(Illustrations facing pp. 155 and 202)
_Length_--11 to 12 inches. About one-fifth longer than the
robin.
_Male and Female_--Grayish brown above, with bronze tint in
feathers. Underneath grayish white. Bill, which is as long as
head, arched, acute, and more robust than the black-billed
species, and with lower mandible yellow. Wings washed with
bright cinnamon-brown. Tail has outer quills black,
conspicuously marked with white thumb-nail spots. Female
larger.
_Range_--North America, from Mexico to Labrador. Most common
in temperate climates. Rare on Pacific slope.
_Migrations_--Late April. September. Summer resident.
"_Kak, k-kuk, k-kuk, k-kuk!_" like an exaggerated tree-toad's rattle,
is a sound that, when first heard, makes you rush out of doors
instantly to "name" the bird. Look for him in the depths of the tall
shrubbery or low trees, near running water, if there is any in the
neighborhood, and if you are more fortunate than most people, you will
presently become acquainted with the yellow-billed cuckoo. When seen
perching at a little distance, his large, slim body, grayish brown,
with olive tints above and whitish below, can scarcely be
distinguished from that of the black-billed species. It is not until
you get close enough to note the yellow bill, reddish-brown wings, and
black tail feathers with their white "thumb-nail" marks, that you know
which cuckoo you are watching. In repose the bird looks dazed or
stupid, but as it darts about among the trees after insects,
noiselessly slipping to another one that promises better results, and
hopping along the limbs after performing a series of beautiful
evolutions among the branches as it hunts for its favorite "tent
caterpillars," it appears what it really is: an unusually active,
graceful, intelligent bird.
A solitary wanderer, nevertheless one cuckoo in an apple orchard is
worth a hundred robins in ridding it of caterpillars and inch-worms,
for it delights in killing many more of these than it can possibly
eat. In the autumn it varies its diet with minute fresh-water
shell-fish from the swamp and lake. Mulberries, that look so like
caterpillars the bird possibly likes them on that account, it devours
wholesale.
Family cares rest lightly on the cuckoos. The nest of both species is
a ramshackle affair--a mere bundle of twigs and sticks without a rim
to keep the eggs from rolling from the bush, where they rest, to the
ground. Unlike their European relative, they have the decency to rear
their own young and not impose this heavy task on others; but the
cuckoos on both sides of the Atlantic are most erratic and irregular
in their nesting habits. The overworked mother-bird often lays an egg
while brooding over its nearly hatched companion, and the two or three
half-grown fledglings already in the nest may roll the large greenish
eggs out upon the ground, while both parents are off searching for
food to quiet their noisy clamorings. Such distracting mismanagement
in the nursery is enough to make a homeless wanderer of any father. It
is the mother-bird that tumbles to the ground at your approach from
sheer fright; feigns lameness, trails her wings as she tries to entice
you away from the nest. The male bird shows far less concern; a no
more devoted father, we fear, than he is a lover. It is said he
changes his mate every year.
Altogether, the cuckoo is a very different sort of bird from what our
fancy pictured. The little Swiss creatures of wood that fly out of the
doors of clocks and call out the bed-hour to sleepy children, are
chiefly responsible for the false impressions of our mature years. The
American bird does not repeat its name, and its harsh, grating "_kuk,
kuk_," does not remotely suggest the sweet voice of its European
relative.