(_Regulus satrapa_) Kinglet family
_Called also_: GOLDEN-CROWNED GOLDCREST; FIERY-CROWNED WREN
(Illustration facing p. 187)
_Length_--4 to 4.25 inches. About two inches smaller than the
English sparrow.
_Male_--Upper parts grayish olive-green; wings and tail dusky,
margined with olive-green. Underneath soiled whitish. Centre
of crown bright orange, bordered by yellow and enclosed by
black line. Cheeks gray; a whitish line over the eye.
_Female_--Similar, but centre of crown lemon-yellow and more
grayish underneath.
_Range_--North America generally. Breeds from northern United
States northward. Winters chiefly from North Carolina to
Central America, but many remain north all the year.
_Migrations_--September. April. Chiefly a winter resident
south of Canada.
If this cheery little winter neighbor would keep quiet long enough, we
might have a glimpse of the golden crest that distinguishes him from
his equally lively cousin, the ruby-crowned; but he is so constantly
flitting about the ends of the twigs, peering at the bark for hidden
insects, twinkling his wings and fluttering among the evergreens with
more nervous restlessness than a vireo, that you may know him well
before you have a glimpse of his tri-colored crown.
When the autumn foliage is all aglow with yellow and flame this tiny
sprite comes out of the north, where neither nesting nor moulting
could rob him of his cheerful spirits. Except the humming-bird and the
winter wren, he is the smallest bird we have. And yet, somewhere
stored up in his diminutive body, is warmth enough to withstand zero
weather. With evident enjoyment of the cold, he calls out a shrill,
wiry _zee, zee, zee_, that rings merrily from the pines and spruces
when our fingers are too numb to hold the opera glasses in an attempt
to follow his restless flittings from branch to branch. Is it one of
the unwritten laws of birds that the smaller their bodies the greater
their activity?
When you see one kinglet about, you may be sure there are others not
far away, for, except in the nesting season, its habits are distinctly
social, its friendliness extending to the humdrum brown creeper, the
chickadees, and the nuthatches, in whose company it is often seen;
indeed, it is likely to be in almost any flock of the winter birds.
They are a merry band as they go exploring the trees together. The
kinglet can hang upside down, too, like the other acrobats, many of
whose tricks he has learned; and it can pick off insects from a tree
with as business-like an air as the brown creeper, but with none of
that soulless bird's plodding precision.
In the early spring, just before this busy little sprite leaves us to
nest in Canada or Labrador--for heat is the one thing that he can't
cheerfully endure--a gushing, lyrical song bursts from his tiny
throat--a song whose volume is so out of proportion to the bird's size
that Nuttall's classification of kinglets with wrens doesn't seem far
wrong after all.
Only rarely is a nest found so far south as the White Mountains. It is
said to be extraordinarily large for so small a bird; but that need
not surprise us when we learn that as many as ten creamy-white eggs,
blotched with brown and lavender, are no uncommon number for the
pensile cradle to hold. How do the tiny parents contrive to cover so
many eggs and to feed such a nestful of fledglings?