spent the most of the time gadding about. June 20th, I found one bird out of the shell and the next day all were out. The young birds are not fed until they are one day old. They are not great feeders like young robins, and the mother bird has an easy task to provide food. The birds grow rapidly. At first the mother can cover her brood while half hid below the brim of the nest, but before the young birds leave the nest she must stand with a foot on each side of the brim.
July 2d the young birds were induced to leave the nest. On that day the mother bird did not feed the young birds, and I think they must have been downright hungry. Later she tempted them with a plump insect, while the male fluttered about with cries of encouragement. Soon one hopped out of the nest on to a twig and was quickly fed. The others took the hint, and all were soon out of the nest. Most birds pursue the same method, and it reminds one of teaching baby how to walk.
My little friend has had two mates since we became acquainted. She was made a widow by a prowling cat during the summer of 1896. The next spring she returned with a second husband. This newcomer resented any familiarity on my part. He seemed to think that I was too inquisitive, and made a great fuss every time he found me near the nest. Frequently my little friend would fly at him and drive him away. She tried to make him understand that I was a welcome guest, but he never took kindly to my presence. In return I thought him most ungrateful, for I had killed one cat and two snakes to protect his family.
My little friend holds my dooryard and immediate vicinity against all other chestnut-sided warblers. If some other bird of the same species starts a nest, the little squatter tyrant drives the interloper away. She claims sway over a circle about 200 feet in diameter, with my cabin for a centre. Catbirds, towhee-buntings and oven-birds and two ruffed grouse have nested on this claim, but for eleven years no chestnut-sided warbler has succeeded in preempting the claim.
The chestnut-sided warbler is so conspicuously marked that a mere tyro in bird study cannot mistake it for any other member of the warbler family. The bright yellow crown, pure white under parts, and chestnut sides of the old birds are marks not to be mistaken. The young birds are yellowish green above and silky white below.