before, and looking up saw a small dull-colored bird with a bit of
moss in its bill walking down into a mossy cup right before my eyes! For
a few moments I was the happiest observer in the land. I had found my
little friend again, after all these years! It looked over the edge of
the twig at me several times, but went on gathering material as
unconcernedly as if it, too, remembered me. The mossy cup seemed
prettier than any rare bit of Sevres china, for I looked upon it with
eyes that had been waiting for the sight for five years.

As the bird worked, a cottontail rabbit rustled the leaves, and Billy
started forward, frightening the timid animal so that it scampered off
over the ground, showing the white underside of its tail. But though
Billy and the rabbit were both terrified, the brave worker only flew
down to a twig to look at them, and turned back calmly to its task.

The nest was so protectively colored that I could not see it readily,
and sometimes started to find that I had been looking right at it
without knowing it. The prospect of identifying my birds was not
encouraging. You might as well expect to see from the first floor what
was going on up in a cupola as to expect to see from the ground what
birds are doing up in the thick oak tops. You have reason to be thankful
for even a glimpse of a bird in the heavy foliage, and as for 'spurious
primaries,'--"Woe worth the chase!"

Now and then I got a hint of family matters. My two little friends were
working together, and occasionally I saw a bit of moss put in; but it
was evident that the main part of the work was over. One day I waited
half an hour, and when the bird came it acted as if it had really done
all that was necessary, and only returned for the sake of being about
its pretty home.

The birds said a good deal up in the oak, sometimes in sweet lisping
tones, as though talking to themselves about the nest. They often flew
away from it not far over my head. The call note was a loud
whistle--_whee-it'_--and the bird gave it so rapidly that I once took
out my watch to time him, after which he called seventy times in sixty
seconds. Often after whistling loudly he would give a soft low call. His
clear ringing voice was one of the most cheering in the valley.

When the building seemed done and I was looking forward to the brooding,
as the birds would then, perforce, be more about the nest, one sad
morning I rode up through the oaks and found the beautiful m