nger coveted it. The last and sweetest song of the wren,
"Shame-ber-ee!" rang out joyously as we turned our faces to the north,
and bade a long farewell to the Great Carolinians.

XVI.

THE APPLE-TREE NEST.

All day long in the elm, on their swaying perches swinging,
New-fledged orioles utter their restless, querulous notes.

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

The little folk let out the secret, as little folk often do, and after
they had called attention to it, I was surprised that I had not myself
seen the pretty hammock swinging high up in the apple boughs.

It was, however, in a part of the grounds I did not often visit, partly
because the trees close by, which formed a belt across the back of the
place, grew so near together that not a breath of air could penetrate,
and it was intolerable in the hot June days, and partly because my
appearance there always created a panic. So seldom did a human being
visit that neglected spot, that the birds did not look for guests, and a
general stampede followed the approach of one.

On the eventful day of my happy discovery I was returning from my daily
call upon a blue jay who had set up her home in an apple-tree in a
neighbor's yard. The moment I entered the grounds I noticed a great
outcry. It was loud; it was incessant; and it was of many voices.
Following the sound, I started across the unmown field,

"Through the bending grasses,
Tall and lushy green,
All alive with tiny things,
Stirring feet and whirring wings
Just an instant seen,"

and soon came in sight of the nest near the topmost twig of an old
apple-tree.

It was about noon of a bright, sunny day, and I could see only that the
nest was straw-color, apparently run over with little ones, and both the
parents were industriously feeding. The cries suggested the persistence
of young orioles, but it was not a Baltimore's swinging cradle, and the
old birds were so shy, coming from behind the leaves, every one of which
turned itself into a reflector for the sunlight, that I could not
identify them.

Later in the day I paid them another visit, and finding a better post of
observation under the shade of a sweet-briar bush, I saw at once they
were orchard orioles, and that the young ones were climbing to the edge
of the nest; I had nearly been too late!

Four o'clock was the unearthly hour at which I rose next morning to
pursue my acquaintance with the little family in the apple-tree, fearful
le