on his weak little legs, fluttered his wings violently, and presented a
gaping mouth with the jay baby cry issuing therefrom. Nothing was ever
more droll than this sight. He was an intelligent youngster, knew what
he wanted, and when he had had enough. He would eat bread up to a
certain point, but after that he demanded cake or a berry, and his
favorite food was an egg. He was exceedingly curious about all his
surroundings, examined everything with great care, and delighted to look
out of the window. He selected his own sleeping-place,--the upper one of
a set of bookshelves,--and refused to change; and he watched the
movements of a wounded woodcock as he ran around the floor with as much
interest as did the people. Under human care he grew rapidly stronger,
learned to fly more readily and to use his weak side; and every day he
was allowed to fly about in the trees for hours. Once or twice, when
left out, he returned to the house for food and care; but at last came a
day when he returned no more. No doubt he was taken in charge again by
his parents, who, it was probable, had not left the neighborhood.

After July came in, and baby blue jays could hardly be distinguished
from their parents, my studies took me away from the place nearly all
day, and I lost sight of the family whose acquaintance had made my June
so delightful.

XIV.

THE GREAT CAROLINIAN.

All through June of that summer I studied the birds in the spacious
inclosure around my "Inn of Rest." But as that month drew near its end,

"The happy birds that change their sky
To build and brood, that live their lives
From land to land,"

almost disappeared. Blue jay babies wandered far off, where I could hear
them it is true, but where--owing to the despair into which my
appearance threw the whole jay family--I rarely saw them; orchard and
Baltimore orioles had learned to fly, and carried their ceaseless cries
far beyond my hearing; catbirds and cardinals, doves and golden-wings,
all had raised their broods and betaken themselves wherever their fancy
or food drew them, certainly without the bounds of my daily walks. It
was evident that I must seek fresh fields, or remove my quarters to a
more northerly region, where the sun is less ardent and the birds less
in haste with their nesting.

Accordingly I sought a companion who should also be a guide, and turned
my steps to the only promising place in the vicinity, a deep ravine,
through which ran a