in a thick mass of woodbine
against the side of my house, about fifteen feet from the ground.
Perhaps it took the hint from its cousin, the English sparrow. The nest
was admirably placed, protected from the storms by the overhanging
eaves and from all eyes by the thick screen of leaves. Only by patiently
watching the suspicious bird, as she lingered near with food in her
beak, did I discover its whereabouts. That brood is safe, I thought,
beyond doubt. But it was not; the nest was pillaged one night, either
by an owl, or else by a rat that had climbed into the vine, seeking
an entrance to the house. The mother-bird, after reflecting upon her
ill-luck about a week, seemed to resolve to try a different system of
tactics and to throw all appearances of concealment aside. She built a
nest few yards from the house beside the drive, upon a smooth piece
of greensward. There was not a weed or a shrub or anything whatever to
conceal it or mark its site. The structure was completed and incubation
had begun before I discovered what was going on. "Well, well," I said,
looking down upon the bird almost at my feet, "this is going to the
other extreme indeed; now, the cats will have you." The desperate little
bird sat there day after day, looking like a brown leaf pressed down in
the short green grass. As the weather grew hot, her position became very
trying. It was no longer a question of keeping the eggs warm, but of
keeping them from roasting. The sun had no mercy on her, and she fairly
panted in the middle of the day. In such an emergency the male robin
has been known to perch above the sitting female and shade her with his
outstretched wings. But in this case there was no perch for the male
bird, had he been disposed to make a sunshade of himself. I thought to
lend a hand in this direction myself, and so stuck a leafy twig beside
the nest. This was probably an unwise interference; it guided disaster
to the spot; the nest was broken up, and the mother-bird was probably
caught, as I never saw her afterward.

For several previous summers a pair of kingbirds had reared, unmolested,
a brood of young in an apple-tree, only a few yards from the house; but
during this season disaster overtook them also. The nest was completed,
the eggs laid, and incubation had begun, when, one morning about
sunrise, I heard cries of distress and alarm proceed from the old
apple-tree. Looking out of the window I saw a crow, which I knew to be a
fish-crow,