You think, my young friends, because I am called Kingbird I should be
large and fine looking.
Well, when you come to read about Kings in your history-book you will
find that size has nothing to do with Kingliness. I have heard,
indeed, that some of them were very puny little fellows, in mind as
well as in body.
If it is courage that makes a king then I have the right to be called
Kingbird. They say I have a reckless sort of courage, because I attack
birds a great deal larger than myself.
I would not call it courage to attack anything smaller than myself,
would you? A big man finds it easy to shoot a little bird in the air;
and a big boy does not need to be brave to kill or cripple some poor
little animal that crosses his path. He only needs to be a coward to
do that!
I only attack my enemies,--the Hawks, Owls, Eagles, Crows, Jays, and
Cuckoos. They would destroy my young family if I did not drive them
away. Mr. Crow especially is a great thief. When my mate is on her
nest I keep a sharp lookout, and when one of my enemies approaches I
give a shrill cry, rise in the air, and down I pounce on his back; I
do this more than once, and how I make the feathers fly!
The little hawks and crows I never attack, and yet they call me a
bully. Sometimes I do go for a Song-bird or a Robin, but only when
they come too near my nest. People wonder why I never attack the
cunning Catbird. I'll never tell them, you may be sure!
To what family do I belong? To a large family called Flycatchers.
Because some Kings are tyrants I suppose, they call me the Tyrant
Flycatcher. Look for me next summer on top of a wire fence or dead
twig of a tree, and watch me, every few minutes, dash into the air,
seize a passing insect, and then fly back to the same perch again.
Any other names? Yes, some folks call me the Bee Bird or Bee Martin.
Once in awhile I change my diet and do snap up a bee! but it is always
a drone, not a honey-bee. Some ill-natured people say I choose the
drones because they can't sting, and not because they are tramp bees
and will not work.
Sing? Yes, when my mate is on her nest I please her with a soft pretty
song, at other times my call-note is a piercing Kyrie-K-y-rie! I live
with you only in the summer. When September comes I fly away to a
warmer climate.