ngerous foes are those
bandits of our own race who, instead of protecting their brethren,
steal our eggs and murder our young. They are not always the biggest
birds, by any means, that do these things. The crow family is known to
be treacherous, and the shrike is rightly called the 'butcher-bird,'
but there are many others that we have reason to suspect feed upon
their own race."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed the girl-lark.

The birds all seemed restless and uneasy at this conversation, and
looked upon one another with suspicious glances. But the bluejay
soothed them by saying:

"After all, I suppose we imagine more evil than really exists, and
sometimes accuse our neighbors wrongfully. But the mother birds know
how often their nests have been robbed in their absence, and if they
suspect some neighbor of the crime instead of a prowling animal it is
but natural, since many birds cannot be trusted. There are laws in the
forest, of course; but the guilty ones are often able to escape. I'll
tell you of a little tragedy that happened only last week, which will
prove how apt we are to be mistaken."

[CHAPTER VII] _The Bluejay's Story_

"There is no more faithful mother in the forest than the blue titmouse,
which is a cousin to the chickadee," continued the policeman, "and this
spring Tom Titmouse and his wife Nancy set up housekeeping in a little
hollow in an elm-tree about half a mile north of this spot. Of course,
the first thing Nancy did was to lay six beautiful eggs--white with
brown spots all over them--in the nest. Tom was as proud of these eggs
as was Nancy, and as the nest was hidden in a safe place they flew away
together to hunt for caterpillars, and had no thought of danger. But on
their return an hour later what was their sorrow to find the nest
empty, and every pretty egg gone. On the ground underneath the tree
were scattered a few bits of shell; but the robber was nowhere to be
seen.

"Tom Titmouse was very indignant at this dreadful crime, and came to me
at once to complain of the matter; but of course I had no idea who had
done the deed. I questioned all the birds who have ever been known to
slyly steal eggs, and every one denied the robbery. So Nancy Titmouse
saw she must lay more eggs, and before long had another six speckled
beauties in the bottom of her nest.

"They were more careful now about leaving home; but the danger seemed
past. One bright, sunny morning they ventured to fly to the brook t