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Updated: June 18, 2025
Its favorite place is the fork of a sapling, eight or ten feet from the ground, where it falls an easy prey to every nest-robber that comes prowling through the woods and groves. It is not a bird that skulks and hides, like the cat-bird, the brown-thrasher, the chat, or the cheewink, and its nest is not concealed with the same art as theirs.
And soon Buddy heard Jasper's harsh voice calling to some friend who lived a little distance away. Jasper was still somewhat sleepy. Though Buddy Brown-Thrasher could not see him, he could hear Jasper talking to his wife in a low tone, which was quite different from the noisy squawk that people at once thought of at the mere mention of Jasper Jay's name.
And soon a few sweet, flute-like notes came floating out from Jasper's tree and fell upon the ears of Buddy Brown-Thrasher, where he lay snugly hidden among the boughs of a young pine. Buddy was delighted. You see, he was a real music-lover; and seldom had he heard any sound so beautiful as those rare notes of Jasper Jay's. "Bravo!" Buddy cried, without thinking what he was doing.
And in the next instant Jasper Jay thrust a towsled head through the pine-needles that screened his sleeping-place. "Who's there?" he shouted in a hoarse and angry voice. Buddy Brown-Thrasher did not answer. He kept still as a mouse. And waited for some time hoping to hear Jasper's sweet notes again but he waited in vain. But Buddy had heard them once.
It is scarcely pleasant, when you are singing your best notes in a tree-top, to have them suddenly spoiled by a harsh jay, jay, and to be mocked with boisterous laughter. The time came at last when Buddy Brown-Thrasher said he couldn't stand it any longer. "Something will have to be done!" he declared. So he put on his thinking-cap at once.
"I'd like to state," he announced, "that Jasper Jay can sing very well when he wants to. He has always pretended that singing was silly. And you know what a nuisance he makes of himself spoiling a good song whenever he happens to hear one. Why, I've heard him sing beautifully!" "You never!" howled Jasper Jay. "Yes, I have this very morning!" Buddy Brown-Thrasher retorted.
She spoke at intervals, looking toward the grove they had just left, and when the bird paused Webb replied: "That is the wood-thrush's own cousin, and a distinguished member of the thrush family, the brown-thrasher. Well, Johnnie," he added, to the little girl who had come to meet them, "you are honored to-day.
But Jasper never minded that. "I shall keep right on interrupting these singing societies," he said, "until I've put an end to such nuisances." Naturally, that was only his way of looking at such matters. As for the other birds, they thought that the real nuisance was Jasper Jay. Now, one of the finest singers in the whole neighborhood was Buddy Brown-Thrasher.
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