e him a pitching flight as if he were about to go on his
bill, a flight that reminds one of the tail that wagged the dog.

[Illustration: Nest of the Bush-tit.]

There were so many of the gray pocket nests in the oaks that it was hard
to choose which to watch, but one of the most interesting hung from a
branch of the big double oak of the gnatcatchers, above the ranch-house,
where I could see it when sitting in the crotch of the tree. While
watching it I looked beyond over the chaparral wall away to a dark
purple peak standing against a sky flecked with sun-whitened clouds. The
nest was like an oriole's, but nearly twice as long, though the builders
were less than half the size of the orioles. Instead of being open at
the top, it was roofed over, and the only entrance was a small round
hole, the girth of the bird, about two inches under the roof.

One might imagine that such big houses would be dark with only one small
dormer window, and the valley children assured me that the birds hung
living firefly lamps on their walls! I suggested that a Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Fireflies would be needed if that were the
case; but when it comes to that, what bird would choose to brood by
gaslight?

When I first saw the bush-tit in its round doorway, it suggested Jack
Horner's famous plum, comical little ball of feathers! When first
watching the nest the small pair put me on their list of enemies, along
with small boys, blue jays, and owls. To go down into the pocket under
my stare seemed a terrible thing. When one of them came with a bit of
moss for lining, it started for the front door, saw me, stopped, and
turned to go to the back of the nest. Then it tried to get up courage to
approach the house from the side, got in a panic and dashed against the
wall as if expecting a door would open for it. When at last it did make
bold to dart into the nest it was struck with terror, and, whisking
around, jabbed the moss into the outside wall and fled!

Seeing that nothing awful happened, the birds finally took me off the
black list and allowed me to oversee their work, as long as I gave no
directions. Sometimes both little tots went down into the bag to work
together; surely there was plenty of room for many such as they. But it
is not always a matter of cubic inches, and one morning when the second
bird was about to pop in, apparently it was advised to wait a minute.
There was no ill feeling, though, for when the small