Out in front of me, under the lee of the old wall whither some line-stripping gale had blown it, was a torn fragment of cloth with loose threads showing everywhere.  I was wondering why the birds did not utilize it, when the male, in one of his lively flights, discovered it and flew down.  First he hopped all around it; next he tried some threads; but, as the cloth was lying loose on the grass, the whole piece came whenever he pulled.  For a few moments he worked diligently, trying a pull on each side in succession.  Once he tumbled end over end in a comical scramble, as the fragment caught on a grass stub but gave way when he had braced himself and was pulling hardest.  Quite abruptly he flew off, and I thought he had given up the attempt.

In a minute he was back with his mate, thinking, no doubt, that she, as a capable little manager, would know all about such things.  If birds do not talk, they have at least some very ingenious ways of letting one another know what they think, which amounts to the same thing.

The two worked together for some minutes, getting an occasional thread, but not enough to pay for the labor.  The trouble was that both pulled together on the same side; and so they merely dragged the bit of cloth all over the lawn, instead of pulling out the threads they wanted.  Once they unraveled a long thread by pulling at right angles, but the next moment they were together on the same side again.  The male seemed to do, not as he was told, but exactly what he saw his mate do.  Whenever she pulled at a thread, he hopped around, as close to her as he could get, and pulled too.

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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.  Several times the bit of cloth slipped from the thorns as the birds pulled upon it; but as often as it did they carried it back and fastened it more securely, till at last it grew so snarled that they could get no more long threads, when they left it for good.