Whenever she pulled at a thread, he hopped around, as close
to her as he could get, and pulled too.
[Illustration:]
Twice they had given up the attempt, only to return after hunting
diligently elsewhere. Good material was scarce that season. I was
wondering how long their patience would last, when the female suddenly
seized the cloth by a corner and flew along close to the ground,
dragging it after her, chirping loudly the while. She disappeared into
a crab-apple tree in a corner of the garden, whither the male followed
her a moment later.
Curious as to what they were doing, yet fearing to disturb them, I
waited where I was till I saw both birds fly to the nest, each with
some long threads. This was repeated; and then curiosity got the
better of consideration. While the orioles were weaving the last
threads into their nest, I ran round the house, crept a long way
behind the old wall, and so to a safe hiding place near the
crab-apple.
The orioles had solved their problem; the bit of cloth was fastened
there securely among the thorns. Soon the birds came back and, seizing
some threads by the ends, raveled them out without difficulty. It was
the work of but a moment to gather as much material as they could use
at one weaving. For an hour or more I watched them working
industriously between the crab-apple and the old elm, where the nest
was growing rapidly to a beautiful depth.
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